June 9, 2021

Pride Has Always Been About Defiance

Laurie Frankel, author of This Is How It Always Is (Oct ’18 Pick), on her favorite thing about Pride—the name itself

Pride Has Always Been About Defiance

Laurie Frankel, author of This Is How It Always Is (Oct '18 Pick), on her favorite thing about Pride—the name itself

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I love how celebratory Pride is, how as soon as it’s June people start wishing one another “Happy Pride!” I love how it’s not a history month or a week of observance or a remembrance day but a festive, love-soaked, parade-fueled season of joy. Is there anything that’s not improved by being reimagined as a rainbow? There is not. But my favorite thing about Pride is the name itself.

My twelve-year-old is the T in LGBTQ+, and I am proud of her indeed. A whole month dedicated to having pride in my kid? Sure thing. This is what mothers suit up for. It is not, however, saying much. When I used to demand of my own mother why there was Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but no Children’s Day, she’d say, “Every day is Children’s Day.” Every month is proud-of-my-kid month.

But my daughter is also proud, and that is saying something. First of all, having self-confidence at age twelve is itself a minor miracle. Second of all, she is blessed — me too — to live somewhere she can be out and proud. There’s a GSA (Gender Sexuality Alliance) at her middle school where she’s supported and embraced and learning to be an activist. Like most humans, lots of days she doesn’t think about her gender identity at all, but on the days she does, she doesn’t feel embarrassed, never mind afraid, never mind despairing. She feels pride in who she is. She feels a responsibility to help other LGBTQ+ kids whose path is not as smooth as hers. She feels eager to spread the word and change the world.

No wonder I’m proud of her.

I’m also scared for her though. This too comes with the mother territory. There is no one she could be and no place she could go that I wouldn’t worry about her. But it’s also true that 2021 has already set the record for proposed legislation against the rights of transgender people and especially transgender children. Kids like mine are being denied medical care. They’re being told they can’t play and can’t participate and can’t be part of what everyone else is part of, that they aren’t real and deserve less and should be ashamed of who they are, that they should be isolated, apart, alone.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to ignore — or, better yet, laugh at — the bullies trying to pass these bills. You can’t argue with someone who looks at a child and claims she doesn’t deserve medical care or inclusion or to be herself and loved for who she is. You can’t argue with someone who looks at the child by your side — the one who still stops to climb trees when you walk the dog together every afternoon and somehow wakes up with perfect hair and refuses to clean her room and whines about math homework and bounces on the sofa all through your movie nights — and says that she does not exist.

But on the other hand, bullies can’t always be laughed away or ignored. You can’t legislate someone out of existence, but you can legislate them into misery, shame, isolation, illness, violence, and fear. This is not the world I want my kid to grow up in. It’s not the world I want your kid to grow up in either.

This is how pride goes from mother love to battle call. It’s how pride goes from confidence in your twelve-year-old self to confidence you will grow up to fight to change the world. And if it introduces a note of outrage to the joyous symphony of Pride, that’s okay too. Pride has always been about defiance. My kid is proud to be in such strong company, to take her place in such a storied and courageous and necessary line. And, always, I am proud to stand by her side.