I know this girl who is in love with another girl and I know a couple boys who are in love with a couple boys. I know a white girl that is in love with a black man and I know a white man who is in love with a black girl.
The common denominator in that opening paragraph is love.
Sometime back in the mid-nineties I let my Oldman borrow my Cadillac when his Cadillac was in the shop.
(My Cadillac was his old Cadillac that he sold me when he bought the new one… the one that was in the shop)
On a Saturday morning in June during the Clinton administration, I decided to walk from my place on South Oak Park Avenue to my parents' house on South Lombard Avenue.
The distance was just under two miles. I was hungover from the night before and the walk would do me good.
It was just after eight o'clock and the early summer sun was already warm. Dads were starting to mow their lawns before the heat of the day kicked in.
I zigged and I zagged through South Oak Park that morning. I noticed more of the modest homes in the neighborhood were flying this new flag that looked like a rainbow. I wasn’t sure what it stood for at the time. Maybe it was a flag for an Oak Park club or political party?
I must have counted over a dozen of them between the southwest corner of Oak Park over to the east part of town.
I walked up the stoop and into the front door of our foursquare stucco house. The Oldman was in the family room reading the Saturday papers and smoking a cigarette. My stepmom was cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast.
“What did you walk over or what? You are sweating like a pig going to slaughter son! How many Old Styles for you last night?”
I grabbed a cup of coffee and a slice of coffee cake and asked my stepmom if she knew anything about all these rainbow looking flags.
That was the moment that I remember learning about rainbow flags and the gay community.
I told my parents that there must be fifteen gay people living between my apartment and the house.
My dad put his paper down for a second and said,
“You are an idiot! You don’t have to be gay…. It is a symbol of support!”
I gulped down my coffee and quickly finished my pastry, I grabbed the keys to the Jumbolac and skedaddled out of there.
My stepmom was a huge lib lab and my dad always liked being the Devil’s Advocate…. I didn’t need any shit from them. My head was pounding from a Friday night at Shanahans and I needed rest, not abuse.
Years later my wife and I bought a Pride flag for our home. She played rugby at Kansas and had several friends that were lesbians. I had a couple buddies and a step-brother that was gay.
So what the hell…. Let’s support them!
When I moved to Riverside, I bought a pride flag for the balcony and had a couple small ones in my flowerpots. I flew them in June those first few years at my new home.
Then the summer of Covid and rioting hit. Rioting and looting came as close as a mile from my front door. I thought it would be a good idea to take my American flag down the weekend when the Mall in North Riverside was ransacked.
The American flag became a symbol of hate for these idiots burning and looting cities across the country.
That was the day I decided to never fly another flag besides the Stars and Stripes. That next morning I put my flag back out on the balcony
I have a huge box filled with unused flags. I haven’t flown a Sox flag or Bears flag. I haven’t flown the Union Jack or the Saint George flag. No peace flag or Chicago flag has flown and the Pride flag stays in the box in June.
Just the Old Glory itself flutters over my porch. In fact it is flying out there this morning.
The death of George Floyd and the wave of separation across the country has made me standoffish.
These aren’t my fights. I’m only going to support my country. Nobody needs to know that I’m a Sox fan or a Bears fan or that I’m of English and German descent or if I support BLM, Biden, Trump or Han Solo.
I won’t lie to you though. I do fly another flag besides the red, white and blue. I fly the green, gold and purple of Mardi Gras.
Saturday morning I thought about putting the Israel flag out on the balcony to show support for the four hostages that were freed from their hamxs captors.
I let it go!
All of my gay friends and black friends and weird friends and tight ass friends all know that I fly the JumboLove flag for them.
I’m definitely not flying my Pale hose flag this summer. They suck ass!
Yesterday I drove over to my parents' house with the Shepkids. I like to check up on it every now and then. It’s still there even though a Shepley hasn’t been there since 2007.
I noticed the Pride flags on my ride between Riverside and Oak Park. Some of them had that extra wedge that popped on it four years ago. Thirty years later they don’t stick out like they did on that hot June day in the nineties.
I have one in my front closet if anyone wants it!
It’s a beautiful Monday morning. Go out and show love any fucking way you want!
….and be astonished!
