by Travis Yaklin (he/him) Owosso Pride Board Co-Chair
In 2018, my partner Kristina shared a blog post and asked, “Can you get us a Pride flag by Halloween?” The message of the article resonated with me, but I was hesitant. I’d lived in Owosso since 2006 and had never seen a Pride flag anywhere in town — not during Pride Month, and certainly not on Halloween. As a bisexual man and lifelong resident of Shiawassee County, I didn’t feel there was much space for queer people here. The political climate only deepened that fear.
Owosso is a classic Midwestern town — rural, white, Christian, and prone to groupthink. I’ve had strangers at coffee shops assume I shared their far-right views, speaking openly about stolen elections and “liberal agendas” as if it were common sense. Conversations like that always left me wondering whether to engage or just grab my coffee and leave.
Still, I decided to go for it. I visited a small flag store in Flint, and to my surprise, the woman working there smiled warmly when I asked for a rainbow flag. I bought a 3×5 flag and chose the perfect spot above our front door. I even angled the landscape lights so the flag would be lit up after dark. But as trick-or-treating approached, I was still anxious — we live on a busy street that sees 400–500 kids on Halloween night.
Just before 6 p.m., something happened that eased my nerves. A neighbor came by with her grandson and complimented the flag, sharing that she had a family member in the LGBTQ+ community. I told her why we put it up — to let queer kids know that someone in their town sees them and supports them, even if they don’t feel it at home or school.
That night, I noticed a few disapproving stares from adults. But I also heard a handful of teens and tweens say things like, “I love your flag!” and “This house is awesome!” In their voices, I heard the affirmation I needed. It felt like I was offering something I never had growing up here — a moment of visibility and belonging.
The truth is, there are queer kids in our community right now who think they’d be better off dead than living as their authentic selves. The Trevor Project reports that LGBTQ+ youth are four times more likely to attempt suicide than their straight peers. Nearly half have seriously considered it in the past year. These aren’t just statistics from big cities — these are our kids, in Shiawassee County too.
That Halloween night marked the quiet beginning of what would become Owosso Pride. In May 2020, feeling isolated from COVID and inspired by those small Halloween moments, I wondered: Could we bring that same support and visibility to Pride Month in June? I reached out to friends, and together we crowdfunded enough money to buy 140 rainbow flags. We gave them away for free to homes and businesses, encouraging displays during a newly designated “Pride Week.” We also created ally posters that many small businesses proudly hung in their windows.
Since then, Owosso Pride has grown far beyond my expectations. We’ve gained community support, expanded our efforts, and created a stronger local network for LGBTQ+ people and allies. Personally, it’s helped me fully embrace the truth that took me decades to learn: that I love and accept myself exactly as I am.
If you’ve never felt seen or supported, let me be the first to tell you: I see you. And so does this growing, loving community.