I’m greeted with the sounds of bands warming up in the distance and the occasional “Oh, I love your outfit” as I walk into the Mid-Missouri PrideFest Street Fair.
It’s a sea of rainbows and sweaty people – as it was pretty warm for late September.
One of those sweaty people is Art Smith who proudly wears a “Free Mom and Dad Hugs” tee shirt.
Art has given me a hug once a year for the past two years of my life, and because my dad passed away when I was 13 — he’s a warm presence in my life. I asked him how he got his start.
Art Smith: My wife actually saw a picture of a pride parade in Philadelphia where there [was] a couple doing this. And she said, Me, we need to do this and got a sponsorship got a booth, and we've been doing it ever since.
Alex Cox: As a queer person who lost their father. So it's a very special thing for me, for you to be out here and doing this.
Art: Just love for everyone, and particularly people, like queer people who are right now facing so much and you know, seems like all of the power structures are against them. And I just want to share some love.
Alex: For me, like getting to know that at least some dad is out here and supporting me. It's just so nice to hear.
Art: It's the best gig in town. I mean, you guys get hugs but think of all the hugs we got. What was your best hug? Oh, I couldn't tell you. I mean, so many deep, long, you know, hugs people crying. It just breaks your heart sometimes. It's wonderful.
Alex: I have a mic in front of you, and I'm out of questions you have anything else you want to say into it?
Art: I want to give you a hug.
After a good long hug, I continue walking around the closed-off streets. It seems impossible to go a second without seeing an affirmation that my queer identity is valid. Nestled just past a food truck selling various tropical treats, I see a familiar face sitting at a typewriter.
Averi Ralls is a poet who after a five-minute conversation writes a poem on the spot. I reminded them of the first time we met.
Alex Cox: So, I want to share something with you two years ago now I came to Mind Mo. Pride, I was deeply in the closet, and I sat down in this very chair, right across from you, and you wrote a poem about my gender identity. And since then, I've come out and I still, like have that hanging on my wall.
I asked why they do this year after year.
Averi Ralls: Stories like yours kind of remind me like how far those five minutes can go. You never know how far a poem can go.
Alex: Would you be willing to do a poem poetry conversation on mic with me?
Averi: Yeah, normally start by asking people like what's on your mind? Is there anything living rent-free in your head right now?
Alex: Yeah, what's kind of on my mind right now is like the moment pride and all of this is just like there's a bunch of little moments happening around me.
Averi: Yeah, for sure, and I mean, we chatted about those like circular moments, right?
After our conversation, Averi started clacking away on their typewriter and after a few minutes, they presented me with this:
I praise the circles in which we live – circles of family and choice. We grow and we change and we choose our own names. We see each other again, we find ourselves in the circle. We create ourselves in all our sacredness.
The poem will soon find its spot – right next to the first one – on the bulletin board in my room. Mid-Missouri PrideFest is held every fall and brings students like me together with the entire Columbia community.
