We do have pink flamingoes.
Like any self-respecting gay household.
Ours have weathered many storms and have lost much of their pink. But I hold onto them, because. Well, because I remember catching the eye of a man walking with his wife or girlfriend when we bought them at a garden show several years ago, and seeing the half-sneer he sought to disguise as a grin when he saw the gay couple buying pink flamingoes. And when he knew that I was watching him.
And I don't want to be that man or the world he inhabits. I want to be me instead. So I celebrate my pink flamingoes.
And I hold onto them just because. Because they're pink. And flamingoes. And pink flamingoes.
And this spring, they're living in a patch of variegated Solomon's seal that has just stopped blooming, gathered as a flock about to take flight, stepping warily with their long, skinny legs through the foliage.
A reminder of who I can be--of who we all can be--if we walk where Solomon walks and try our wings now and again.
