Two days ago, when I told my father that I intend to take my kids to the Pride Parade and the Happening in the gay center at Meir Park, he said to me, that perhaps I should spare them these sights. He expressed concern that the things they will see might affect their sexual identity.
We’ve been through enough along in our lives, so I was able to accommodate such a statement without having to make it cause a rift between us. But I did point out that there is a family area in the happening, with playground and Gymboree, and that most of my friends, gay fathers, will be there with their children. This is an opportunity for Michael and Daniel to meet a lot of happy children like them (or, as I have explained to my boys, ‘children who have only a father, or two fathers, one mother or two mothers’).
But this morning, when I said to the kindergarten teacher that I might take my boys earlier from the kindergarten, to the Gay parade, she answered me with exactly the same sentence my father said. “Maybe they should not see these things,” she said.
“You’re just like my dad,” I told her, letting her know that she is not the only adult who thinks like her in my immediate vicinity. “Which things do you fear they will see there?”
“I do not know,” she replied, “Last year I saw guys with a thong in the parade,” and waved toward the back of her body.
“This is what the media shows,” I told her, “but the truth is that it is not what you see in the parade. Besides there will be a family area there, and I believe it is important that my children will meet children like them.”
I left the kindergarten. I went to the gym, than to the market and back home. As usual, as soon as I got back home from the market I washed all fruits and vegetables and immediately put a pattern of grilled chicken into the oven. If I don’t, I might forget the chicken in a bag in the refrigerator, and it will get rotten.
So I found myself cooking, and then I set for one hour, re-writing my next novel. I had to go out again within an hour, buy me medicines and pick up the kids from kindergarten. But on my way out of the house, I have decided to take them to the parade anyway
I packed a bag with water bottles and hats, sunscreen and fresh fruits, put on my Proud Father shirt, the one which the proud fathers Association produced last year and I went to kindergarten. When I entered the classroom I changed the children’s shirts and dressed the same shirts, ‘I’m proud of my dad, ‘ in front of the eyes of the parents and the teacher. I wanted them to know that not only that I am not ashamed of my life and my family, I am proud of it.
We went to a shaded corner of Hayarkon Street. We stood under the generous shade of one of the hotels there, waiting for the parade. In the meantime, we met my friends Muli and Gadi, and my kids played with them.
When the parade got closer to us we moved to the Charles Clore Park, where the parade ends.
In the very heart of the complex, the municipality of Tel Aviv set a families compound with Jazeera swells, in which the boys could ride horses with pedals, volleyball court swells and a shaded craft area, with tables and chairs for toddlers, markers and papers.
Under the shed we met a couple from South America. I’ve met them just once before. They sat a few seats in front of us, on the plane that brought us from India to Israel. They had a boy and girl twins, who were born in Mumbai. Me and my father were there with Michael and Daniel’ who were born in Delhi. And now we met, after four and a half years, under this shed of the Pride Parade in Tel Aviv, with four happy and healthy children. This is great joy.
At three o’clock, when the compound began to fill up, and the heat was unbearable, I told my boys that we are going home. Reluctantly they broke away from the magic of the parade, and I pushed the baby stroller in this terrible heat up the streets from the sea to our house.
I was happy because today is Pride Day, but also because I have managed to do fitness, go to the market, cook, write and take the children to the parade, for the first time (last year we reached the compound at Charles Clore Park only at five thirty in the evening, after the end of the parade). I have managed to take a glance in few adorable guys, and even sneak a kiss to a sweet partnered guy.
In the evening we went to grandfather’s, for a family dinner. We sat around a large table with most of the family, except my brother’s family Tal, and with us two Spanish dancers who are quests of my sister in law, Mijal, and her Flamenco company. My cousin Alex, from Ecuador, was also with us, together with his wife and children. The conversation around the table was conducted mostly in Spanish, and I thought to myself – who would have thought that on the eve Pride 2016, I will sit at my father’s table along with two other gay guys, sanctify the wine and eat chicken soup.
PS
I did not see a guy with thong in the parade. However, I did notice a young woman with bare breasts. This was the moment when I decided that we should go home. Vulgarity is a matter of education. Not of exclusion
thegaymomdad 