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It was my first Pride Parade - '90, '91 or thereabouts. A bunch of us had driven up to San Francisco for the day. Perfect Bay weather, sunny with a light breeze. We found a spot on Market Street to watch the parade.
As with all parades, there was the jostling for a vantage point, the fast food and sodas, the Ooops! watch where you step, and the camaraderie. Everyone loves a parade.
Eventually a low rumble echoed up Market. As it grew folks started clapping. The traditional lead off contingent of the parade was here - dykes on bikes - and the parade was on. What a great opening.
All sorts of groups followed. Plenty of guys in briefs and leather, which is what made the news, of course. Civic organizations, local social clubs, political groups and a few politicians.
The next big rumble came up the street. It wasn't the sound of motorcycles, but the roar of the crowd for a parade contingent. It was for PFLAG.
Everybody waved, each to all, and we yelled ourselves hoarse. Few had a dry eye.
These were our neighbors, our sisters, our brothers, our moms and dads. Our co-workers and friends.
It was the darkest of times for much of our community, and you all chose to show up. I'll never forget that.
Thank you PFLAG.
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