It’s Pride Month. I’m happy to see your logos turn into rainbows. I’m happy that our allies, both privileged and marginalized, wave flags and retweet and offer up their safe spaces. I also want to talk about what this month means to me. Every spring I get bashed in Toronto. Friends have jokingly referred to it as “the spring bashing” — the weather gets warm, so car windows roll down, and someone calls me a faggot from a moving vehicle. Every year, since I was 14 years old.