When I brought my kids to a Pride parade, they were overwhelmed at first. But I learned children belong at Pride.
As a queer woman, I always loved going to Pride celebrations, but I worried about bringing my kids.
My transgender wife, and I decided to bring them to a small celebration, and it was overwhelming.
But a chance encounter with a stranger helped me put Pride into perspective.
As a young queer woman in my 20s, I found it exhilarating to march down Fifth Avenue in New York City's Pride celebrations, joining the drumming, shouting, balloons, feathers, and sequins.
I didn't care if someone splashed their beer or bumped into me. I didn't have a care in the world at that time — probably because I wasn't a mom.
But my feelings toward Pride celebrations shifted when I considered bringing my two small kids.
I wondered if the march would be safe for my children
"I don't know. Should we do Pride with kids?" I first asked my wife, Stefanie, three years ago, which was the first year of her transition.
I wondered: What would Pride mean to our young daughters, then ages 9 and 4? Would the noise, crowds, and scantily dressed people be too much?
Pride is joyful, silly, and sexy — and also defiant and fierce. It's also important, especially to our queer family. When people shout, "We're here, we're queer," it's to claim a space for human rights. Of course, I want my young children to witness this passion — but there's certainly a lot to process.
Many of our queer friends with kids have celebrated pride for years and recommended a smaller, family-friendly Pride celebration, so we decided to join the throng in Jackson Heights, Queens.
Once there, I saw that we were hardly the only ones with a stroller. But when the marchers jostled that stroller — and its rainbow flag-waving occupant — the 9-year-old clung to my arm with fear. I wondered what we were doing. How could I be a responsible mom and also that carefree marcher I used to be?
When we bought our flags, the kids really got into the spirit of things. My youngest wanted the "all pink" one, and my older daughter picked the Progress Pride flag. My daughters were smiling — what kid doesn't love a parade? — but after a rowdy group bumped into the stroller again, I ducked into a pizzeria with the kids.
I left my wife to socialize with friends and savored the quiet moment with my kids, where I felt more like my "usual" mom self. As I cut up the little one's pizza and chatted about their favorite book series, I almost forgot about the march until the windows shook with reverberations from music on loudspeakers rolling by on trucks.
We then met someone who helped put pride into perspective
The next time I blinked, Stefanie was there with a woman shakily teetering on her arm. Stefanie's expression indicated discomfort as the woman dropped into a seat beside my younger daughter, slurring her words as she spoke of heartbreak and despair.
My heart sped up. I glanced at Stefanie. Should we get out of there? Was this woman's story going to scare the kids? Was it a terrible idea to expose them to a crying and drunken stranger?
"This pizza is really good!" my 4-year-old announced. "Can we get a balloon?"
"Of course, you can get a balloon," our visitor said kindly, even as she began weeping. My instincts told me we were safe. Seeing an adult in pain wasn't something we necessarily had to protect our kids from.
"You have a beautiful family. I would do anything to have a family like this," the mysterious stranger told us through more tears.
My daughters glanced at me. "It's OK," I said to them and also to our visitor. "It's going to be OK."
The woman's life story as a Latinx trans woman in Florida came tumbling out. She kindly declined our offer to share our lunch but gratefully refilled her water glass again and again.
My daughters might have been listening or might have just been drawing in coloring books. I don't know how much they remember about the chance encounter. When I ask them about our first Pride, they seem to only remember the after-party at a friend's apartment, where they played with a hamster named Rocky.
Even if they don't remember the day another trans woman joined our family meal, I am glad that this experience was part of our first pride as a family. It reminded me that Pride is about being there for your community — whether you're clapping for a cheerleading squad or holding someone's hands through their tears. And my kids were safe through all of it.
Pride is about strength, vulnerability, and pulling together as one big rainbow family.
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