I had recently been fired from a job as a newspaper critiquer for bringing up the fact that “Just Plain Outed” was not a good headline for a story about a college basketball game. So I was more than ready to protest for my rights as a lesbian.

It was my second semester as a Ph.D. student at Ohio University. OU is in Athens, in the rural southwest part of the state — just on the edge of Appalachia.

A preacher and his wife had begun soiling the campus with their vile hate speech during lunchtime. They parked across from the student union and verbally assaulted us. They talked about how we had to turn from our evil ways. That homosexuality was a sin in God’s eyes. That we were bound for hell.

So I parked my car right next to theirs and waited for the man — the one who did most of the spewing — to start preaching. At first I tried to drown him out with my car radio. When that didn’t work, I climbed up on the top of my car and began countering his hate speech.

I shouted that this guy was not a man of God. That God loved everyone. I’m not sure how long I was up there, but I loved every minute of it. A large crowd cheered me on.

It is one of the few moments in my life when I felt totally free and totally confident.

I think this was the moment when I truly began to find myself. I had never really had any confidence before this. I began to realize that I could effect change. That I could make a difference in society.

I became very involved in a Lesbian Avenger-type group that was working to bring awareness to campus. And I began to realize that I could be a great student.

I later served on the Graduate Student Senate and was nominated to run for president of that body. I didn’t. I wanted to focus on my studies. And on the Lesbian Avengers group.

Protest is a cornerstone of the democratic process. The first Pride Marches were in fact protests. On June 28, 1970, just a year after the Stonewall Uprising, GLBT folks weren’t sure what would happen when they held the first Pride March in New York City. But thousands turned out and the event returned year after year, spreading across the country and eventually around the world.

Today we have Pride Parades, complete with floats from companies like Walmart and Coors. But I would have loved to be a part of those early marches, when GLBT folks were literally fighting for their lives.

We’re still fighting for our rights, and protesting is part of that fight.

I defended my dissertation in the spring of 1999. I had worked hard on it, just as I worked hard teaching my classes. I learned so, so much. Knowing these things makes me realize that attending graduate school at Ohio University was a turning point in my life.

But my education took place in and out of the classroom. And my maturity came not just from teaching and researching, but also from rebelling. And I know without a doubt that standing on my car, shouting down that vile preacher, was maybe the most important thing I did during my entire time in graduate school. I highly recommend it.

Lynn Klyde-Allaman is a journalism professor who lives in Lafayette.