Yea. I took my two year old to San Francisco's Gay Pride Parade this last Sunday.
It's funny; I didn't even think twice about it until people responded with such shocked expressions. Not shocked as in disgusted, just shocked as in "wow! really?! I'm not sure what to say next."
I did not even realize the parade was coming up until I invited my friend to dinner Sunday night and he told me he would be at Pride.
"Oh, cool. We'll probably take Celaya this year." That's what I thought. And that's what we did.
We woke up, we had breakfast, we packed up some light gear, and we took BART from Hayward to San Francisco. We arrived around 10:15 AM with the parade schedule to kick off at 10:30. We got off at Embarcadero, the first San Francisco stop, because we wanted to wander from one end of the parade toward the other until we decided to head home. We left around 1:00 P.M. when all the party people had begun arriving and lighting up their joints in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. When it was obvious that things were about to take a turn for the drunken and stoned, we took our cue that family time was over. It was time to leave.
And that's what we did.
It was all very matter of fact for us. We told Celaya we were going to the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco. And I have to admit, it was very cute to hear her say, "Gay Pride Parade" in her nasal little voice. I explained to her that sometimes boys marry boys and girls marry girls, and we were going to celebrate those differences. I told her the parade was about love. About acceptance. We had long conversations about Gay Pride all day long.
And for two days now my daughter has been talking about the BART train.
What did I expect? A highly evolved conversation with a two year old on civil rights and equality?
Not exactly.
This morning: "The speaker says, 'your train is coming soon,' and we don't go on other people's trains, and don't go past the bumps because the train goes 'VROOM!'"
Yep. Boys love boys. Girls love girls. And my daughter loves BART.
She did enjoy the parade of balloon people and giant balloons that clapped their hands. She danced to the fun music as giant speakers rolled by. She completely missed the enormous, fully erect penis that walked right past her father while she was on his shoulders. Her father did not miss it, however.
He freaked out a little.
It was a beautiful day and a beautiful celebration of love, of happiness, and of difference.
Difference.
This lesson is one I struggle to get across to Celaya on a daily basis. Celebrate difference. We examine different leaves, different bugs, different flowers, different cars, different body parts, different body parts on different genders: "boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina," she is quite fond of repeating.
Yes, Kindergarden Cop, they do.
We do also recognize different ages, sizes, "baby is small. Mama is large." Hey, hey, slow down there with all that "large" talk, kid.
We talk about countries and regions, Papa is from Mexico, one of her books is set somewhere in Africa.
And yes, we talk about color and sexual orientation.
Celaya has very brown skin. Many of the other children and parents at the playground when we are there have very white skin. Our friends and family also range from very dark brown to very white. Her dolls range the color and ethnic spectrum. Her dolls kiss. Her animals kiss. Her cups kiss. Everybody and thing in our house kisses and hugs. All the time.
So I take every opportunity I can to have discussions centered around celebrating difference.
Because we don't live in a world yet like the one Martin Luther King, Jr. foresaw when he said,
"One day youngsters will learn words they will not understand.
Children from India will ask:
What is hunger?
Children from Alabama will ask:
What is racial segregation?
Children from Hiroshima will ask:
What is the atomic bomb?
Children at school will ask:
What is war?
You will answer them.
You will tell them:
Those words are not used anymore,
Like stage-coaches, galleys, or slavery.
Words no longer meaningful.
That is why they have been removed from dictionaries."
I long for that day. I live for that day. And I prepare my child to live for that day.
But I also prepare her to fight for it. Because she will not grow up in it.
Children still go hungry.
Children are still segregated.
The atomic bomb still has lasting effects.
We are still at war.
Racism is alive and thriving.
And hate crimes are still a daily occurrence.
So my child will have to reach across the aisle. To work to not be consumed by ignorance. She will have to work to make a difference in the name of difference.
I will continue to teach her about ladybugs and saw bugs, about pine needles and oak leaves.
I will continue to teach her about black skin and white skin. About homosexuality and heterosexuality, and that there is much that comes in between.
I will also teach her about the effects of black skin and white skin on society, and of society on those skins. About the fight for equality that the LGBT movement has carried on for decades, and that still needs to carried on. If I want change in the world, I begin with me, which means I continue with my daughter. She must be a warrior for change. What is the alternative?
So, yes, I will take her to pride parades. I will take her to inner city parks and neighborhoods. I will not flee my urban area for the suburbs. And I will not think twice about it.
I will teach her to recognize difference, and to find the beauty therein, and then, hopefully, to reveal that beauty to others.
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