My first Pride parade was in Chicago in 1999. I was a wee baby dyke – actually, I called myself bi for a year before deciding I was a lesbian – and I wasn’t even out to my parents yet. My university, though, was incredibly queer supportive. Our LGBTQ group had joined a coalition of other Chicago metro area college groups, and we marched together. Somehow, I ended up getting to hold the banner announcing our group. That meant I was the first person the parade viewers saw, and the first one to receive their cheers as we marched along Halsted. I still remember the face of one older lesbian, probably about my age now, as she cheered for us and called us brave.

Brave? I didn’t think I was brave. I was a dumb kid, excited by this thing I’d just discovered about myself, happily joining the ranks of all the students on campus I thought were so, so cool. I was one of them now! I wasn’t brave. I was just trying to fit in and find myself.

A blurry scan of a photo is all that remains of proof of that 1999 parade. Look at my tank top. I already knew the lesbian dress code! I was such a baby butch!

Pride parades have changed a lot since 1999. They’re bigger, more corporatized, there are way more rules about participants throwing beads and attendees stepping off the curb. I remember the first time the Chicago police lined the parade route with barricades to keep attendees on the sidewalk. It was a safety measure, sure, but I felt something had been lost about the intimacy of the experience. (In Detroit, people walk right out into the street as the parade goes by. It reminds me of my first Dyke March, which was also in 1999. We’d gone to watch, and a few minutes in, we shrugged at each other, stepped off the curb, and joined the parade. Why not? We could be dykes, too, right?)

This year marked my 25th year of being out. This is a huge milestone! While I was watching the parade last year, I realized this and determined I had to march this year to honor that anniversary.

This year, I marched. We lined up perpendicular to the parade route, and because of all the ambient noise, we couldn’t really hear the crowd until we made the turn at the intersection of Fort and Griswold. As I heard them cheering, I burst into a grin that didn’t stop for the entire march. People were cheering for me, and all I was doing was being me. Just walking down the street and announcing my queerness, and people cheered. Could there be any more affirming feeling in the world that being cheered for being exactly yourself?

Detroit’s parade route is pretty short, just four blocks and a turnaround in front of the venue where the festival takes place immediately after. It probably only took us ten minutes to walk those four blocks down Griswold toward Hart Plaza, but in that short amount of time my cheeks started hurting from how big my smile was. I thought back to the eighteen-year-old college student whose first timid steps along the parade were her first steps into queerness. She didn’t see herself as brave because she was surrounded by love and support, but I think she had a lot more courage than she realized. Even in the most encouraging environment, it’s not easy to live one’s truth. And look how far she’s come: I now teach other college students their queer history and write books to share queer love with the whole world.

I will always remember my first Pride and always be grateful to the stranger who told me I was brave. Now it’s my turn to say it to the youth of today.

In honor of my 25th Pride, I’m giving away an autographed copy of The Queen Has a Cold. If you’d like to enter to win, all you have to do is post your first Pride memory on my Facebook page. If this year will be your first Pride, you can tell us what you’re looking forward to. I’ll enter all the names in a randomizer and select one winner at the end of the month. Let’s get a whole thread of great Pride memories going!