Seven Decades of Pride and the Lessons They Taught Me as a Gay Man

How growing older became growing into authenticity, courage, and belonging

Imge courtesy of Max Templeton on Unsplash

As a gay man in his 70s, I am acutely aware that many people of my generation are not supportive of Pride. I’ve heard the comments: “I’m tired of seeing it everywhere,” “Why do they need a whole month?” and, increasingly, “Why isn’t there a straight pride month?”

Those words led me to write this reflection as a gay man who spent decades witnessing Pride, at times not understanding that it belonged to me. My understanding of Pride changed in important ways with age.

My goal is not to win arguments but to explain why Pride matters to me. I hope it encourages some to reconsider their assumptions. Maybe not. Either way, one lesson the decades taught me is that a caring society is where every person has a voice and is treated with dignity and respect.

The 1950s: The Lesson of Self-Recognition

Long before I knew the word “gay,” I knew I was different. I couldn’t explain it, and I certainly didn’t understand it, but I had thoughts and feelings that set me apart from other boys.

Most kids wonder if they fit in. For me, those feelings were weightier. I measured myself against them constantly without knowing why.

My challenge wasn’t just being different. It was carrying a secret before I even knew what the secret was. We grow up seeing reflections of ourselves in family, movies, books, churches, and schools. I grew up seeing myself not reflected in others.

The lesson I wouldn’t understand until much later was that authenticity begins with self-recognition. Before we can share ourselves with others, we must first understand ourselves.

The 1960s: The Lesson of Fear

My grade school years hold fond memories. Like many country kids, I suddenly found myself surrounded by classmates after years with only a handful of kids nearby.

During these years, the secret began to come into focus, even though I still had no name for it. The stories I read and the examples around me all assumed that boys liked girls and girls liked boys. Jack and Jill. Dick and Jane. I saw those reflections everywhere. What I never saw was myself.

That absence told me all I needed to know. Whatever I was feeling was something I should not talk about. Fear of being discovered. Fear of disappointing my family. Fear of rejection. Fear took root long before I understood its power.

Looking back, I realize that much of my grade school years was shaped not by being gay itself, but by fearing what being gay meant.

The lesson I learned is that fear is a powerful prison. Years later, I discovered that self-acceptance begins when fear no longer gets the final word.

The 1970s: The Lesson of Authenticity

I refer to my high school years as my hidden years. I knew what the word “gay” meant, and to me, that was shame. To protect myself, I learned how to hide. I became the smart kid, the nerd, the shy student who stayed out of the spotlight. At the time, it felt necessary. In many ways, it was.

Many LGBTQ+ people of my generation are experts at managing multiple versions of ourselves. There was the version friends knew, the version family knew, and the version we kept hidden from nearly everyone.

For years, my survival depended on carefully controlling who knew what and when. People who have never had to hide a fundamental part of themselves don’t realize how exhausting that is. Maintaining a double life requires enormous, painful emotional energy.

The lesson I learned is that the energy spent hiding can never be recovered.

The 1980s: The Lesson of Courage

By the end of the 1970s, I had come out and begun accepting who I was. The 1980s became a decade of learning how to live more honestly.

What many people do not realize is that coming out is rarely a one-time event. Every new person and every new situation presents the same question: Can I be out here?

Throughout the 80s, I came out cautiously, finding affirming friends, community, and confidence. I met the man who would become my husband. Today, we celebrate 37 years of shared lives. By the end of the 1980s, I was no longer asking that question.

The lesson I learned is that courage is rarely a single dramatic moment. More often, it’s small steps of deciding to choose honesty again and again.

The 1990s: The Lesson of Community

The 1990s were the decade when I finally put fear firmly behind me.

I was in a relationship; I did not hide and was authentic in my openness. I discovered that being a gay man meant more than accepting myself. It meant speaking out for others who deserved dignity, equality, and respect.

That realization began my years as an advocate in and out of the LGBTQ+ community. I found it first in my faith and through people of faith who shared those same values. The shy kid was no more.

The LGBTQ+ community was also changing. The movement became more inclusive of bisexual and transgender people. The AIDS crisis increasingly came to be understood as a health crisis rather than a “gay plague.” Pride became more visible and the symbol of that LGBTQ+ visibility.

The lesson I learned is belonging and advocating for community matters. We move forward more when we choose community over silence and isolation.

The 2000s and 2010s: The Lesson of Persistence

At the dawn of the millennium, LGBTQ+ equality was much more visible and accepted.

For decades, LGBTQ+ people watched their humanity debated publicly, our marriages challenged, and our basic rights voted on, litigated, and argued over. For most Americans, those rights were simply assumed.

Progress came slowly, but it came. I was able to legally marry my husband, out of state, and not in my church. In 2015, the Supreme Court recognized same-sex marriage nationwide. For us, it was a milestone we once thought impossible.

Pride celebrations grew larger and more visible. Businesses, communities, and allies joined the parade. I helped create an employee resource group that played a role in expanding the understanding of the challenges that LGBTQ+ employees face in the workplace.

The lesson I learned is that justice often arrives later than it should, but persistence matters. Progress may be slow, but it is still progress.

The 2020s: The Lesson of Freedom

I won’t pretend the 2020s have been easy.

In the second half of this decade, Pride and LGBTQ+ visibility and acceptance are once again the focus of cultural and political conflict. Questions of identity, religion, belonging, and equality are being debated in ways elevating division over understanding.

I recognize something familiar beneath those debates: fear.

It is the fear I sensed as a child in the 1950s and the fear I spent decades overcoming. Pride has always been a response to fear. The fear of living unseen. The fear of rejection. The fear others were taught to feel about people like me.

Today, I refuse to let fear define who I am. I continue to speak and write not from anger, but from experience. I hope to be someone who helps others move beyond fear and toward understanding.

The lesson I carry forward is simple: Fear no longer defines me.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

What strikes me most at 72 is how each decade brought its own challenges, and how those challenges eventually became lessons.

When people ask what it has been like to grow older as a gay man, I tell them my aging gracefully gay is the story of becoming fully who I am.

Fear taught me resilience. Hiding taught me authenticity. Coming out taught me courage. Community taught me belonging. The continuing struggle for equality teaches me persistence. Aging teaches me freedom.

That is what Pride has always meant to me. Pride is not about believing I am better than anyone else. It is not about demanding special treatment. It is not about a parade, a flag, or even a month on the calendar.

Pride is what remains after fear loses its grip. At 72, I have come to believe that growing older is not simply about adding years to my life. It is about finally coming home to the man I was always meant to be.

Happy Pride!