2013 was an extra special year for the LGBTQ community, when we watched DOMA fall just a matter of days before Pride weekend. The city roared ceaselessly for days. I can’t remember ever before attending a Pride Parade with such unending energy from the crowd and marchers. It was beyond celebration; it was liberation. The ground shook, love was electric in the air, and the cacophony of the thousands upon thousands of voices screaming together in Love & Freedom had the power to lift you straight to heaven. I moved my way up through the sidelines of the parade route stopping at random spots to capture the revelry. I ended up next to this little family of three who were undeniably the lead cheerleaders of that entire sideline section. They didn’t stop jumping and waving and hugging and cheering the entire time I stood next to them. Until the one lull between groups marching out in front of us. In that brief respite, one of the moms smiled at their son, then so tenderly rested her head back against her wife and closed her eyes. And I found myself, amid one of the most chaotic and uproariously celebratory environments I have ever been in, standing witness to quiet, calm serenity.