New York’s annual Gay Pride Day is just a memory now. The floats have been deconstructed, the costumes put away, and where the costumes consisted of bare skin, clothing has been restored. I am filled with memories, because I have witnessed, marched in, or traveled down Fifth Avenue on a float, in most of the parades of the past thirty or so years.

I really do think that the Gay Pride Parade is a positive, even wonderful thing. I know, first hand, how exhilarating it is to be standing in the middle of Fifth Avenue and, when looking uptown, seeing nothing but gay revelers, and sidewalks are filled with rainbow flag-waving friends, cheering us on. Frankly that part of the parade brings tears to my eyes, showing what a huge part we gays play in our city, our nation, and our world. Of course, we’re notorious forgrowing up feeling alone, fearing that there is no one on earth like us—and the crowds taking part in the parade are the living repudiation of that fear!

There is also plenty of fun and, even adventure. No one can resist the exotic and outrageously clad riders on many of the floats, wowing the throng as they sing and dance down the lavender-lined avenue. Such beautiful creatures, most of whom are not at all what they seem. What fun! Irresistible music, often Latina, pours from the various floats and everybody dances. The float that I usually ride on blares out Israeli music, including Hebrew versions of American pop hits. The folks along the sidewalks seem to like that, too.

Then, of course, there are the marchers—gorgeous guys and striking women, providing eye candy for everyone. I confess that I have a place in my...er...heart for a float filled with young fellas dancing blissfully in their underwear. There truly is something for everyone in our parade.

There’s even a sense of danger. Each year, in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and immediately across the street near the Rockefeller Center skating rink, are assembled our enemies, including "religious" groups carrying signs reading "Hooray for Aids" and "Death to Faggots!" Imagine this on the steps of what is supposed to be one of the world’s most capacious houses of God. One year, there were Nazis in full regalia on horseback, and carrying firearms. Those bad boys were quickly corralled by the police.

Speaking of the police, their demeanor towards us evolved over the years from barely pleasant, to often downright affectionate.

In sum, there’s really nothing to complain about where the NYC Pride Parade or any Pride Parade for that matter) is concerned. To those who say it presents gays in a bad light, I say, "Lighten up!" People who hate us would hate us just as much if our rolling festival of beads, bands, boobs and bottoms didn’t exist. Lots of people love drag queens.

Our friends and families seem to get as big a kick out of it as we do.

So, why might I hold back a little in my praise? What would I change? Well...it seems to me that we have so much to be proud of, not least of which is our high-spirited, good-looking young folk, who make the Parade what it is. But we can be proud ofso many other things that can’t be adequately marched down Fifth Avenue—our artists and musicians, actors, designers, doctors, you name it. And how about the memories of those who have sacrificed their careers, even lives, in order to fulfill themselves as part of the gay community—labor leader A. Philip Randolph and Matthew Shepard, among others.

This year, performer Kevin Aviance was honored during the parade for two reasons: he is a stellar entertainer and the victim of a shocking, recent act of vile and violent gay-bashing. And can we forget all of our brothers and sisters who died of AIDS. Surely, something more noteworthy than that perfunctory moment of silence can be arranged.

But, in the meantime, the NYC Gay Pride Parade is enchanting, thrilling, and exhilarating. And I love a parade.