Pride 2023 DEFIES White Supremacists, Christian Nationalists
A Prism & Pen writers prompt
“Watch them!” shouted Lenny, pointing at a group of marchers a block down the parade route. “Look what the cops do!” he growled to me and to all the queer folks packed around us to take in the 1990 New York City LGBT Pride March.
Lenny glared at a cop stationed a few feet behind us. The cop tried hard to stare Lenny down. Lenny knew exactly what nastiness was about to go down, and so did that cop.
“What’s going on?” I whispered, but Lenny just pointed again at the approaching marchers.
That year was my first public Pride, my first year out of military uniform. I was almost 30, and I’d spent all my adult life (mostly) in the closet. I’d never had a real boyfriend, never been on an open date, never been free just to be me.
I’d been open to a few friends at university and in the Air Force, but I had faced the probable loss of my security clearance and a humiliating end to my national security career if I came out publicly.
I never felt free to attend Pride.
Now, free of the military and with Lenny’s prodding, I plunged into NYC queer life. He took me on my first real date, he whispered sweet nothings, he swore his love, and he walked me past the…
