Sunday, September 25, 2011

Just Don't Call Me Late for Dinner

There was very little positive about my childhood.  My parents raised me with the expectation that I would be stupid and worthless; they always believed me to be just that.  It was the only way I could grow up that would fit into their conspiracy-laden minds.  I do not deny that we grew up poor.  I do not deny that we lacked some of the perks that accompanied wealth – like social status, and respect.  What I could never make peace with (as my parents had) was the idea that I had no chance for success because of who I was; that I would never make it in any endeavor because I lived on “the wrong side of the tracks.”  I also refused to believe that I was stupid.  I suppose that is where my trouble respecting authority began – I refused to accept the conventional wisdom that I was an ignorant loser.

There was very little positive about my childhood.  But I know that I learned a lot from my upbringing – granted it was a laundry lost of “NOT to do’s,” but learning is learning.  One thing that actually did stick with me though was my gene donors’ stated abhorrence for labels.  Throughout elementary school and well into my middle-school years, I was regularly and consistently recommended by various teachers to be placed in the gifted program.  My parents steadfastly refused to allow this – didn’t want it messing up my street cred.  Their reason was always the same.  They would inform the school that they did not believe it was in any child’s best interests to “label” her.  They believed such labels were a hindrance to constructive development.

This was their stated objection.  In truth, they were convinced that the school was wrong – that I was in no way intelligent or creative enough to be considered even average, much less gifted.  Oh yes, while they would never have said it to the school, they were always certain to let me know why I didn’t belong in a gifted program.  Still their stated reasoning resonated with me (I guess knowing that they did not believe what they were saying made it automatically credible to me).

I attended a birthday party last night.  It was essentially an LGBT event – well LGB and one T (me) – there were even some straight people.  All in all it was a wonderful time, and I am ever thankful to our hosts for having us.  There was one rather unfortunate event late in the evening that left a bitter taste in my mouth (a mild one).  One of our fellow partiers felt the need to ascertain everyone’s “status,” which came off like a very bizarre version of Duck, Duck, Goose.  We were all sitting around a table, and he counted each of us off as he pointed around the table – “gay, gay, gay, gay, straight, straight, gay, gay, straight…” and so on.  When several at the table attempted to correct him (he had determined my wife and I to be straight), he at first didn’t understand.  But when one very clever young woman pointed out that we were gay, because I identified as female; it finally sunk in.  But then he felt the need to get more specific with his labels, so repeated the game – this time specifying lesbians, bi, etc.

This was all in good fun, and no one was passing judgment; but still isn’t it odd that in a party of society’s outcasts, we feel the need to further segregate ourselves?  There are so many people, and so many otherwise disparate groups in the world who are united in one passion – their hatred for and condemnation of the LGBT community – that it seems like we should be finding ways to break down walls, not put up sub-dividers.  I am even coming to question the “LGBT” label.  I am proud of all my sisters and brothers, regardless of which letter they comprise.

Rather than focus our energy on understanding our differences, I think we should be focused on taking over this joint.  Straight Christians have been running this country for far too long, and look where it’s gotten us.  I think it’s about time we start deciding who can and cannot marry, and who gets to have their head blown off for defending our right to borrow money from China.  Seriously, I get that we should be allowed in the military if we want to be… but think about it Mary!  Let the backwoods bully who takes pleasure in beating up fags go get his ass shot off.  I’ll stay here and make cookies.

In the interest of my lack of interest, I am posting this one without proofreading or editing.  I apologize for the choppiness and any misspellingz my Mac didn’t fix for me.

Peace girlfriends!

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