as the gay pride march showboated on, a kinky haired squealer, probably two or three years old, was whooping it out in the surprisingly not so crowded and shaded curbside.
my not-so-kid-friendly friend, annoyed at this sideshow, asked me loudly where this kid's mother was. the mother, as if on cue, broke out of the ranks of the onlookers closest the parade route rail guards and tried to cajole the kid to come see the parade back with her. but this headstrong stumbler insisted on shrieking, at the same time stomping with his wobbly legs, a sunblazed patch reflected, perhaps, from an opened window pane of the tall building across.
despite all the garish costumes, the yet to be recognized colors, all the strikingly different faces and bodies parading on the main street, it's light that delighted this little boy.
but not for long, sadly. in a blink of an eye, this light investigator would be old and all he would care to see are the petty blindnesses the world had taught him to watch. soon, he'll just see that his skin glowing like caramel is not light enough for most anybody else and that the honest, sunny love between two men is better left a deep, dark secret that should never see the light of day.
