#trans people can make the most unprofound moments profound

[toastybugguy]

This is a small, joyful moment I had during the D.C. pride parade last weekend that I just have to share.

We (me, my mom, my dad) are standing in the staging area to be in the parade. We end up standing there for quite some time waiting for the parade to begin, and in the same company group as us is an energetic late-teens-to-mid-twenties looking girl wearing the progress pride flag, who is accompanied by who I assume is either her mother or grandmother, an older transgender lesbian woman. She’s wearing a lesbian flag blouse, a stained glass patterned skirt in the trans flag colors, a large round sun hat, and sunglasses. She looked so fabulous, and I couldn’t help but notice her. There weren’t many people there in specifically trans apparel. I want to say something, but there is absolutely no casual way for me to express the emotions I feel when I see her— old, trans, happy, alive.

I, wearing my trans flag around my shoulders, was predictably too shy to say anything while we were in the staging area, despite the fact that we were near each other several times while waiting for the parade to begin. I could vaguely feel the same energy emanating from her when we were around each other, but neither of us said anything.

Then, the parade began. We had gotten moving and were walking for somewhere in the ballpark of just 5-10 minutes when the woman came up to me. She asked me if I wanted to help hold a banner (one of the three the company we were walking with had), and I turned to see the girl with the progress flag holding one of the rings on the end. She smiled widely at me and looked grateful to rest her arm when I said “Sure!” And quickly bounded off to rejoin the other lady. My mom was a few steps behind me, looking very pleased.

Only a few minutes later I felt a hand on my back, and because my mom does that all the time I assumed it was her, but come to see it’s the older woman again. She has the most beautiful, happy smile on her face, and says to me in such a gentle and genuine tone, “You look great.” I have a cape around my shoulders and I’m wearing trans-tape on my chest in public for the first time ever. Her hand remains on my back. I laugh, not because it’s funny or because I don’t believe her, but because I’m so happy I have no other way to express it. I thank her and tell her how much I love her outfit. She rejoins the young girl.

I hold that banner for almost the entire parade after that. By the end, I’m a professional at holding it with my one hand and waving a small flag with the other. My arms are tired, and I don’t care one bit. Occasionally, I watch the crowd cheer for the older woman as she passes. My mom and I pick out as many people behind the barricade holding trans flags or wearing trans apparel as we can— so many of them are young, younger than me— some with a parent— at that age when being trans exists with a couple people in your bubble, and they look excited but shy in the way I often used to. They are excited to be at pride, but are waiting to feel like they, too, belong there, the way a lot of trans kids are. I wave to every single one of them. I make a point of showing off my flag. Their faces light up every time. Each of them have the most glowing smiles.

There’s a way to connect it all. I picked this woman out of the crowd because, simply by being there, she was a reminder to me of trans people growing old, of living long and happy trans lives, of having loving families, of having a future. She picked me, a scrawny trans guy wearing my (our) flag like a faux superhero, out of the crowd because I am a reminder of trans people continuing to exist, of having a place. We pick each other out because we are members of the trans family. We are both a momentary expression of trans people fearlessly living. When that woman and I spoke, the day was ours.

There’s something so innate about being trans and seeing other trans people, especially those younger than you, and wanting them to thrive. I wave to every person donning the trans flag because a woman I didn’t know made me feel seen. I wave to them because there is no limit to how much trans people can touch each other’s lives. I wave to them because I want them to take up space— because my first pride was D.C. pride, years ago, when my friend was in the march and my mom and I clambered over the barricade at their request (I nearly fell; the hands of people in the crowd grabbed and steadied me. I never saw their faces.), and I had my shoulders hunched the whole time because, even on a day of community and acceptance, I didn’t know if I had the right to be there. They should know that they do.

Maybe on some level, this is why we choose to put a flag around our shoulders during pride. The trans flag is a cape to all of us who own it— it rests upon the same place the hands of our trans family do. And when this year’s pride month ends, the day is still ours.