Parade Button

I still have the parade button from my first gay pride march. Against the background of a brick wall, black letters say "1979 Gay Freedom Day Parade and Celebration." That was 39 years ago, before the alphabet soup of LGBTQI and before the term "pride" was used.

The parade commemorated the 1969 Stonewall Inn riots, and the goal of the parade and movement was freedom, first from the laws against homosexual conduct that allowed police to arrest and beat up gay men and lesbians for daring to simply exist in public. And second from the concept of homosexuality as sin and disease, which justified shunning and medicalized torture in attempts to change the way God made us.

We who marched in the parade were angry about this mistreatment, but afraid that marching might make things worse. Coming out in public could lose us our jobs, friends, or family. Coming out is less risky nowadays, but still can be hazardous to one's livelihood or health.

Looking at the button makes me proud of how far the gay rights movement has come. But I'm afraid of the hatred and bigotry that have been unleashed by the 2016 election. We've come so far, but our boat is so small and the seas are rising.

Uniforms

Uniforms

I’m a sucker for a man in uniform. But not in the way you might think.

I was a big fan of the TV show JAG. It was an action and courtroom drama about military lawyers. The male lead was a Navy Commander and the female lead a Marine Colonel.

My favorite part of the show was studying their various uniforms. They were blue or white or khaki, short-sleeved or long, with T-shirts showing at the neck or stupid bowties for the women’s uniforms. Once in a while, one of the men would wear a sweater.

I tried to figure out the rules for when each uniform would be worn. Was it all the wearer’s duty station or activity? How much did the weather matter? What were the options when one was too hot or too cold? And what about dress uniforms? The Navy officer had spiffy dress whites, but our lady marine had to wear an evening dress at fancy events.

I was just fascinated by having a rule book to consult that took the decisions away from dressing. I’m told that Emily Dickinson wore a white dress every day to spare herself having to choose what to wear. She saved her brain power for her poetry.

I’m no Emily Dickinson, but I wear a sort of uniform to simplify my life.  Choosing clothes does not rank high in my priorities.

My criteria for clothing are comfort, variable warmth, pockets, and, finally, color coordination. My uniform is blue or black jeans, T-shirts under long-sleeved cotton or flannel shirts, and corduroy overshirts. The various shirts come in shades of blue, purple, and pink, so nearly everything matches. Each morning I choose the next clean shirt, match it with a T-shirt and a corduroy shirt, match socks to my pants, and I’m done.