No one warned me life was going to be like this.  

But then again... how could they have?  

Like many of you reading this, I'm sure discovering your attraction to the same sex came as a surprise.   But, unlike most surprises this one you couldn't go running to your friends and family with that look of fascination gleaming in your eyes, and readily proclaim: "Look what I just got!"  

No for most of us, finding out we were gay, was like finding out we had just been diagnosed with some life ending illness; an illness that would surely send people (especially those we cherish) scurrying to their respective corners to catch their breaths and re-think their association with us.   So instead of relishing in our newfound self, we silently began the art of self-hating.

As a child your parents, friends, teachers, neighbors, newspapers and in some cases even your favorite television shows prepared you for your life as a person of color.   Each of them in their own way reminded you everyday that your life, because you were born un-white would be one of frustrations, limitations and uncomfortable situations.   They taught you how to avoid some of the trappings set up to keep you from becoming the man or woman you were destined to be.   They encouraged you to persevere, despite the innumerable limitations placed on you, because they knew through perseverance you would eventually discover strength.   And with strength you would become unstoppable.

When you're young and black there is a unique connection between you and others like you despite your age, demographics, or social standing.   There's a sort of camaraderie that's shared even if you've never been formally introduced.   There's a comfort in referring to a total stranger as your brother, or sister.   You feel at ease nodding your head in passing. That one simple gesture registers little to the untrained eye, but to the trained eye, the eye that knows the struggle as well as its pain, it says loud and clear: I see you, even if others don't.

Wow...what a feeling, to be loved; to be acknowledged; to be free.   All mind you for simply being who you are.   If only the same respect was shown to the LGBT community.  

Our children, your children, your brother, sister, cousin, uncle, niece, nephew, and aunt are treated like shit. Too many are thrown out of their homes, ridiculed, threatened, raped, and treated as second or third class citizens.   They're labeled misfits, abominations, sissies, faggots, dykes, everything and anything negative and derogatory. It's no wonder so many hide the knowledge of their sexuality within the corners of their minds, or why so many find themselves over-exerting their manliness, or woman-ness.   Who wants to disappoint their mother?   Their father?   Their best friend?   Who wants to be that one person everyone looks at during family gatherings and disapprovingly shake their head?    I'll tell you who, no-one.

When I discovered my sexuality I also discovered secrecy.   It was then that I learned to keep things from those I loved; to lie; pretend; deny and eventually hate who I loved, and what I had become.   When I discovered my sexuality I discovered that not only was it ugly to be black, it was disgusting to be gay.   Homo.   Faggot.   Batty boy.   Chi-Chi Man.   When I discovered my sexuality, I discovered that a person could actually kill themselves, if they really put their mind to it.

We Are A Representation Of Our Time

In the early days of cognitive theory, one thought to have mental incapacities was viewed as demon-possessed or characterized as senseless animals and were subjected to deplorable treatment.   Through astrological reasoning it was believed that insanity was caused by a full moon at the time of birth or at some point while a baby slept under the light of a full moon.   People found to be "lunatics" were often removed from society, shackled and subjected to what many intellectuals today consider barbaric tests.   But at the time the mass majority of "sane" people were content with these tests because the "lunatics" were no longer visible.  

Tests included such deplorable acts as submerging patients in ice baths until they lost consciousness, to executing a massive electrical shock to the brain.   Means to expel "mental crises" from patients included inducing vomiting and, the notorious "bleeding" practice, which called for draining all of the bad (lunatic) blood from the individual.   This inhumane practice normally resulted in death or the need for lifelong care.  

It took many, many years, but in time society's views of the mentally ill shifted.   Suddenly there was a genuine emphasis on protecting the human rights of the mentally ill that had for hundreds of years been overlooked.   Fortunately today tolerance and awareness replace what once was an open and shut "fuck you motherfuckah!!!!", case.  

Is it off to compare society's initial treatment of the mentally ill, to the treatment of lesbians and gays today?   Is it sufficed to say that we are indeed a representation of our time?   That our time now upholds the deplorable inhumane treatment of lesbians and gays?   

Ummmm,I don't think so.

Many of us attend church on a regular basis, and we cringe every time our minister calls our lifestyle sick.   We cringe the first time we hear a younger members of our family call someone a faggot.   And we should cringe every time we are in a club and a rap or dance-hall song blatantly uses the term faggot, batty boy or chi-chi man.   You don't know how many times I've found myself in awe, watching gay men and women gyrate their hips to sounds of: "Boom bye bye in a batty boy head, we do not promote no nasty man dem have fe dead..." The idea that one would promote, accept, tolerate and dance to a song that wishes them dead sickens me to my stomach.   Instead of rejecting others negative, derogatory opinions of us, we embrace them with openned outstretched arms.

In the case of homophobia, we are in fact a representation of our time.   To many we are still an abomination.   To them we are an anomaly; a glitch in the matrix.   The idea of love, genuine awe-inspiring love between two people of the same sex is looked at as impossible.   There are those who will tell you, your lifestyle is a choice, and that if you really wanted to, you could choose otherwise.   They have, and still perform tests to prove their theories.   "You can be straight!"   They tell you.   "You can be healed!"   But at no point do they promise you happiness.

Being a gay man is not easy; just like being a black man is not easy.   Society does not look favorable on either one.   But I secretly know one day, things will be different.   Today, now, the LGBT community is light-years away from years passed. Why just recently the Supreme Court of the United States of America handed down rulings banning previous laws that made it illegal to engage in homosexual sex.   And in Canada it was ruled two people of the same sex cannot be denied the right to marry.   And though it may seem things are not moving as fast as we'd like, we can however look forward to a future filled with endless possibilities.  

It gives me great hope to know one day, some young boy or girl will have the same support I had and still have growing up colored.   The kind of support that gathers up all those recklessly tossed to the side, and holds them close to their heart.

Yeah, I know its gonna happen, someday...

Each year, in every major city throughout the United States of America a group of Black Men and Women gather together to proclaim their uniqueness. They travel from near and far to meet, greet, and be with the many other who share their individuality. The marquee reads: Black

Gay Pride, but the attendees often suggest otherwise.

The first Black Gay Pride I remember attending was in Chocolate City, known to many around the world as Washington D.C., the Mecca of Blackness. When I boarded the Greyhound with a group of my closest friends I had no idea what to expect when I would arrive in D.C. some four hours later. But they did. They took to explaining to me just how big of an event Black Pride was for men of color. I was forewarned: "There will be men for days chile! Men, men, and more men. Young men. Old Men. Phine Men, and unfortunately," one of them began to chuckle, "a few ugly motherfuckahs." I laughed knowingly, because an event wouldn't be an event without a few dragons breathing down your neck.

The talk the whole bus ride was about men. The men they had there before; the ones they almost had; the ones they hoped to have; and the ones if their outfits were right would have that coming weekend.

Their constant banter got me excited, I couldn't wait to step foot off of that bus and land in the land of Milk and Honey. I wanted to sample the multitudes. I wanted to be there engulfed in the wonder of all the phine assed, chocolate motherfuckah's that promised to be there. But the bus was moving far too slow, and as the seconds crept into minutes, and the minutes into hours my excitement began to wane. We had initially considered the train, which would have gotten us there in a little over two hours, but some of our funds were low, so instead of splitting up and meeting up at the festival, we decided to do the friend thing and tuff it out together.

Somehow despite the uncomfortable seat, the nauseating smell seeping out the bathroom, and the kid in front of me crying every thirty seconds, I managed to drift off to sleep. I was awakened a few hours later by a shove: "Get up bitch, we're here!" I jumped up and looked out the window. I couldn't believe we had made it, finally. It seemed the trip had lasted six hours instead of the four and a half it did, but none of that mattered now. I was in seventh heaven.

After renting a car and making it to my boy Keith's house we jumped into high gear. It was almost eleven thirty and The Delta would not wait for our arrival. We had to eat, work out, shower, iron, dress, toss back a few drinks, and make it to the club all by twelve thirty/one o'clock. How the hell we were going to accomplish this was beyond me, but I was told it had been done before and ordered to believe it will again. Sure enough, an hour later looking good, smelling good, and representing BK to the fullest we stepped out of our rental and made our way to the line. Or, should I say multitude of Black men standing in front of what appeared to be a club. I mean, it looked like a club, but shit, I wasn't sure because I could not see the entrance. There were hundreds, no thousands of men standing, posing, cruising, smiling, laughing, and surprisingly having the time of their lives in the street, outside of the club. My mouth began to salivate as I made my way through the throng of guys and their near perfect bodies. I took it all in, piece by piece, and by night's end was happy to know I wasn't alone. There were a million others just like me, searching for satisfaction. Damn', what a life.

On Pride...

The weekend went exactly as my friends said it would. There were parties on top of parties; men, men and more men; and well, honestly, that's about it. On the bus ride home I couldn't help but ask: Where was the Pride? Did it lie in the ability to party all night? Was it hidden somewhere in the beat? Or maybe, in one of the many numbers I pulled? I did not know, yet, I could not let it go. The weekend was built up to showcase pride, and yet, all we did was party. Was this Black Pride?

For the next few weeks, and even years, I would ponder this question. Pride after Pride I witnessed the same behavior. Clubs, sex-parties, hotel group scenes, all masqueraded as Pride. These were the reasons thousands of Black men flocked to these events. These were the reasons they prepped their bodies all year long. For them, this was Pride; this was the pinnacle, a weekend filled with sex, drugs, and alcohol, with little to no strings attached.

And then one day, I really got to thinking about the word pride, and its many meanings. One definition of pride sites a reasonable or justifiable self-respect as its core meaning. While another differs entirely: an ostentatious display; proud or disdainful behavior or treatment.

The Pride Movement is meant to encourage, promote and visualize the lives of Black Gay Men living in America. It is supposed to bring clarity to an unclear world that still sees us as an abomination, and in short, the reason behind the continuing destruction of the Black family. It is meant to unite us in brotherhood for one common cause, freedom. But I doubt many of us consider these truths as we gather our outfits for our cruise filled weekends. I doubt we consider this as we dance each night away, oblivious to the problems that continually plague Black Gay lives, not just our own. No, I honestly doubt we consider any of this.

One Million Strong

We are a proud people. We are a strong people. We are a people with economic power. We are a people who can, if we but try. We are a people on the brink of discovery. We are a people full of love and life. We are a people who will not take second best, when we can clearly see first sitting just off in the distance. We are a people made by a creator who made all people. We are young men, old men, young women, and old women. We are self-respect, just as we are freedom. We are yesterday and today. We are strong, we are willing, and we are able.

I ask you all to take back Black Pride. Take it, and lift it up for the entire world to see. At each event there are seminars on safer sex. Discussion groups on learning to love your self. Presentations on how to deal with your family and your sexuality. Panels on how you and your partner can defeat the odds, together. This is Black Pride. This is why we gather. Sure the parties are cool, but they are but one facet that unites us in brotherhood.

Together we can make a difference. Are you with me?