The first time I felt proud of being a man who liked men was in 1980. I do not remember the exact day. I know it was close to my mother's birthday. We lived together: Mom and her five children. I was caught sucking a cousin of mine and, although I did not know it, this was caught by the cousin who fucked me and the housekeeper. I spent several years of my life imprisoning myself for liking being pissed off by my cousin and other friends my age. And of my city (s)! Of course, Recife and Olinda, then Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro and Brasilia could not be left out of my growth as a person and, especially, as a man who loves men. But, returning to the chat: I had already noticed that "there was an ox in the line". There was a heavy atmosphere in the air. I already imagined what was going to happen. My mother had said several times that she wanted to talk to me and not leave, because before going to bed she wanted to talk to me. Only she slept and I escaped and went to my parties at Bar Boleta, Bar Atlântico, Bar do Ninho, Sé, Conde da Boa Vista, Praça Adolfo Cirne, Rua Ulhoa Cintra (JesusTeChama), in Recife. The catch in these places were very good and we fucked a lot on the seafront in Olinda. But, returning to my first Pride, it was the day I decided that it would be THAT DAY D !. The day I would free myself from all the fears of being who I am. In the morning, when I wake up and go to the bathroom, do the usual thing, when I stand in front of the mirror, greet and say: "Good morning, gay man"! I confess that it was MY RELEASE. Anyone who wanted to, could call me chicken, fagot, deer, and fruity. None of this offended me any more. From that "good morning, fagot," nothing has affected me more than being who I am. That was my PRIDE day. August about the month of October 1980.