Pride and Joy

June 2025

The first time I saw a gay pride flag outside of a gay event or business, I wanted to cry. The corporation I worked for had lined its campus entrance with colored flags in rainbow order. Inside, the halls held banners celebrating LGBTQ heroes and accomplishments. Posters listed special events all week – presentations on the nuances of LGBTQ identities, trans speakers, workshops on how to be a good ally, trivia games. Miniature rainbow flags popped up on cubicle walls, and many wore rainbow lanyards or “LGBTQ Ally” buttons. I thought I had died and gone to work heaven. I was astounded, proud, and elated, but deep inside, my heart was trembling and sometimes I teared up. Because I’m old enough to remember what it was like to never be acknowledged for my true self.

I’ve been out of the closet for almost 50 years, and I’ve been pretty bold about it. I went to Gay Pride parades back when Harvey Milk was alive. I was part of a collective that published a feminist newsmagazine for over a decade. My wife and I had one of the first “turkey baster babies” in the early 80s and it was covered by a photo journalist in an article that went old-school viral over the AP wire. I’ve written intimate articles about my gay life. I have always considered myself out and obvious.

Still… amidst all that courage and rebelliousness, there was a pervasive hesitancy, a vigilant cautiousness, and yeah, fear. Even shame. Because I was a second class citizen. People who didn’t even know me hated me. Wanted to take away my children. Shut me up and make me disappear. And even those who loved me didn’t quite know what to do with me. At my sister’s wedding, I was coerced out of the three-piece suit I’d so proudly purchased into a borrowed dress and heels. Our kids were nearly grown before my mother stopped introducing Kate as my “friend.”

Every day there were decisions to make about how to present myself. As bold as I was in print and parades, I learned to keep my head down at work and avoid talking about my personal life. In public, Kate and I didn’t hold hands or walk arm in arm. We still went to LGBTQ marches and events, kids in tow, but with fierce, protective eyes on the crowd, ready to shield our children from bible-thumping haters and taunting bigots.

So much has changed over these decades. Kate and I were able to legally adopt our own children. Register as domestic partners. Be married in some states, but not others. Then at last, our marriage was nationally recognized. A hurdle I had not even expected to see in my lifetime.

Being queer is almost normal now. Any really good TV series or movie includes at least one gay character who isn’t a psycho killer. I casually refer to “my wife” without a second thought. I proudly mention to strangers that I have a trans daughter. Being queer gets you bonus points for coolness. My town’s city hall has a Pride flag-raising ceremony every June 1 and flies Pride banners all month. I feel relaxed and open with my queerness almost everywhere I go.

And yet… everything is shifting from above. The current administration is determined to quell our joy. Trans rights and protections are the first target, starting with athletes and soldiers. Gay marriage is likely next. Anything LGBTQ-related has been erased from the White House website. The currently proposed budget cuts more than $2 billion from programs directed toward the LGBTQ community. The battleship named for Harvey Milk is being renamed. Hate crimes against LGBTQ folk are rising. Some red states have banned the flying of Pride flags from government buildings and schools. The Supreme Court has ruled that it’s legal to discriminate against queers if your religion tells you to. There is a constant barrage of anti-LGBTQ bills being proposed at the state level.

I’m so grateful to live in a community that feels safe and supportive, and I hope it remains so in the face of this brewing storm. Now, more than ever, we need affirmation. So when I see those rainbow flags on buildings and houses, queer book displays in the library, photos of parades and celebrations in social media, rainbow-painted crosswalks, I swell with pride. It’s a powerful thing to be acknowledged and celebrated after decades of scorn. I’m stirred with a complicated mix of joy, gratitude, and trepidation. I don’t know how far this slide backwards will go, but I’m determined to fight again for everything we worked so hard to win. In the meantime, please keep those flags a-waving.

© Jennifer Meyer. To reprint, please for permission.

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