For one Saturday in St. Petersburg, Fla., a communion of men, women and their families hold hands. They celebrate the living and the dead. Banding together in the street, a medley of colors, ages and orientations celebrate the gay community.

But four men and a boy bent on disrupting a mass of thousands at the St. Pete Pride Festival on June 24 became the focus of coverage for the St. Petersburg Times. The headline on the front of the City/State section read: "Pride amid a protest."

Surrounded by St. Petersburg Police officers, the five protesters wedged through the large crowd. The men carried bullhorns and the boy waved a banner.

I wrote down the terrible words on their signs and remarks they made. I will not write them here.

I witnessed couples kissing in the shadow of the boy's banner, women yelling and still others barking dismissals. I heard some rude utterances from both sides and felt the chicken flesh of adrenaline on my body.

But if that were all I told you about that Saturday, I would fail to illuminate the ocean beyond five specks of resistance. Five people shouting against six city blocks packed with 220 booths and jammed curb-to-curb with people sharing sunshine and a cause.

Yet the chosen story presented to Times' readers began with a glimpse of drag queens and "lesbian bikers on Harleys" and spoke at length about a few drinks being tossed on a handful of protestors.

"I'm disappointed that the coverage reinforced stereotypes that this event has worked so hard to debunk," said Brian W. Longstreth, one of the founding organizers of St. Pete Pride. "Everyone had a good time despite the disruptions."

Bill Proffitt, information officer for the St. Petersburg Police, said that nothing out of the ordinary happened and that no one was arrested in conjunction with the festival, which drew an estimated 50,000 people.

Given that, I asked Times' reporter Shadi Rahimi how she chose the angle for her story. Rahimi responded, "I was there to report a scene piece about the news of the day, which turned out to be the protest."

Morris Kennedy, a night city editor at the Times who talked with Rahimi about her story before she wrote it, said he thought the story was balanced.

It is the job of every journalist to show the real story beyond the sensational one. I saw something on Saturday that dwarfed a simple conflict.

The last Sunday in June marks the anniversary of the 1969 Stonewall Riots - gays rose up against the police after years of discrimination - in New York City's Greenwich Village. This June, according to About.com's Pride event calendar, 38 cities across America held celebrations.

St. Pete Pride began three years ago and it has grown into what organizers say is the largest Pride celebration in Florida. The parade this year marched a mile from Metro Center through Seminole Park and east on Central Avenue to 22nd Street.

Cheers soared and clapping hands picked up the beat of Tito Nieves' "I Like it Like That," as the second-to-last group in the parade, St. Petersburg's own Righteously Outrageous Twirling Corps, danced, spun, tossed rifles and swung flags, stomped their combat boots, pointed to friends in the crowd, winked at spectators and changed formations - all in practiced precision.

The Twirling Corps, like the festival itself, is a hodge-podge of people from ages 33 to 58, gay, straight, married and single, from more than 6 feet tall to barely 5 feet flat. They own restaurants, manage the Saturday Morning Market, sell real estate, run local shops, support the arts and hail from almost every state in the union.

I noted the five protestors spilling blunt words as the parade passed. The Twirling Corps, more than 40 members strong on Saturday, blew into their silver whistles. The howl beat back the bullhorns.

And St. Pete Pride moved on.

Under the charm and the "parade smiles" are lives spent enduring intolerance, battling for equal rights, and defying stereotypes like "butch" and "effeminate."

"I came out when there were no pride parades. So when we first had Pride, it was the first time we could assemble in public and be, well, uninhibited," ROTC's Jose Perez said. "It was really magical.

"Now it is more of a celebration of where we've come versus where we need to go."

The story of Pride is the principle that all people are created equal and share a common light. Why that wasn't the story told, I don't know. Why a story about Pride needs to open with drag queens and motorcycles, I don't know.

I do know that St. Pete Pride cannot be "Pride amid a protest." That headline suggests a community that can be pinned down by the few bigots who fill our ears and poison our minds with stereotypes, ignorant commentary and homophobic jokes.

It pains me to see a stigmatized community's six hours of open celebration defined by the single weed in a garden of courage.

Click here to read our take on the St. Pete Pride Festival celebration.

Interested in more? Click here to see the related design project, "PRIDE: Not just a festival, more than a parade," or click here to see the related photo project, "Pride."

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