On Dyke Parade Eve.....

She was a handsome dyke. That’s an old fashioned notion these days: if girls are ‘butch’ they are told from a young age that they need not fear being a ‘dyke’ they are probably just ‘trans.’ I see these grown up ‘trans men’ at ‘pup’ nights now and then. Pups? (Do I have to explain everything to you?) Pups are the chosen identity for many of the gay young — especially those gay/bisexual/transgender people who don’t fit in. Grown men (many of them still boys in many ways) get dressed up as dogs and sniff each other and make out. Yes. Believe it, or not, it’s a gay trend. But lately the boy pups have been invaded by trans men, which is always a surprise to me, as when I go out to cruise (at ‘pup night’ or whatever) I’m looking for —you guessed it — um, dick.

So what does all this have to do with my handsome dyke friend? Well I can rest assured that she will not turn up at a pup night with her breasts bound, or cut off, as she is an old-fashioned lesbian thank God; she actually looks quite a lot like a beautiful boy, even at age 50, which is one of the things that always attracted me to her, though it’s more than that. (She’s a fabulous writer.) Anyway, she was telling me about her ‘lesbian hedge.’ I called it that (I don’t think she preferred the term) at her cottage, a giant hedge that she and her partner had put up somewhere on yard of their home away from home, for privacy reasons. Apparently it got too big and angered the neighbours, and now they have to deal with the twigs left from taking it down. A very lesbian concern.

All this was terribly appropriate because it was Pride in Toronto, and the eve of the dyke march. After our lovely chat I trotted off to the gay bar, expecting to have a somewhat lonely night. Pride is always lonely for me — as it is for all of us who worked so hard to establish the gay rights movement. We are now pretty much considered old news, or more likely bad news. And most of us — if we are blessed with resilience —watch the young (dancing in the streets with their blue hair!) with fond concern, knowing that they are discovering things we ‘elder’ gays and lesbians discovered long ago — but for the very first time. (Sigh!) If only they would ask us for advice.

But no. Like peace in the world —and sanity around issues of sex and gender — that is not to be.

When I got to the gay bar it was not quite hopping yet, so I sipped my drink and watched men take off their clothes. (It was underwear night, and gay men will use any excuse to take off their clothes!) There was a tap on my shoulder. “Sky?” This doesn’t happen too often, and it might be someone objecting to a blog like this. So I’m always wary. When I turned around I was simply befuddled. He said his name was ‘Sheldon’ (the names have been changed to protect the innocent). He looked odd: silver hair, lean, lovely looking bod, some s/m gear, and strange sunglasses indeed. It all became clear tho, when I asked if we had slept together. His furrowed brow: “I think so…once maybe.” “Oh, SHELDON,” I said, recognizing a past lover. It was very ‘Sheldon’ of him to imagine we hadn’t been lovers at all. Or maybe I had just imagined a big affair in my somewhat too fertile mind.

He told me everything. He’s a big professor now, and his area is ‘Trans and Indigenous Politics’ (as he is half-Indigenous — which I had quite forgotten). It turns out he has a huge academic career in what is perhaps the most productive of all modern turns of thought. He went on and on about colonialism, and all that we can and must learn about trans culture from Indigenous culture. But are all Indigenous people universally matriarchal and accepting of trans? — I asked. Are they a monolith? — I added.

He didn’t like that much. He liked it even less when I mentioned Harry LaForme’s recent article in the National Post (why didn’t he know about this?) I stood on my ancestral land and said what Carney wouldn’t. LaForme (the first Indigenous person to sit on the appellate court in Canada) is angered and insulted that Pro-Palestinian activists insist on calling Jews colonialists. I told Sheldon that it did not make sense to me either, calling Jew’s colonialists, when Israel is as much their own as Palestine’s. Also it’s a bit scary the way people are throwing the word ‘colonialist’ around as a synonym for anyone they don’t like.

All in all, as you can see, it was a typical Pride evening at the gay bar on Dyke Parade Eve. Fun was had by all. And if you’re asking (which I know you are) well, I did get laid —as so often happens at Pride — which is what it used to be all about really.

But I know we’re not supposed to say that.

YOU KNOW WHY I’M WRITING THIS? I have a new book out Shakespeare’s Effeminacy available on Amazon, and I wanted you to know! Please tell your friends!

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