Despite the handy use of emotiocons, it’s pretty hard to tell when someone is glowing on the other side of g*chat. Happy? Sure. Glowing? Not really. But this morning my friend Liz is beaming right through the computer. Liz, by the way, is not a glowey kind of person. She doesn’t ‘beam’ on the regular. She’s sort of dark and twisty on the inside, very sarcastic – part of why I love her. She is also an activist, writer and directs an afterschool program for at-risk kids in Oakland.  But anyway, today Liz is glowey, and it’s endearing. It’s also easy to know why. Look out my window and you’ll know what I’m talking about – lesbians as far as the eye can see. Tall lesbians, short, dark, light, femme, butch, somewhere in between – there are lots and lots of lesbians. Most, I imagine, are making their way from 24^th Street or Bernal Heights to the other side of the Mission District to convene at Delores Park.  Today is Pride and more specifically Dyke March in San Francisco.

It’s a big day in The Bay.

Come meet us in the park, Liz says. We’re still on g*chat.

I’m not really up for it,” I say. And I’m not. It’s been a long week and I really need some Jessika-time. Happy Pink Saturday, though!

Yes it is! I love the Bay, she says. It’s okay to be gay. It’s still amazing to me.

See: glowey. And rightfully so.

For Liz, and many others for that matter, Pride is not only about the political; it’s about personal liberation as well. She comes from a family of devout Roman Catholics. Liz was adopted as a baby by parents who go to church every day. When she finally came out to them in her teenage years, well … I’m sure you can imagine. Mayhem. And to this day her parents tell her they love her, they just can’t accept her. But wait the story gets better. When Liz was a college student she sought out her biological parents only to find that they too were Jesus-freaks.

And I ask you, what are the chances?

But I guess a more important question is: how do people reconcile circumstances like these? How do they get through and heal?

I, for one, don’t know. I have a whole segment of my own family who once was Jewish and is now born-again (as in Christian) – like the real deal, praise Jesus and all that. They see me as a heretic because I am not a follower of convention and because I pay reverence to the natural world, to my friends and to my community instead of to one male god that I have never really connected with. In true right-wing fashion they are not above trying to scare others into believing what they believe, or saying things like: homosexuality is a disease, or even equating it to demonic possession. As a teenager and then as a 20-something (which is the last time I saw them) I was always told by the rest of my family to keep my opinions to myself and not stir up trouble. My father would sometimes kick me under the table. It was best just to tolerate their views. To ignore them. And I did do my best.

Now as an adult, I can tell you with certainty that it is NEVER best to tolerate ignorance. Not ever.

As I think back to all of this, I am amazed by Liz’s strength and patience. She has not cut off communications with her family, though sometimes she needs to take a break. She does, however, use the opportunity to try and educate her family and remains an advocate for queer rights through discussion, through humor, through honesty. She’s also not above sending her mother the occasional newspaper clipping about the possible links between soymilk and homosexuality.

Maybe that’s how I ended up gay? And she usually laughs. Though sometimes she cries.

But I digress.

Liz is back on g*chat now. She tells me she’s heading to Delores Park soon to join Dyke March. It’s a beautiful day in San Francisco – warm sunshine – rare.

Are you sure you don’t want to come, she says.

Nah, I’m really not up for it, I say.

She tells me about the pink bloomers she’s bought for the occasion and the matching nail polish, and I laugh.

There’s nothing like a park full of lesbians to cheer you up, she says.

I’ll be there in spirit, I say.

Okay, I’ll touch some boobs for you!

This is another reason why I love Liz.  She’s always thinking of her friends.