Pride

This weekend is one of hte biggest parties in the Bay Area; the Gay Pride Parade is Sunday. A local columnist, Jon Carroll enthused about how things are progressing in today's column.

I have to say I agree with his sentiments. As I 've stated earlier, love is hard enough to find in this life, why place an aritrary restriction on it like gender choice?

The Greeks had several words for the different kinds of love

There was agape; or pure love aka brotherly love. This was what they claimed Jesus had for the world and its sinners. Too bad His followers hadn't chosen to follow His teachings.

There is Eros. This one gets the most attention. In Christian terms, it could be referred to as lust.

There's filial love, or love of family.

There's also a love for country, of duty and honor. I forget what that one's called.

I've tried to explain the concepts to my kids, and I think they get it.

Several years ago, I marched in the Pride parade as one of the naughty students from Vulva University. My then-girlfriend and I heard about it from some friends and it sounded like a good way to participate. There is definitely something joyful walking down the middle of Market street with a float carrying a Giant mockup of a Vulva nad the DJ spinning classic disco hits like "Lady Marmalade" and throngs of people cheering at you.

The only time things weirded me out was before the parade started. The Cheerleaders were rehearsing, and the BDSM scene was getting arranged, when a dad and his little girl came through to wish someone well. She was all smiles and waved to a man who was dressed as a Pony and harnessed to a small carriage to pull his Mistress. The ponyboy waved back and all was sweetness and light.

Would that the world could be so easy.

I know some of the influences on my predilections. Mrs. Emma Peel, and Big Barda, were the coolest when I was little; Speed Racer's Trixie was a hysterical wuss. Later Grace Jones, Stevie Nicks and no list of beauties would be complete without Chaka Khan.

Coming out to my family was one of the hardest things I could do. It was after my second divorce, and I was living with a man who helped me get my life together, just by sharing his place, and generally being him. It was living with him that I came to understand, that it's ok to be different, and not have to apologize, or feel guilt, or shame. I don’t need your sympathy or any special treatment. I am who I am, and I don't have to explain myself to anybody.

I'm bipolar. With a side of ADD.

My emotional cycle is too long to be classic bipolar disorder, and my distractibility isn't as severe as the "typical" person with it. I get the blues, get on a roll when ideas just flow, and instead of a manic euphoria, I get irritable and frustrated.

This is the time of year I feel pride. In my chose lifestyle and those of my friends, no matter what that lifestyle happens to be. It's also the time of year I think of a roommate I had years ago, and wonder how he's doing. Unlike some people, I don't stalk my past. I tend to let it slip away. The good and the bad.

Thank you Raif. You and Malcolm save my life back in Seattle. I just hope all is well in your world and I hope you have a fine Pride weekend wherever you are.