When one is in one’s Jurassic years, like me, it’s easy to stay home and ascribe the march down Peachtree Street to those with more sturdy knees. I’ve done that for years. Actually, I’m not a fan of Pride in October, but this is not about complaining, so I’ll just skip all that.
This year, though, the umbrella organization (Voices of Note) for a chorus I started 42 years ago was honored to be one of the Grand Marshals for Pride 2023. So there were representatives from the Atlanta Gay Men’s Chorus and the Atlanta Women’s Chorus on the float.
When the parade stepped off, the first thing I did was choke back tears. AGMC has participated in Pride many times (AWC is but 10 years old, so not quite as many), but when our float turned onto Peachtree Street, a rush of gratitude washed over me. I try to never lose sight of the many who have come - and gone - before us. Their souls filled me up yesterday, and a couple of times, spilled over.
Credit: contributed
Credit: contributed
Being in the parade is its own perspective. One gets to see the people who have chosen to be there to celebrate. The crowd was very responsive to the AGMC/AWC float. It was remarkable to me that there were so many parents with their small children, right there on Peachtree Street, ready to show them all that was about to go by. It was fun to get the attention of those kids and get them to wave back to me.
But there were others. It tugged at my emotions to see other men my age on the sidewalk - men who have lived to be my age and who I recognized from decades back. I saw one couple who appeared to be even older than me (I’ll leave it at that), both in wheelchairs, watching Pride 2023 go by. I wanted to know their story.
There were lots of women from the organization freemomhugs.org in the crowd. I tried to get their attention and flash the ASL sign for “I Love You.”
There were a few representatives from the damnation patrol, but very few. And no one could hear their misguided message over the swell of support for AGMC/AWC. At the corner of Peachtree and 10th, where the parade makes its only turn, there was the flower patrol. They had big flowers on long poles to cover up the hateful messages from these folks. I hope to be present when they are called to account for the damage they have inflicted. But I digress.
Then, there was the afternoon spent at the AGMC/AWC booth. The distinction here is that, first, it was us passing by the crowd. In Piedmont Park, it was the crowd passing by us; another way to see who was there. And who was there was fascinating!
I had a great conversation with a new VON Board member. The interest from the passing crowd about the next performances of AGMC and AWC was nonstop. We had promo materials to distribute for each chorus’ next performance and had run out of them by 6 p.m. when the booth closed up. There were many people who came by and had seen my “Make America Gay Again” cap on the parade route.
But mostly, those who were participants in the parade itself and those who came to Peachtree Street and Piedmont Park to cheer us on showed the world something. We showed the world how to do it right. There was diversity beyond your wildest thoughts. Young, old, every hue of skin, free expression of how they were dressed, lots of families with kids, walkers, strollers, wheelchairs, motorized scooters, every hue of hair color (was it just for that day? Who cares!) and on and on. And all that diversity, in all its manifestations being nothing but happy together and supporting each other. See, it’s really not that difficult!
Coming out is important. Unless we come out, the other side gets to tell only their version of our stories. By coming out, we insist on being seen for who we really are - warts and all - and it never squares up with the stories told about us. We get to tell our stories, in our own voices, on our own terms. And we do that by coming out.
I remember the first time at Pride many years ago when that determination - to be who I am - lodged with me. From that moment on, I was determined to derail damaging, negative myths told about me and my friends.
Here’s hoping that the same determination lodged with others during Atlanta Pride earlier this month. The support we saw can be every day - every day that we show up and show out.
Jeffrey McIntyre is a native Atlantan and founder of the Atlanta Gay Men’s Chorus. He is a retired church musician and has worked with several nonprofit law offices on social justice issues.
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