I Wasn't Ready. And That Was the Point.

Gay Men's Chorus of South Florida. Broward Center. The Night That Opened Pride Weekend.

Nobody told me to prepare myself emotionally. Maybe that's on me. Maybe that's exactly how it was supposed to go.

I walked into the Broward Center for the Performing Arts for the first time in my life, and can we pause for a second on that building alone? Stunning. The kind of space that makes you feel like what's happening inside it actually brightens the world somehow? To be fair, I think all sparkling things and arts in particular brighten the world better anyway. Which, on this particular night, it absolutely did to the highest caliber of lumen.

What Was on the Stage

The Gay Men's Chorus of South Florida brought together over 200 voices for an evening that carried the full weight of what the LGBTQ+ community has endured, especially in Florida. This wasn't just a concert. This was a reckoning. A remembrance in many ways, but also a revival.

The centerpiece of the evening was the world premiere of Amor Eterno: A Requiem for Pulse, a specially commissioned work by composer Saunder Choi. Ten years it has been. Ten. And somehow, standing in that room with hundreds of fellow Floridians, surrounded by voices that refused to be quiet about it, all of that time collapsed into a single moment that seems like it could have been in my mind an eternity ago, though, in fairness, my timeline did get scrambled for a bit there between the brainwashing and, well, you know should know that story so I will stop there.

Joined by one of the state's most celebrated and liberated choral ensembles, honoring and remembering the 10th anniversary of the Pulse Nightclub tragedy, was also a beautiful tribute to Juneteenth. Together, there was a held space for the ongoing fight for freedom and equality. All in one night. All in one room. All necessary for our community.

What Happened to Me

I did not know what I was walking into, to be honest, because I had hardly had time to dress and run out the door to make it there on time. I genuinely did not know.

I wasn't ready for the emotion that poured out of me by way of silent sobs from the mezzanine. I wasn't ready for the wave of collective memory that filled that auditorium. Every Floridian in that room remembered that day. Where they were sitting. Who they were with. The waiting. The praying. The not-knowing.

To call it beyond words is an understatement, and I am someone who makes his living with words.

There's something that happens when you put art in front of grief that's been held for a long time. It cracks something open. The chorus didn't just perform for us; they permitted us to feel something together that our community has been carrying quietly for a decade.

The Joy That Followed

Because this is our community. And we know how to find our way back to joy, even as today we still overcome the odds against us. The show stopper, and oftentimes a panty dropper, Katy Perry's "Roar" had us alive again. The forever cult classic "Golden" reminded everyone in the building exactly who they are because I don't know a single queen who doesn't think she is golden, even on the darkest day. And by the time Gloria Estefan's "Get On Your Feet" hit, the whole room was standing, dancing, finding joy in these strange times. All of us. Together, like we should be.

That's the thing about the LGBTQ+ community that people outside it don't always understand. We hold grief and joy in the same hands. We always have. We know how to do this well because, for a long time, it's all we have ever known. Some more than others. Plus, we will always look good doing it.

The Fashion. The Vibes. The Front Row Mezz.

Let me not gloss over the important things.

The fashion divas were OUT. Full Mardi Gras energy. The date I came with was absolutely committed to his drip, and honestly? Who am I to tell him not to be happy? I support the vision. I support it fully, after realizing which battles are worth picking, and this was not one of them.

We also secured what I firmly believe are the best seats in the house: front row of the mezzanine. The full view. Every voice, every movement, every moment. I will be claiming that spot again.

The 7-Eleven Moment

The next day, Pride parade afternoon, it was pouring. I ducked into the 7-Eleven down on the Drive to wait out the downpour and looked up to find myself standing next to Gabe Salazar, Artistic Director of GMCSF, also in hiding from the rain that fell upon our parade, literally. Sometimes the universe just does that, I suppose.

I got to tell him what the night meant. In person. Dripping wet in a convenience store on Fort Lauderdale's most iconic stretch of road. I meant every word, fam.

What I Want to Say to GMCSF

Thank you.

Communicating emotion through art is a specific and rare kind of gift. Not everyone can do it. Not everyone is brave enough to try. You all do it at a level that leaves rooms full of people changed for the better, something I stand behind, as most of you know.

You are the heroes this community needs. The ones who show up not just to celebrate, but to witness movement and to honor. To carry names that deserve to be carried to shine brighter into tomorrow, the promise of all I know it will be.

To Gabe and every voice on that stage, every person behind the scenes, and every supporter of this organization: I see you. This community sees you. Keep going.

Pride started the right way this year. Be sure to support in the best way possible by getting your tickets for the next event today, I'll see you at the theater!

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