This past Saturday I attended the very first Pride parade held in a little seaside town in my home state. There’s a big parade in the capital, and the state is so small people in general attend that one. But this was the first one held in this quaint little town, surrounded by docks and ocean. My nieces were marching in it with their color guard team. Waving and twirling flags. My sister Jean and I started the day at an 8 a.m. lacrosse game, where my niece was goalie (heart-crack), and then we all piled into the car and drove to the parade. We forgot to bring a pair of shoes for my niece so she marched in her cleats. lol The parade went past in, no lie, 10 minutes. Maybe less. There were more people on the sidewalks than in the parade. This was somehow very moving to me. It was a fragile little parade, a small group of people, everyone knew each other, a small seaside community. There was a little parking lot by the dock, where everyone parked, and so the short little parade ended up in the parking lot, and so did the spectators, so it was a big crowd scene impromptu block party in the parking lot – the smell of the sea, that unmistakable smell that says to me “HOME”, and it was impossible to leave, because the crowd of laughing happy people, families, friends, kids, elders, and everyone in between.
A community taking care of each other. Celebrating each others’ joy, and showing up for each other. I don’t have people in my life who don’t live by those rules. These are my people. Real family and chosen family.