By Charles Karel Bouley II

It's that time of year again: Pride season in the gay community. It's when beer tents get hoisted up, Dykes on Bikes get revved up, 6-foot-tall boys in dresses get dolled up, and lots of people get fucked up, all in the name of cultural equality; a celebration of a stand taken by drag queens and others when a community in New York snapped from the tensions of homophobia.

Many expect me to rant against Pride festivals as such, as I have in my book and other writings, expect me to remind everyone that 30 minutes at any one of these events gives the religious right enough good footage to raise $30 million against us, expect me to go off.

But I started staring at the garden here at Park Howard (isn't your house named?) and started thinking locally. Everyone knows I don't attend and why; more so now than ever since my husband died May 21, 2001, on Long Beach Gay Pride Weekend. This year I'll be walking in San Francisco in the Bay to Breakers, a 12K for leukemia, while my city celebrates. And yet, I thought of Long Beach and there were things, gay things, of which to be proud ... most of them people.

I first thought of my friend Daniel, who gets up every day and takes a bus 1.5 hours each way to and from work. He works at a college, and started very entry-level. Now, he's progressed up the ladder, and is well on his way to a great career. He lives alone with a cat that he rescued and spends time caring for his apartment. He walks and bikes a lot, frequents the local coffee shops instead of the chains. He was willing to open his home to his brother for six months to give him a helping hand when he himself is just getting on his feet. He's a writer, and hopes to get published, and a great photographer. He's gay, and everyone knows it, but it simply is. He's out to his family, and at work. It's just a part of his life. He's having a party for Pride, lives on the route so feels obliged, and we've debated my views on it often and then laughed. I'm very proud he's gay. I'm proud that he represents another face of being gay to the world. When his art is known, and it will be, I'll be happy there's another out, proud photographer and writer. He fills me with gay pride.

And then there's Jason and David. Jason is an accomplished graphic designer, and his boyfriend is now becoming the same. He's a true supporter of the community and its projects, from simply making sure magazines like the Lesbian News get out to fliers promoting a special at a local gay club. He's an art director for a national dance music magazine, and then, teacher at a college, an out, proud teacher, where the staff not only knew of David but had met him many times. David, who is so young and yet so smart, reading everything from politics to entertainment news, learning new things and all the while being in a relationship known to one and all. These two fill me with gay pride, and they're right here in Long Beach.

When I think of gay pride in Long Beach, my home town, I don't think of rallies or AIDS walks, of politicians or pomp, I think of the people. People like Ken McKenzie, who was there for me when Andrew died and then there again for me two years later when I lost my mother. He's been there for many families in the Long Beach community, gay or straight, and been an active member of that community as a whole through his mortuary business. Through the years I've seen his ads in this or that gay newspaper, showing a support for his own community as well. I've seen him waving from a vintage vehicle in the parade or consoling a couple who had lost their child. He fills me with gay pride. I think of another friend Matt, who has taken his addiction to the party life and drug of choice meth, and turned it in to speaking engagements and workshops on staying clean-and-sober. I think of Jon Q., who has kept Choices open and running when many thought they were down for the count. I think of Erik, who went from high school history teacher to part-time teacher and swim coach and part-time successful realtor. Or Frank Groff, a fabulous publicist, Justin Rudd community activist (and Rosie, his equally famous bull dog, too), people, I think of people, not the party.

When I think of gay pride on a national level, I don't think of Will & Grace or GLAAD, Queer as Folk, or even Ellen! I think of people who really know about pride, people who simply live out and proud in places where that can still, in 2006, cost them their livelihood at best, their life at worst. I think of a gentleman I met in the hill country of Texas, living an out life with his lover in Marble Falls. I think of states like Massachusetts and California that continue to try and codify equality for gays and lesbians on some levels. I think of families all around the country, same-sex parents, living, working schooling side by side every other family, and I think of tea I just had at the Huntington Museum in Pasadena, with my niece Heather, my ex-roommate Sean, his mom and grandma, with Sean talking about his boyfriend Aldo, his promotion at the Aquarium, his mom telling of the last political rally she was at, his grandmother and I dishing American Idol, Heather and Sean talking art -- families, real families of all kinds.

This year, that is what I am going to think about in the season of pride. I'm going to remember that while there is many a cause to fight, many an editorial to fire off, sometimes, when you look at the same box a different way, you get different views. This year, when asked what I think about the season of pride, I'm responding pride has no season. That each of the people I've mentioned, and every town, every family, every person has their own examples, each of them celebrates pride every day by their very out, proud existence. This year I'm thinking not of the TV or movie failures, not writing about how Logo is measuring up or even if Brokeback should have won the Oscar. This year I'm looking for, and finding a sense of pride in my community.

And the pride doesn't stop there; this year, I'm going to remember to be proud of most of the people in this world who could give a rat's ass that you, me, or the fencepost is gay. I'm proud of all the employers that do the right thing and offer same-sex benefits, all the companies that incorporate same-sex partners in to the fabric of your staff parties, company dinners, your corporate family. I'm proud of the schools that stand behind their gay teachers, and their gay-straight alliances. I'm proud of all of the politicians that do the right thing and vote for equality for all Americans on all issues, not just some. Hell, this year, I'm even proud of a church taking another to task through ads that say God doesn't judge or segregate, neither should you. While I'm an atheist, I say, God bless ‘em.

There's a lot wrong in our community. There's a long wrong in our country. There's a lot wrong with what we call “pride” celebrations. But this year I'm proud to say, so what? There's also so much of which to be proud, and if you ever doubt it, just look around you. There are role models out there, people just being who they are, true to themselves, unapologetically, every day. Some don't get a parade, many aren't apt to march in any and some may never buy one pride necklace or other trinket or dance next to a beer tent. But I'm proud of them just the same. Heroes aren't far away. They're everywhere. Search for them, you'll find them. The cliché here would be to say that there may even be one inside of you. But why is the thought of that cliché? Today a hero is anybody who is out and proud every day, as low or high key as they want to be. If events of late have taught us anything, it's that coexisting peacefully side-by-side is by far the most heroic of all things, and something of which to be very, very proud.

Search For The Hero Inside Yourself

by Charles Karel Bouley II

It's that time of year again: Pride season in the gay community. It's when beer tents get hoisted up, Dykes on Bikes get revved up, 6-foot-tall boys in dresses get dolled up, and lots of people get fucked up, all in the name of cultural equality; a celebration of a stand taken by drag queens and others when a community in New York snapped from the tensions of homophobia.

Many expect me to rant against Pride festivals as such, as I have in my book and other writings, expect me to remind everyone that 30 minutes at any one of these events gives the religious right enough good footage to raise $30 million against us, expect me to go off.

But I started staring at the garden here at Park Howard (isn't your house named?) and started thinking locally. Everyone knows I don't attend and why; more so now than ever since my husband died May 21, 2001, on Long Beach Gay Pride Weekend. This year I'll be walking in San Francisco in the Bay to Breakers, a 12K for leukemia, while my city celebrates. And yet, I thought of Long Beach and there were things, gay things, of which to be proud ... most of them people.

I first thought of my friend Daniel, who gets up every day and takes a bus 1.5 hours each way to and from work. He works at a college, and started very entry-level. Now, he's progressed up the ladder, and is well on his way to a great career. He lives alone with a cat that he rescued and spends time caring for his apartment. He walks and bikes a lot, frequents the local coffee shops instead of the chains. He was willing to open his home to his brother for six months to give him a helping hand when he himself is just getting on his feet. He's a writer, and hopes to get published, and a great photographer. He's gay, and everyone knows it, but it simply is. He's out to his family, and at work. It's just a part of his life. He's having a party for Pride, lives on the route so feels obliged, and we've debated my views on it often and then laughed. I'm very proud he's gay. I'm proud that he represents another face of being gay to the world. When his art is known, and it will be, I'll be happy there's another out, proud photographer and writer. He fills me with gay pride.

And then there's Jason and David. Jason is an accomplished graphic designer, and his boyfriend is now becoming the same. He's a true supporter of the community and its projects, from simply making sure magazines like the Lesbian News get out to fliers promoting a special at a local gay club. He's an art director for a national dance music magazine, and then, teacher at a college, an out, proud teacher, where the staff not only knew of David but had met him many times. David, who is so young and yet so smart, reading everything from politics to entertainment news, learning new things and all the while being in a relationship known to one and all. These two fill me with gay pride, and they're right here in Long Beach.

When I think of gay pride in Long Beach, my home town, I don't think of rallies or AIDS walks, of politicians or pomp, I think of the people. People like Ken McKenzie, who was there for me when Andrew died and then there again for me two years later when I lost my mother. He's been there for many families in the Long Beach community, gay or straight, and been an active member of that community as a whole through his mortuary business. Through the years I've seen his ads in this or that gay newspaper, showing a support for his own community as well. I've seen him waving from a vintage vehicle in the parade or consoling a couple who had lost their child. He fills me with gay pride. I think of another friend Matt, who has taken his addiction to the party life and drug of choice meth, and turned it in to speaking engagements and workshops on staying clean-and-sober. I think of Jon Q., who has kept Choices open and running when many thought they were down for the count. I think of Erik, who went from high school history teacher to part-time teacher and swim coach and part-time successful realtor. Or Frank Groff, a fabulous publicist, Justin Rudd community activist (and Rosie, his equally famous bull dog, too), people, I think of people, not the party.

When I think of gay pride on a national level, I don't think of Will & Grace or GLAAD, Queer as Folk, or even Ellen! I think of people who really know about pride, people who simply live out and proud in places where that can still, in 2006, cost them their livelihood at best, their life at worst. I think of a gentleman I met in the hill country of Texas, living an out life with his lover in Marble Falls. I think of states like Massachusetts and California that continue to try and codify equality for gays and lesbians on some levels. I think of families all around the country, same-sex parents, living, working schooling side by side every other family, and I think of tea I just had at the Huntington Museum in Pasadena, with my niece Heather, my ex-roommate Sean, his mom and grandma, with Sean talking about his boyfriend Aldo, his promotion at the Aquarium, his mom telling of the last political rally she was at, his grandmother and I dishing American Idol, Heather and Sean talking art -- families, real families of all kinds.

This year, that is what I am going to think about in the season of pride. I'm going to remember that while there is many a cause to fight, many an editorial to fire off, sometimes, when you look at the same box a different way, you get different views. This year, when asked what I think about the season of pride, I'm responding pride has no season. That each of the people I've mentioned, and every town, every family, every person has their own examples, each of them celebrates pride every day by their very out, proud existence. This year I'm thinking not of the TV or movie failures, not writing about how Logo is measuring up or even if Brokeback should have won the Oscar. This year I'm looking for, and finding a sense of pride in my community.

And the pride doesn't stop there; this year, I'm going to remember to be proud of most of the people in this world who could give a rat's ass that you, me, or the fencepost is gay. I'm proud of all the employers that do the right thing and offer same-sex benefits, all the companies that incorporate same-sex partners in to the fabric of your staff parties, company dinners, your corporate family. I'm proud of the schools that stand behind their gay teachers, and their gay-straight alliances. I'm proud of all of the politicians that do the right thing and vote for equality for all Americans on all issues, not just some. Hell, this year, I'm even proud of a church taking another to task through ads that say God doesn't judge or segregate, neither should you. While I'm an atheist, I say, God bless ‘em.

There's a lot wrong in our community. There's a long wrong in our country. There's a lot wrong with what we call “pride” celebrations. But this year I'm proud to say, so what? There's also so much of which to be proud, and if you ever doubt it, just look around you. There are role models out there, people just being who they are, true to themselves, unapologetically, every day. Some don't get a parade, many aren't apt to march in any and some may never buy one pride necklace or other trinket or dance next to a beer tent. But I'm proud of them just the same. Heroes aren't far away. They're everywhere. Search for them, you'll find them. The cliché here would be to say that there may even be one inside of you. But why is the thought of that cliché? Today a hero is anybody who is out and proud every day, as low or high key as they want to be. If events of late have taught us anything, it's that coexisting peacefully side-by-side is by far the most heroic of all things, and something of which to be very, very proud.