My path to pride and fostering pride in others.

 “Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

Jane Austen, “Pride and Prejudice”

Even though the month of June is behind us, I can’t help but have a bit of a happy hangover from all of the posts and messages about celebrating “Pride” during the month of June. Yes, I’m talking about (L)esbian, (G)ay, (B)isexual and (T)ransgender pride, or more correctly now, LGBTQIA pride. The QIA signifies (Q)ueer, (I)ntersex, (A)sexual.

I don’t often write about my own path to pride, but for this post I want to spend a few moments sharing a bit about my story.

The importance of pride

I spent a lot of time thinking about how to best articulate my thoughts into a title for this post, and ultimately I borrowed a quote from Jane Austen’s notable contribution to literacy, “Pride and Prejudice.” I think it sums up much of what I want to communicate from my place in the world right now about having pride in yourself and recognizing the importance of those who were there to foster a path to pride. Pride isn’t about vanity. It’s about recognizing all of the pieces of your journey. It’s being satisfied and owning the power that each piece brings to your experience in this life.

But before I offer my overall message, I want to share a few stories with you from my youth that are unforgettable to me. They are hallmark moments where I realized the Universe was doing what it does for all of us, creating a safe environment to have a healthy opinion of myself despite the broader societal norms at the time.

They matter to me because they happened at a point when I was trying to understand myself. Those moments when I was a young child or a young adult attempting to figure out how to maneuver and thrive in this life. They still matter now, even as I round the corner to my 51st year.

I’ll start with my favorite first, and I think you’ll understand why. It focuses on the love and acceptance a parent has for a child. The importance of allowing a child to be who they are, even if the parent understands that their child is embarking on a life that may be counter to the majority.

Recognizing my path to pride as a child

I knew at a very young age I was going to be different. I was going to be part of that questionable percentage of the population that identify as LGBT. Nobody seems to be able to put a number on it, and perhaps that’s ok.

When I was perhaps 6 or 7-years old, I realized that I had a different predisposition than my peer group of young boys. I didn’t participate much in sports. (One baseball to the nose – was all it took.) I preferred doing things alone and without the boundaries of group pressure. I had a few very close friends, but they allowed me to have the interests I did at the time and never seemed to judge me.

It was in the 1970s, and “Wonder Woman” of all things was my favorite show. (Yeah..I know, there were lots of young unaware gay children at the time glued to the television just to see Lynda Carter spin.) Perhaps there was something about Wonder Woman having two identities: one that was for the public, and the real person that she couldn’t show to others. Perhaps it was the strength and the resilience that Lynda Carter evoked, whatever it was, I was hooked.

That one night a week from 1976 until 1979 when Wonder Woman aired on television was sacred at my house. I glued myself to our one television, probably like a child now glues themselves to their cellphone. My parents allowed me to have the television every week, regardless of what else was playing at the time. I’m sure my father probably had his doubts about whether he should encourage that or not, but my mother always cleared the space for my favorite show.

One day after school, I was probably 7 or 8 years-old at the time, I arrived home to a gift box on my bed. I wouldn’t dare open it, so I asked my mother what was in the box. She told me it was for me and to find out for myself. Once she gave me permission, I tore it open immediately.

Inside was a simple red knit t-shirt with white piping and white sport-stripes on it’s short sleeves. It was a typical t-shirt for a child of my age. However, the real surprise was revealed when I removed it from the box. On the left breast pocket was a cloth patch of Wonder Woman that my mother had stitched on by hand. it was Wonderful Woman in a “take-flight” position – launching herself into the air with all of her necessary regalia: the lasso of truth, indestructible cuffs, and that tiara that turned into a boomerang or projectile, depending on the need at the moment.

Now imagine it’s 1977, and you’re a little overweight kid showing up in school wearing that shirt with Wonder Woman emblazoned on your chest. I learned then not to care about what people thought. It wasn’t due to confidence or vanity, but perhaps a tiny budding sense of defiance.

I loved that shirt so much. I wore it until it literally fell apart. My belly stuck out of the bottom as a grew in height and width. The Wonder Woman patch had to be stitched back on several times.

Eventually the shirt gave into age, even if I wasn’t ready to let it go. It represented so much more to me than just a t-shirt. I think my mother understood that each time she carefully restitched the patch, or washed it gently–she knew it was a small but important contribution to my path to pride. Perhaps it represented me in “take-flight” position as I prepared myself for adolescence and all that would unfold in my future.

I’m not sure why that memory stands out as a watershed moment for me. Perhaps it was my mother’s small but powerful gesture. She was encouraging me to be proud of who I was. Maybe she knew well before I did what life had in store for me. I didn’t know the words or the implications, but she helped me express them through my appearance. Whatever it was, it still brings a tear to my eye as I type.

Recognizing my path to pride as a young adult

When I was 17 and decided to move to California, I knew that I was gay. Strangely, I had convinced myself that moving would make me “not gay”. Being gay in Southwestern Pennsylvania in the 1980s was like being the bastard at a family reunion. You certainly weren’t welcome and barely tolerated.

I arrived in California and spent the first year trying to be “un-gay.” I took exhaustive efforts to not think about my attraction and desires, and even found myself in situations where I thought, “I can’t possibly kiss this girl..or do what? No way!” I was able to avoid the most distressing situations always with an excuse. “I’m just not attracted to that one.” or, “She’s nice, but I’m not sure we have the same interests.”

Again, the Universe steps in when you need it the most in a difficult situation.

When I was 18, I worked as a temporary employee at an office. Even with a full-time job, I needed additional income to pay for my apartment and my living expenses.

One day a friend of mine at the company brought me a newspaper clipping advertising a “Job Fair” at Disneyland that weekend. She encouraged me to go to see if there was something that would suit me.

I remember thinking about the possibilities. I could operate one of the rides or work in one of the shops on Main Street during the weekends. There I would meet many new friends, which was important to me. I didn’t really have many friends at the time. Overall, I was convinced it was a good idea, so off I went to the job-fair.

I remember being interviewed by a woman named Wendy. Isn’t that strange that you don’t forget those faces or names? That is always a sign of a magical Universal moment. We talked for 30 minutes or so, and she learned a lot about me. When she asked me what I wanted to do I remember telling her that I would take just about anything if I could keep my day job.

She surprised me at the end of the interview by telling me I would have a job at Disneyland, but before she assigned me one, she wanted me to go to the auditions for the entertainment department. She thought I would enjoy working there and that it might be a good fit. It just so happened that week they were holding auditions for the summer production of the “Main Street Electrical Parade,” a hallmark summer parade that had played for decades.

Now, I had just lost about 35 kilos (75 pounds) the last year, but I was not a dancer. I wasn’t even sure I could move in this newly found body, but Wendy encouraged me to try. She assured me if nothing worked out, I could call her and she would place me in something else. That day Wendy saw something in me that perhaps I didn’t want to see in myself.

So that week, with nothing but sheer terror accompanying me, I went to the audition. I didn’t even know what to expect. I fumbled through a few dance routines, and much to my surprise, I was cast in a small but life-changing role.

What was important about that experience, like so many other young adults that worked there at the time, was that Disneyland was the most open and gay-friendly place you could work at during the time. I remember my first rehearsal showing up and thinking, “I think most of these guys are gay, and they are comfortable with it. How did they get that comfortable?” It was the first time I was surrounded by a community of gay youth, and it gave me the permission to not just be open, but to learn how to be proud.

I worked at Disneyland for four-years, while I kept a day job. Many of the friends I made during those important years of growth I still keep in touch with today. I worked in the park in many parades, filmed commercials, and other entertainment events. That job gave me the chance to meet Hollywood celebrities, former US presidents and other fascinating people. I did all of this while growing into an adult who was proud of who he was becoming. Those years at Disneyland were instrumental in growing into acceptance and finding my path to pride. What a Divine gift it was.

Wendy’s suggestion that day at the job fair changed my life. She helped me find a path to pride when I was full of self-doubt and shame for who I was. I never saw Wendy again and regret that I never thanked her personally for her contribution to my journey. I imagine that’s how things work. People come into your life to lend you their shoulders to stand on while you find your space and and your path to pride.

Helping others find their path to pride

As I sit in Europe now, I’m reliving those moments that fundamentally gave me permission to be proud. I realize that the best thing I can do for others is to live an authentically proud life. My responsibility is to show others who may be awkward-feeling gay teenagers or adults that simply don’t understand, that’s it’s ok to be a minority of some sort. I believe it’s my duty to create the space for others to be who they are. Sometimes that means lending them my shoulders to stand on when their heads are not yet high enough to see for themselves.

In a world where we seem to be heading into a more divided society, I never want to be the impediment to someone feeling good about their uniqueness. I want to be a catalyst for their pride, no matter how different they may seem to me.

So no matter your minority (we all are the lesser of something), be proud of the sum of those pieces. Be particularly proud of those pieces that allow you to stand out. I’m happy that I didn’t have a choice to be gay or not. It is a part of my pieces. I can say with certainty that I would not leave that piece behind if I could do it over again. I may not love all of my pieces, but I’m sure as hell proud of the sum of those pieces.

Whether you are a LGBTQIA member, an ethnic minority or a religious minority, the path to pride isn’t easy. It’s a journey that only you can take, but there are helpers along the way. If you need to find strength, try finding it by helping someone else who needs to find their strength.

I celebrate all of those proud minorities who gather and march and cheer each other on to greater self-awareness, self-pride and self-love.

To a summer full of love and pride, be well my friends.