Pride and Consequence
Pride and Consequence
Thanks to Apple’s Health App, I know that on a typical day I
walk 2.8 miles. Around the house, around the yard, around the office: I don’t
stop moving very often. When legs aren’t moving, the mind is. Given where I
live, most of the places I go to unwind or grab a bite are within walking
distance. When I lived in Orlando, many of my steps were home from bars as I
raced the sun’s rising. Now, a little older, many of the steps I take that pile
on top of those 2.8 miles are around my South Tampa neighborhood holding hands
with the man I love.
On our walks, we savor each others’ company, gather
landscaping ideas from our neighbors, stop to pet dogs along the way, and
wonder at the gravity-defying feats of squirrels in ancient oaks. We discuss
lizards’—a critter he has only come to know since moving to Florida from
Michigan—kaleidoscopic colors and the cirrus-dotted, pinking sky over Tampa’s
Bay as we walk its shores at dusk. We
are walkers and we are lovers. We count our steps together.
I was, at first, disappointed that we did not walk, in
celebration with my LGBTQ brothers and sisters, in last week’s Tampa Pride
Parade.
I was, at first, disappointed that we did not walk, in
solidarity with the newest generation of idealists, in last week’s March for
our Lives.
I am, too, disappointed that we were three generations
behind on walks with Dr. King in Selma and Montgomery.
I am, too, disappointed that we were countless generations
behind on marches, in which we would have locked steps, with women’s
suffragists, with greatest generation heroes, with blue-coated Civil Warriors
and Revolutionaries.
But then, I considered the important walks that I have taken.
I reflected on consequential walks, over the past eight
years, with the man I love: the walk
through downtown Tampa last July to the Hillsborough courthouse where we
registered as domestic partners; the walk through Publix, an otherwise
unspectacular shopping trip to get beer, cereal, and ground turkey, on the day
after the Obergefell decision legitimized our relationship; the walk out of my Orlando
home and into a new home in Tampa that was, not mine but, ours. I remembered steps
with him on Boston’s Freedom Trail, steps with him onto the glass-bottomed
observatory in Chicago’s Sears (Willis) Tower, steps from the airport arrivals curb
to the newly washed car that he picks me up in each Friday after a workweek
away. I’ve stepped with him proudly, through the streets of New York and Las
Vegas and Los Angeles and Cleveland and Charlotte and Miami and Detroit and
Atlanta and New Orleans.
Every day, wherever we are, is a pride parade. Each day
together presents another opportunity to show the world that our love is real,
that our love is legitimate.
We don’t need a spectacle to prove to the world that we are
proud. We are good citizens, serving our neighbors and our nation each day. While
we recognize the cultural value and historical relevance of Pride parades, we
also know that we have—in many ways because of the exhibition of Pride
parading—reached a point in America where our love is normalized. We know that Pride
parades in 2018 are celebratory victory laps for equality, not quite the
radical protests that they began as.
We walk in the throes of mundane exhibition: happy together,
in front of the world. Our walks together, sometimes hand in hand, sometimes rapt
in arguments about sports or politics or how to arrange the furniture,
sometimes in the presence of silent companionship, are our pride.
We are proud of each other. We are proud of our families who
have evolved in light of our pride. We are proud that we have walked Howard Avenue
in Tampa and Summerlin Avenue in Orlando without a moment of compunction. We
are proud of Orlando and Tampa and Florida and America, the places that let us
be who we are, together. We are proud of the steps that we, as a people, have
taken in the marches of progress—still progressing—toward greater freedom and equality
increased.
We are thankful for Apple apps and for knowing that our
health—as a couple and a nation—can be measured in steps. 2.8 miles a day is just
a start to a healthy heart and the love that it supports: moving one foot in
front of the other, all of us, together.
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