Note: I wrote this after attending a Pride event in April 2023. I am finally sharing today on the last day of Pride Month 2024. Remembering this day brings a smile to my face to this day. May we all be given the freedom and support to awaken to the truest version of ourselves. May love awaken all of us to ourselves. May love awaken all of us.
Today I met my dear, long-time friend to watch and cheer on the Starkville Pride Parade and then wander around the Queer Art Market for a bit. Both of these are part of the Starkville Pride weekend in my small Mississippi town. Thanks to the large university that sits right next to us and nearly doubles the size of our small town when the students are present, I live in a sort of diverse bubble in a backwards sort of state. Sometimes driving thirty to sixty minutes in any direction–here we measure distance in minutes not miles–can feel like stepping back in time. Yet, even in Mississippi, there are more open-minded people than you would expect.
My friend warned me as we were walking toward the parade that the protesters were out. In spite of the crazy political times we live in, I was shocked. Here? Protesters? I mean, I know that there are people here who disagree with what they view as a chosen lifestyle. This is the South and the Bible Belt and Mississippi after all. But I assumed the disagreeing ones would choose to grumble their disapproval at home sitting in their recliners and watching Fox News or Newsmax.
No. Some of them chose to come out today with signs and yelling and unhappy, disapproving faces thinking that somehow they needed to . . . to do what exactly? Defend God? The all-powerful god figure I grew up learning about did not need any defending.
To convert people to their belief system? By yelling and name-calling? My friend was called a “pervert” and yelled at to “repent” when he approached them. That does not seem like a good beginning if your goal is to persuade someone to consider your viewpoint as a valid one.
The parade was a delightfully beautiful and colorful celebration of the LGBTQ+ people in our community and those who love and support them. It was a tiny burst of rainbow joy that brightened my weekend and that continues to bring a smile to my face whenever I remember it.
After wandering through the Queer Art Market, my friend and I sat on a bench to chat and people watch. What a great place to do this! Humans, free to be themselves, walking around without fear of harm. People who made choices to have piercings in places that I have never considered and wearing clothing that, while I do not have the confidence to wear, I admire their choices and their boldness.
They may have nudged me to be a bit more of myself in my choices. That is what we are here for, isn’t it? To be the most fully, beautiful and whole version of ourselves that we can be.
Of course, some–like the strict branch of religion in which I was raised–disagree. We are required to be small and quiet, except when it comes to defending God, who apparently needs humans to come to her defense. We were required to reject anything that might possibly be considered entertaining, except for gluttony. We were all about some gluttony. For the most part, we were raised to be shells of the full, glorious creatures we were created to be.
One little girl caught the attention of my friend and I as we sat. She and her family passed us several times at the small event. Each time this little, five or six-year-old girl was dancing to her heart’s content behind her family. She was wearing a rainbow print skirt. She was oblivious to anyone watching her. It’s doubtful that she cared at all if anyone was watching or what anyone thought if they were. She was being her fullest, most glorious self in that moment. It was a moment of absolute beauty.
Watching this little girl, I wondered what the world might look like if every child were free to fully be themselves, without someone trying to squeeze them into whatever mold is thought acceptable. Childhood is a time of learning and exploration. It is a time of learning who you are and who you are meant to become.
What if every child was allowed to play with who they are? Play and pretend is a key part of childhood and important for healthy development. What if each child was allowed to experiment with who they want to be? Perhaps “trying on” different “sizes” to see how they feel. Perhaps deciding, no, this is not me, maybe I’ll try something else for fun. Would this not help children develop more fully into who they are here on the planet to be? Would this not create a more loving, accepting, understanding humanity in the long term? Would it not make more creative, intelligent adults who are able to come up with new and better inventions and art and ways of being in our world.
Ingenuity requires breaking the cookie cutter molds that are created for us.
While walking through the Queer Art Market, I experienced the same feelings that I always have whenever I have been in similar pro-LGBTQ+ settings. I marveled at the variations of appearances at the same time I marveled at everyone’s comfort with the various ways humans choose to present themselves. There is a comfort in these settings that even I, as a cisgender, heterosexual, white female, have never experienced in other settings.
In the settings where I have spent much of my life, I never felt like I fit into any of the handful of accepted cookie cutter molds that are the standard choices. They feel too small and restricting. They invited me to be only a small portion of who I am, the small, quiet, acceptable version that makes everyone else feel comfortable regardless of what it does to me. These versions feel like I am being untrue to myself. They are a lie.
Here is a place where everyone is accepted and welcomed from those multi-pierced, multi-colored hair, gloriously beautiful humans all the way to me, a 52-year-old pony-tailed, make-up-less mom in yoga pants, my tie dye Buc-ee’s t-shirt, and sandals. Every single time I find myself in this type of setting, I marvel in wonder and awe because of the rarity of spaces that feel this way.
As we sat enjoying the bench on a spring day with enough cloud cover to keep things comfortable for a day at the end of April in Mississippi, I imagined what it would look like to have a bird’s eye view of these two groups of people. The protesters with their signs, blue jean skirts, and shouting about God and lust on one side of the street. The multi-colored, friendly, smiling and accepting group of people on the other side. I know which one looks the most appealing from the outside. Because of the religious dogma that I grew up learning, I know which one is most appealing to me on the inside as well.
I have always had an innate sense of empathy and a desire to understand other people. I try to wrap my mind around what the religious group hopes to accomplish today. Do they really believe that their signs and shouts are going to cause someone to suddenly decide to change who they are, or in their minds change from the lifestyle they have “chosen”? Surely the ones who planned to spend their Saturday this way are more intelligent than to believe that.
Are they doing it to be seen as standing against something about which they feel strongly? I can possibly understand that. I have marched for things about which I feel strongly.
I think back to 2020 to a march in my Mississippi town where hundreds of people joined together to stand against cruelty toward and discrimination of people based on skin color. Why did we have a march? Why did thousands of cities and towns around the country organize marches?
For me, the reason I wanted to march was as a show of unity, to show my Black and Brown fellow humans that I stood with them and believed that our country still needs to make changes in the systems that were designed with the intent of keeping some people down while allowing others to climb with fewer restraints. I was proud that so many in my little Mississippi town turned out to show this type of support. Another reason that I chose to march was to show the leaders of our town and our state that valuing human lives is important to those of us who live here. This felt important in a state where some lives still seemingly hold more value than others.
The people who chose to show up to express their disapproval today, were they showing support? If so, for whom? Themselves? YAY US!
For God? Any god-figure who needs a cheerleader or someone to demonstrate approval for her does not meet the definition of being a god, at least not one of any real substance. Any divine force worthy of being called divine does not require outside approval.
To demonstrate to others around them that they stand against something? Maybe. The only people who were there to see them were mildly amused with their shouting. Perhaps they might get a thirty second clip on the local news.
As I think back to my days of commitment to organized religion, I ponder the reasons behind why I did some of the things that I did and why I said some of the things which I said. I am embarrassed by many of these. In the years since, I have felt compelled to apologize to some people, to some friends, onto whom I tried to force my viewpoint. Even though I did not live their lives, did not walk in their shoes, and only occasionally spent very short periods of time in their homes, I somehow believed that I knew what was better for them than they did. Looking back, I am embarrassed by my arrogance.
These are all thoughts I had while trying to understand the reasoning behind this protest.
In a refreshing contrast, there was a tent at the Queer Art Market that I suppose was sponsored by a church or religious organization. I am not certain what group they were representing. What caught my eye were the t-shirts being worn by the two women at this tent. One read in rainbow letters, “This pastor loves you.” The other matching t-shirt read, “This Christian loves you.” To be honest, I did not notice what they had at their tent. Whatever it was, it was done with smiles and with love.
My overall experience of today was one of love, acceptance and approval of every single glorious human being who was present, including myself. The feelings were contagious and freely available. The protesters were merely an amusing blip on an otherwise joy-filled afternoon of celebration, celebrating each and every being that was present in all of their beauty and in all of their imperfectly perfect humanness.