pride (n.) — 1. the quality or state of being proud as a: inordinate self-esteem: conceit; b: a reasonable or justifiable self-respect; c: delight or elation arising from some act, possession or relationship (parental pride) …
From Merriam-Webster Online
“Pride” is one of those words I wrestle with from time to time, especially as it pertains to something of which I’m now part. (“Courage” is the other, which will be another post sometime.)
Since I now huddle unequivocally under the back end of the LGBT umbrella (in more ways than one), and since this is the big Pride weekend in San Francisco — and since I’ll be heading up there in the morning to take part in the Trans Rally/March in the late afternoon, and maybe I’ll return for the big Pride Parade on Sunday morning as well — it’s inevitable that the word comes to the forefront.
I have a feeling I have a slightly different interpretation of the word “pride” than a lot of people taking part in this weekend’s festivities, which might or might not put me at odds with a few. But just as Thanksgiving makes many think of all the things for which they’re thankful, this last weekend of June makes me think of what I have to be proud of.
I’m still trying to figure it out.