As anyone who’s bothered to read the About The Author section of this blog knows, I’m an LGBTQ person. Specifically, I’m a bisexual man, albeit a married and monogamous one (the frustrating and insulting issue of bi erasure is going to be the subject of a future post) so June is always an interesting time for me — because it’s Pride Month.
Now, way back when I was a baby queer, I remember Pride as being a single long weekend. Lots of music and dancing on Church Street in Toronto, a big long march down Yonge Street, drinking back at the Village and so forth. The parade floats were shabby, most people walked (well, danced), the rainbow banners and whatnot were all homemade or self-funded or put up by businesses, not the city. It was generally regarded as a counter-culture event and there was an intoxicating sense of defiance in the air: Pride wasn’t just about being proud, it was about having the audacity not to be ashamed.