Exactly how do you define naked?

This was the topic of conversation Sunday morning on our way into the city for the San Francisco Pride Parade. I took Paris, who is 12, and her friend Zee. What a blast!

It was a quick 30 minute BART ride into the city. When we got to Oakland, the flavor of the passengers began to change. The A's fans got off and the Rainbow Contingent got on. More and more stops brought more and more tutu'd, leather-clad, tattooed, pierced, tie-died wearing people. And also more people with less and less on.

As we left the BART station Paris gasped audibly: she saw a woman wearing a mesh t shirt with nothing underneath. As we left the city she said, "Mom, was anyone out there wearing a bra today?"

I pushed Paris and Zee right up to the barrier to get the full parade experience. I felt like Switzerland where I was positioned: to my right was a demonstrative male duo. To my left stood a tourist couple, the man clinging on to his guide book and with a camera hung around his neck. In a slow, deep drawl he kept repeating, "This is just wrong." But he didn't look away either.

The Pride Celebration reminded me how lucky I am to be an American and especially a Californian. Yes on Prop 8 and all that. I'm happy to live in a place where people can march for what they believe in and show their real selves, or at least dress up for a day.