The iconic rainbow crosswalk across Davies Street in the West End. Hard to believe it was only made permanent in 2013.

We started going to Pride parades about 10 years ago. At the first one I was moved to tears by the older participants who were fully expressing their true selves. How sad it is that people have had to, and still do in many cases, deny who they are. While we all, to some extent, put filters on our true selves in public, I have never had to pretend to be something other than a white, heterosexual female. My inside matches my outside, although my inside is younger, fitter, thinner, prettier and more accomplished than my outside. I also remember seeing the family members marching for their gay sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and being incredibly moved by them too. So many people don’t have that support. Going to Pride parades is a small way for us to support this community.

Firework lights, strung in the trees along Bute Street in the West End. I took this photo last year, I don’t know if they are still there.

We’ve had some interesting experiences at Pride parades. At one of them we were sitting on the curb and it was hot! I was wearing a black wrap-around dress, which I opened to almost flash the guy on a float with a water cannon. He laughed and obliged me by aiming a spray directly at my cleavage. Another time we met two older women who were at their first Pride parade. Their husbands wouldn’t come. They were quite giddy and were particularly pleased to see penises, having been married so long and presumably only seeing that one penis for many, many years. Yet another time we were sitting on the curb in front of a hotel restaurant patio. There was a group of gay women with babies having breakfast. They were talking about what any other couples with babies would talk about, except… One couple told the others their conception story. They had done it the “old-fashioned” way. I leaned back to hear better. A male friend came over to their apartment, left a sample and then they used it. Yup, that’s the old-fashioned way to make babies.

One year we were near the end of the parade and had a great spot. When the parade came into sight, an elderly Asian woman pushed her way in front of us and set up her lawn chair. No problem, we were standing and could see over her. But we were pushed back a ways, and had to lean if we wanted to see past her. Another year we were near the beginning of the parade. We were sitting but so many people came to stand in front of us that we had to get up and even then we had a hard time seeing anything. Last year we went to a venue that over promised and under delivered. The day was saved by a friend who flouted the rules and got us a good viewing site.

We saw two Pride parades in Edmonton, when we were living in Leduc. They were smaller and more sedate, well as sedate as a Pride parade can be, no penises. I remember seeing the NDP contingent, Dale calls them “my people”. It was about 30 people. I joked that they were all the people who voted NDP in the province. The guy beside me laughed and agreed. However, I had the last laugh as the NDP later formed the government.

This year we got very lucky. We found a great parking spot and so I didn’t have far to walk. Good thing because the day before we had walked over 7 km, from our hotel to downtown, downtown to the fireworks and then back to our hotel. I found a great shaded spot on the curb. We set out our blanket and passed the time playing Scrabble on our iPads. As the start of the parade grew closer, people came to stand behind us, but they were polite and didn’t push. When the parade got to us, two little girls squeezed in to sit on the curb beside us. They were careful not to infringe on our space, and were so polite. They sat quietly and only got candy and other items when the parade participants came to give stuff to them. They put everything into their small ziplock bags, often looking up at their dad with big smiles. Later two older girls, in their tweens, pushed in and sat on the street just off to our left. They effectively blocked the little girls from getting anything; they were bigger and louder and more pushy. So we started getting things for the little girls, and soon the little one was leaning comfortably against me. I guess our message got through, because the older girls didn’t stay long.

We’ve seen inspiring things, interesting things and unusual things at the parades. We’ve seen politicians and political parties, but we never once saw our old premier. Last year we saw our Prime Minister, who walked pushing his youngest child in a stroller. A large vehicle with muscled men carrying weapons followed him. This year we saw our new premier. We’ve seen the Queen, or her facsimile. We’ve seen regular queens, fairies, radio station floats, hordes of bank employees and naked people roller-blading and biking. Every parade was joyful and peaceful and celebratory.

Liberal MP Hedy Fry; she’s been in every Vancouver Pride we’ve been to, rocking incredible costumes and high heels!

I once heard someone ask when heterosexual week was, since the “gays” had their Pride week. I looked at him in amazement. I replied that every week is heterosexual week. Then I asked: was he ever afraid to hold hands with his wife in public, has he ever had to try to blend in, not to appear different? He shook his head. And that is why we have Pride week. So that for one week everyone can express and celebrate their true selves, and so that soon they can do that every day, without fear or shame. We are getting closer to that. When we lived in the West End it was clear everyone felt safe there. Now let’s work on making sure everyone – without consideration of gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, religion, age, size, style of dress, or whatever – feels safe and valued all the time everywhere.

The rainbow light show at the end of Elton John’s concert. It was so beautiful.