Today is a very special day. Somewhat because this week has been very ordinary in the sense of what I have come to understand as NYC living. Also, because today I will be attending my first Pride Parade — something that if you told me I would be doing this time last year, I would laugh at you. I also would assume, if you told me on June 25^th, 2022, that I would be going to a pride parade a year later, that you were trying to be a little more than just funny.  I would assume you were taking a shot at me, my masculinity, and my sexuality, somehow, and I would feel as if I had to respond. This may be a crazy way of thinking, but it is very common within our society of fragile and toxic masculinity. Not that I am that uptight and hurt by the words people use, but just that this is so rare for me in actuality. And if I am being honest, I cannot say that selling myself on going was easy. I had for so long adopted the societal norms surrounding me, calling such celebrations “taboo,” “demonic,” or even “disgusting.” When some of Alexa’s friends asked, “why I am going” or “why I want to go,” I initially froze. Well, why did you want to go? This question was so much easier to answer alone, privately, without having to worry about my answer being good or respectful. My answer then was perfectly suitable because it was my answer. So, avoiding potential deep conversations, I kept my answer to her friends’ short, saying that I would like to experience the parade, because I have never experienced one or anything like a Pride celebration before. But there was more to that answer.

And to be honest, none of it is even that wild. The summarized, quick answer is also somewhat legitimate. However, the rest of my reason coincides with our seminar discussion on moral communities, specifically focused on how I can become more hyperaware and hyperactive within such communities. The LGBTQ+ community is a community that I have always excluded myself from. I am a cis-gendered heterosexual man. Any relatives that I have who are a part of the LGBTQ+ community, live or lived very closeted lives in the terms of sexuality. Lastly, I was not even always on board of the support behind this community. But I also was not always educated, and I was once was simply young, stuck in the echo chamber of my hometown, and deemed this “sinful desire” of these people to be too much for me to sympathize with. As if my own sins, or the sins of the people in my family, friend group, or community, who were so against this movement, were not equal and possibly even more troublesome, than people identifying as LBGTQ+.

I want to touch back on the relative aspect, because that is honestly when my perspective on all of this really, really changed. By the time I got to Duke, I had adjusted to being conscious of how I treated people and what I said to people. I also had accepted the new thoughts that exploring and personalizing one’s sexuality and gender was not a crime. I thank Duke for this, but Duke was not even as large of an influence as I give them the credit for. Instead, I have to credit my late uncle, Uncle Fabian. My Uncle Fabo, as we called him, knew how to light up a room in a way that I have come to copy in my own life, by making jokes about others. Not mean jokes that a bully would tell. But truthful jokes, facial reactions, and significant sound effects to the outlandish things he heard/saw. He also knew how to take jokes and make them about himself. I loved this about him and wish that I could walk into a room that he would be in right now, just to hear what he would have to say about my hair, or my clothes. He passed away the fall of 2021, during my sophomore year. That time was dark for me. That time was also when my family became comfortable expressing to me that he was gay. Why wait this long? I understand not wanting to expose that to me at a young age. In trying to go with God’s words, much of the Southern Black population has come to place being anything other than straight as being under the jail, except for rare cases, such as my Uncle. For many members of my community, their greatest fear was a child being exposed to such lifestyles early and proclaiming themselves at a young age as “different,” as much of my community referred to non-straight or non-cisgendered people as. Nevertheless, by the time that I was a junior or senior in high school, me and my older cousin Darius had put two and two together. So why did we not let Uncle Fabian live his truth in the community we had then? Or was he doing so, just in a community that excluded me and Darius? And why? When I look back, I do not believe that my family or community handled it wrongly. Besides the religious argument, it was also important to remember that we are Black. My community knew that as Black children, we already had our back on the wall. We did not need additional reasons to be discriminated against. I’ve come to understand the situation as a necessary evil in some sort, in which exposure to the realm of sexuality and gender had to be removed to protect one from increasing the difficulty of their live, even if it was living in their truth. It is also important to consider that women were the pillar within my community, and they were determined to prove to themselves and to their men that they could raise a boy into a Man. Simply put, a Man was straight. I believe that for sometime, and even still now, this way of thinking has caused single mothers to avoid exposing their children to the spectrum of sexuality.

After Uncle Fabo’s death and all of the mourning, I thought about this circumstance for some time, and I wished I could ask him about it. Either way, his bravery and understanding that he would have to alter his own reality around his 18-year-old and 20-year-old nephews is something that I wish did not have to happen. Of course, I was too young to really voice my input on such the decision, and I obviously was too young during his life to have a seat at the table that heard about his sexuality.

So, as a way of honoring him, and as a way of becoming more hyperaware and hyperactive in my moral communities, I will be attending parts of the parade today. The same way I intentionally try to avoid bumping into people, I should intentionally try supporting people and being a cheerleader for others, even those that are different from me that I do not know. Life is too damn precious to not be understanding and there for one another. Continuing, life is too damn lonesome at times, for me to not try to be the best communal neighbor that I can be. Yeah, that can be tiring at times— worrying about how good and moral you are being toward others. However, this is worth it; we are all here together, and that deserves to be appreciated.