This weekend was Pride Fest in both San Francisco and New York. I had straight friends attending in New York, and my wife and I, as well as her grandparents, and our in-laws, attended the Pride Parade here.

If you have never been, you are either a homophobe (you should look into that) or you are just plain  missing out. It is a beautiful and happy thing that lightens any day.

In San Francisco it is a part of our heritage. The Police Commissioner, the Sheriff, The Fire department, and the Mayor all march. The mayor even looks a little gay himself as he skips along ahead of his armored car taking every opportunity to let his city know he is still “that progressive guy”. But I think it really means something, just the same.

And in a larger context, Pride means something socially. I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of two Tenderloin street urchins who had come down to see what all the fuss was about. Pride was obviously not their thing, and they treated it like spectators, but they still knew what it was about, and were enjoying it just for the spectacle of it. They kept reveling in the constant surprise of who was gay.

“Oh, look at that guy with the cigar and the tutu! Oh check her out!” (Whistles and hoots at a large topless lesbian who is more than happy to return the glee).

The very interesting thing to me was that when you put homosexuality in the context of being accepted — for here we were amongst hundreds of thousands who had assembled to enjoy it — then its really not that big of a deal for anybody, including those who might otherwise choose to snub it.

If anything, Pride is a reminder to us all that love is at the core of lovemaking, whoever is doing that loving. And seriously, we have bigger issues to worry about as a people than who is shacking up with who.