Every year Pride comes around and every year I relatively ignore it. I ignore it because I can honestly admit I have taken for granted the liberties of me being able to be myself without any real thought or regard to who came before me that made that very thing possible. The thousands of Men and Women who suffered and bravely stood up sacrificing so much to be heard and to be seen, which set into motion many things. Mainly brevity and daring, resetting of once closed or narrow minds, and much needed conversation and acknowledgement of who amongst the general population was actually gay and the value they held in ones life prior to the knowledge of their sexuality.
This year, with age and maybe even with this writing commitment I noticed I was examining many portions of my being that I may have glanced over and or just generally accepted. Part of that was the use of the word Faggot and the weight it held in my own life. My last memoir/essay talked about this very thing, and in the fashion of the universe responding to us in kind... I was faced with this very thing. Where there is a resistance in your life to something there is a lesson to be learned there and Life, God/Goddess, Universe is ready to teach you.
So I was on the 4 train heading to work and it was not your typical morning. There were some train issues and minor delays. This caused this particular 4 train to be rather full in the early hours of the morning where it normally would not be. In typical NY fashion people pile themselves in to the train car like a modern game of jenga and twister all in one. You ever see some of the angles one would put their back, arms, legs, and but just to fit into the cart and be on their merry way to their intended destination. This one black man, slight of height perhaps 5'7" with a lean yet muscular build and medium length dreds just barely touching his shoulder enters the car. He really didn't fit in but he made sure to squeeze his way in to the already tight and filled space by the door. I observe all this as I usually do when I am in any public setting. I need to see who is on this train with me, I take note of any characters I find interesting or not. Plus you never know if you on the train with "The Killer"... just saying. I go back to reading my kindle, I'm steeped into my sci-fi series I have been reading over the last 3 months. That's when I hear the mess 3 people down from me. By whom you ask? Why, none other than Dred man.
"Excuse me and I apologize. I aint into that gay shit. Thank you very much. No faggot shit for me thank you." My head snaps up in pure NYC nosey-ness he was not talking to anyone in particular just outloud and I figured the car train must have jostled as it normally and often does causing another man near him to perhaps bump into him or touch a place of him he considered his "privates". Look this is NYC, congested as NYC in a train car filled with people anxious to get to work or home you sometimes have to take the L, bite the bullet and put up with the close confines and movement of those crammed into the same car as you. There is no time nor need to get in your feelings unless someone is willfully and inconsiderately doing something to upset you and encumber upon your person.
This dude was being DAILY News... as in EXTRA EXTRA read all about it! He went on a tirade, a small 'I need attention' party.
"No faggot shit here. I aint no pussy boy. I'm a real man. I love the ladies. Faggots will not get into heaven. They are sick, and disgusting."
I promise yall, I was just trying to read my book and mind my business. My head started shaking in disbelief, I could not believe in pride month this Ass Hat was giving all of this. Before I knew what was happening I heard a familiar voice say, "Man shut the fuck up! Nobody wants to hear all that shit. Just shut the fuck up." I realized the voice was mine. I couldn't even hold that in, it was absurd to witness that early and unwarranted.
His first typical hood and macho reaction was, "Make me pussy boy. Faggot"
In that moment I laughed. I couldn't control it and I couldn't tell you from where it came exactly but it erupted out similar to my previous outburst. I was given images of this person, run ins with a man who would visit the family who molested this young man. A self hatred due to a desire to be close to other men and not understanding why and or how far. This was an individual ravished by a predator and his own confusion about what happened to him and possibly the whys. I have seen it a million times before. This was nothing to do with homosexuals but much more to do about his struggle.
Somewhere along my laughter I realized I wanted to be sad for him but the laughter at the toxic masculinity that permeates the earth that doesn't allow men to talk about their abuse and or be seen as weak and the need to puff up their chest and be loud and vocal about themselves to mask their fears and pain... its laughable to a degree. I paid this character all I could, in joy. He would not take that away from me, I responded in joy to his mess and other joined in with me laughing. We drowned out his spewing hatred with laughter.
Happy pride yall.
Saturday, June 10, 2017
Thursday, June 1, 2017
That F word #52essays2017 week 19
There is one F word that someone like me always hated and feared. Faggot. This word incited such an anger and such a fear in me as the heavy connotations associated with the word was so detrimental to ones reputation. Once called this vile word many men I grew up with felt they had to prove themselves the very opposite, if they were at all to be sociably accepted in some manner and or have a modicum of respect. I was no different.
I trembled whenever I heard the word. First time I heard the word it was my gym teacher of East Middle School in Brentwood, Ms. Brown. She saw something in me and despised it, I could only assume it was my homosexuality or what she perceived as such. I mean there was no way to assess such a thing, I was not sexually active nor was I one of those kids who had a date to anything or a steady someone. Socially I was a chubby kid with a smart mouth and a joke at the ready. I was known for my singing and ability to impress people with my large vocal range, being able to sing Jodeci, Tevin Campbell, and Mariah Carey with little effort. Even with this talent, I never felt I had anything worth noticing enough to make me popular or wanted by my peer group. The other boys around me all were athletic. They loved B Ball or Football or baseball. I most certainly did not. For one I'm not running unless a wild animal is in pursuit, or a deranged monster from one of these movies. I also never wanted to draw attention to my frumpy and plump body. I wanted to meld into the mix and be ignored. This dreaded fear to draw any attention to myself while changing in the locker room or how my little extra poundage jiggled when I ran. NO SIR! I would not willingly subject myself to that. This woman must have saw this insecurity, this awkward avoidance of anything physical within a group setting. She latched on to this and made it her personal mission to what I assume was to "toughen" me up.
In one particular class she was showing us how to dribble the ball. I had big feet and was not a coordinated young man by any means. I often could not get the hang of dribbling the ball in place without it hitting the tip of my sneaker and go sailing off and away from me. She looked at me, eyes squinting with disapproval and loudly blared, "Stop dribbling the ball like a faggot." She proceeded to grab the basket ball and throw it at my face. It hit me in my right eye and I felt so assaulted. Having always been one to finish what anyone started with me, I bum rushed her and snatched her heavy gym keys from her neck and proceeded to wail on her with them. That led to more than a few weeks in what the school called, In School Suspension. This allowed the unruly problematic kids to sit in a room the whole day and only eat one thing off the lunch menu... PB&J. And not just any PB&J... this Peanut Butter came in a loaf... that's right like a bread. It was dense and in a plastic tube-like binding. It was sliced from its cylindrical shape into a circle... think about that for a minute. So thick you couldn't even spread it. It just sat on your dry hamburger bun like a hockey puck. Every period a teacher, teachers assistant or elect student would drop off your classwork to you so you can be in the loop of what was going on in the class you should have been attending. I spent more time in the In School Suspension that in any actual classrooms.
WHy you ask?
My mouth and my temper. I was quick to tell adult and child alike that when it came to me, don't ask me shit. Mind your business was my tag line and mantra. I repeated that often, freely, and with much gusto. So far what I could ascertain from my social status was that I was a troubled child with no noteworthy physical features or aptitude.
My father was the next person to call me Faggot. In an attempt to teach me basketball and show me a "mans sport" the way I attempted dribbling the ball... again... and the way I ran after it after it got away from me incited an annoyance in my father who told me to be firm with the ball I was on control and to NOT go "running around with it like NO Faggot."
This was exactly why I hated sports. Why did I have to play games that consisted of hitting balls with sticks, or running with a ball through a field as people chased you to take it away? Bitch, have the ball it aint that serious. Each time I was forced to play touch football, wiffle ball, basket ball a piece of me became fearful. Why must I be subjected to being compared with my older siblings and other boys I could never measure up to? This was torture. I longed to throw on my cassettes and lip synch to my favorite artists while drawing illustrations of comic book characters that I conjured from the creative chamber of my imagination.
This word followed me through school. Each year some brave and silly soul would call me out my name or allude to my sexuality being anything other than heterosexual and in essence questioning this mantle I called manhood. I fought a lot. I body slammed, and punched and insulted my way through the ranks of offenders and all to be left alone. I assumed this being left alone, this second guessing by my would be adversaries was respect for my maleness, for this notion of this one identifying factor that I gave so much power to.. and yet I still felt alone. I still felt apart from the other boys and men.
As I came into myself more and into my sexuality and lived life I let go a lot of the pain and toxic mentality that centered around this idea of maleness. This effected my choices in intimate partners in that I didn't want anyone like me who was perhaps deemed "feminine" and less than, I wanted the regular boys I always wanted to be and would never. I wanted this fantasy of hyper-masculinity that I thought existed based on the narrative of life around me. I was the asshole with the " NO fems" ready to tell another man who may be interested in me and whose love and affection I probably could have benefited from, that they were not wanted simply because we were on the same side of not masculine enough. Can you imagine that? There are dating profiles all over the place that exclude the fats, the fems, and the like and yet the fats and fems don't want the fats and fems either. They want the abusers, the ones who hold power by embodying some fantasy of masculinity that in reality does not exist.
Mind blown as I look at how toxic this is.
I think about any oppressed marginalized people and groups and you will often see this reversal, in their seeking for freedom and the shift in privilege and power you see the desire to want to be the holder of the same power, wielding it similarly. I cannot determine if this is simply human nature or not but its scary to see the effects it has in our community.
I see it with lesbian couples too. The idea and notion of "masculinity" equates with power and aggression and therefore any woman who exemplifies something deemed "masculine" may be found more attractive to those who are not.
Things are never black and white, there are the gray areas and that must be acknowledged. There are the colorful and that too has to be acknowledged. One of my hardest things to come in contact with in my relationships was when to be aggressive both sexually and in general and when to be passive while not feeling like someone was questioning my manhood or diminishing it.
"So what I bottomed for you aint your bitch!"
Messy aint it?
This is the topic I would love to see amongst more men.
I recently came across those who embrace a moniker of Radical Fairies and Faggots and empower the word. I'm at a place now that I can totally take hearing that from another gay person but from s straight man I react with the anger of my youth.. This has just happened more recently. I have been public about the abuse by some in our spiritual community and some of the offenders have resorted to name calling. Namely the many slurs associated with my sexuality which held this underlying slight at my manhood.. I realized as I stewed in anger that I had not fully dealt with my thoughts regarding the illusion of masculinity and manhood from a perspective of male misogyny. I did not realize how much IM ready to still have to prove myself to people I can give less than two shits about and that are actual offenders and supporters of Domestic Violence. And I'm allowing my manhood to feel questioned and examined? LAUGH MY WHOLE ENTIRE ASS OFF!
I'm glad I have this outlet to write it all out and think about how these words will only have power if I allow them to, that these people who really aint shit should not rile me up so else I give them way too much of my energy and worse... peace of mind. No one deserves that shit.
I trembled whenever I heard the word. First time I heard the word it was my gym teacher of East Middle School in Brentwood, Ms. Brown. She saw something in me and despised it, I could only assume it was my homosexuality or what she perceived as such. I mean there was no way to assess such a thing, I was not sexually active nor was I one of those kids who had a date to anything or a steady someone. Socially I was a chubby kid with a smart mouth and a joke at the ready. I was known for my singing and ability to impress people with my large vocal range, being able to sing Jodeci, Tevin Campbell, and Mariah Carey with little effort. Even with this talent, I never felt I had anything worth noticing enough to make me popular or wanted by my peer group. The other boys around me all were athletic. They loved B Ball or Football or baseball. I most certainly did not. For one I'm not running unless a wild animal is in pursuit, or a deranged monster from one of these movies. I also never wanted to draw attention to my frumpy and plump body. I wanted to meld into the mix and be ignored. This dreaded fear to draw any attention to myself while changing in the locker room or how my little extra poundage jiggled when I ran. NO SIR! I would not willingly subject myself to that. This woman must have saw this insecurity, this awkward avoidance of anything physical within a group setting. She latched on to this and made it her personal mission to what I assume was to "toughen" me up.
In one particular class she was showing us how to dribble the ball. I had big feet and was not a coordinated young man by any means. I often could not get the hang of dribbling the ball in place without it hitting the tip of my sneaker and go sailing off and away from me. She looked at me, eyes squinting with disapproval and loudly blared, "Stop dribbling the ball like a faggot." She proceeded to grab the basket ball and throw it at my face. It hit me in my right eye and I felt so assaulted. Having always been one to finish what anyone started with me, I bum rushed her and snatched her heavy gym keys from her neck and proceeded to wail on her with them. That led to more than a few weeks in what the school called, In School Suspension. This allowed the unruly problematic kids to sit in a room the whole day and only eat one thing off the lunch menu... PB&J. And not just any PB&J... this Peanut Butter came in a loaf... that's right like a bread. It was dense and in a plastic tube-like binding. It was sliced from its cylindrical shape into a circle... think about that for a minute. So thick you couldn't even spread it. It just sat on your dry hamburger bun like a hockey puck. Every period a teacher, teachers assistant or elect student would drop off your classwork to you so you can be in the loop of what was going on in the class you should have been attending. I spent more time in the In School Suspension that in any actual classrooms.
WHy you ask?
My mouth and my temper. I was quick to tell adult and child alike that when it came to me, don't ask me shit. Mind your business was my tag line and mantra. I repeated that often, freely, and with much gusto. So far what I could ascertain from my social status was that I was a troubled child with no noteworthy physical features or aptitude.
My father was the next person to call me Faggot. In an attempt to teach me basketball and show me a "mans sport" the way I attempted dribbling the ball... again... and the way I ran after it after it got away from me incited an annoyance in my father who told me to be firm with the ball I was on control and to NOT go "running around with it like NO Faggot."
This was exactly why I hated sports. Why did I have to play games that consisted of hitting balls with sticks, or running with a ball through a field as people chased you to take it away? Bitch, have the ball it aint that serious. Each time I was forced to play touch football, wiffle ball, basket ball a piece of me became fearful. Why must I be subjected to being compared with my older siblings and other boys I could never measure up to? This was torture. I longed to throw on my cassettes and lip synch to my favorite artists while drawing illustrations of comic book characters that I conjured from the creative chamber of my imagination.
This word followed me through school. Each year some brave and silly soul would call me out my name or allude to my sexuality being anything other than heterosexual and in essence questioning this mantle I called manhood. I fought a lot. I body slammed, and punched and insulted my way through the ranks of offenders and all to be left alone. I assumed this being left alone, this second guessing by my would be adversaries was respect for my maleness, for this notion of this one identifying factor that I gave so much power to.. and yet I still felt alone. I still felt apart from the other boys and men.
As I came into myself more and into my sexuality and lived life I let go a lot of the pain and toxic mentality that centered around this idea of maleness. This effected my choices in intimate partners in that I didn't want anyone like me who was perhaps deemed "feminine" and less than, I wanted the regular boys I always wanted to be and would never. I wanted this fantasy of hyper-masculinity that I thought existed based on the narrative of life around me. I was the asshole with the " NO fems" ready to tell another man who may be interested in me and whose love and affection I probably could have benefited from, that they were not wanted simply because we were on the same side of not masculine enough. Can you imagine that? There are dating profiles all over the place that exclude the fats, the fems, and the like and yet the fats and fems don't want the fats and fems either. They want the abusers, the ones who hold power by embodying some fantasy of masculinity that in reality does not exist.
Mind blown as I look at how toxic this is.
I think about any oppressed marginalized people and groups and you will often see this reversal, in their seeking for freedom and the shift in privilege and power you see the desire to want to be the holder of the same power, wielding it similarly. I cannot determine if this is simply human nature or not but its scary to see the effects it has in our community.
I see it with lesbian couples too. The idea and notion of "masculinity" equates with power and aggression and therefore any woman who exemplifies something deemed "masculine" may be found more attractive to those who are not.
Things are never black and white, there are the gray areas and that must be acknowledged. There are the colorful and that too has to be acknowledged. One of my hardest things to come in contact with in my relationships was when to be aggressive both sexually and in general and when to be passive while not feeling like someone was questioning my manhood or diminishing it.
"So what I bottomed for you aint your bitch!"
Messy aint it?
This is the topic I would love to see amongst more men.
I recently came across those who embrace a moniker of Radical Fairies and Faggots and empower the word. I'm at a place now that I can totally take hearing that from another gay person but from s straight man I react with the anger of my youth.. This has just happened more recently. I have been public about the abuse by some in our spiritual community and some of the offenders have resorted to name calling. Namely the many slurs associated with my sexuality which held this underlying slight at my manhood.. I realized as I stewed in anger that I had not fully dealt with my thoughts regarding the illusion of masculinity and manhood from a perspective of male misogyny. I did not realize how much IM ready to still have to prove myself to people I can give less than two shits about and that are actual offenders and supporters of Domestic Violence. And I'm allowing my manhood to feel questioned and examined? LAUGH MY WHOLE ENTIRE ASS OFF!
I'm glad I have this outlet to write it all out and think about how these words will only have power if I allow them to, that these people who really aint shit should not rile me up so else I give them way too much of my energy and worse... peace of mind. No one deserves that shit.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Temper on the subways #52essays2017 Week 18
Living in NYC you get to people watch during your travel and get to have so much insight into many peoples behaviors and mindsets. I have been observant and witness to some of the most amazing and consistent displays of human compassion and kindness as well as the most base obnoxious and willfully ignorant outburst and behavior by people. This here is going to be one of those times I have witnessed something that disturbed me.
It all starts with me walking on the Fulton platform waiting for my A train to arrive and walking up the platform where I can get to a spot that will allow me access to the first 3 cars of the train. I observed this Indian boy of no older than 15 yrs old, sitting on one the railings underneath the stairs minding his own business and on his phone. This was a place many people sat and or leaned back upon as they wait for their train as seats are limited on the platform if at all present. This day was already rainy and damnp leaving people in somewhat of a mood that can only verge on tense or annoyed. This older white women walks by and her plastic bag pancho gets snagged on the knee of this youth. The pancho catches and causes a tear along its side between her arms and flank. She jerks a bit from the snag, looks at the youth trying to decide if he did it on purpose. He obviusly did not as he softly apologized. She walks away shaking her head, headed back down the platform on her unmerry way. By this point I'm just passing the young guy in my swift NYC stride. This is when I hear a ruckus erupt behind me. Would you know this woman walked back to this kid and started screaming and cussing at him.
"You shouldn't be fucking sitting up there. Get the fuck down from there you fucking idiot!"
The boy, eyes wide and very intimidated started to gather his book bag and move..
Enter me, Captain save a ho got up right in his face without looking at her and said, "you stay right the fuck there. You don't let no bully get in your face and tell you to move. She had plenty of room for her plump ass to meander and navigate where she was going. You stay right where you at and ignore her stankin ass!" At this point i shot her a glare and she shut the hell on up and walked away from him.
I want to know what warranted such an outburst from her towards the youth. Granted the kid could have been more aware himself of where he sat and perhaps the length of his legs as he was quite tall but there is no need to talk like that to that young man who already apologized. I could not help but wonder would she have talked to him this way if he was a white child? Did she realize she was just as unaware as he was in where they were at the time of their collision and interaction? She could have easily watched her surroundings instead of assuming he was ware and would move.
I often mind my business but I see it more and more as people tend to lose their good sense or consideration for train and or subway they share with other people. I see people who think nothing of your space and comfort as their need to get home or wherever they are going overrides all things including others.
Today a black man screamed at a Latina woman because every time the train moved her bag or arm grazed him and he was not one to be touched in a crowded train in the over populated NYC. She was standing with her reasonably sized pocketbook clutched to her side and he wanted to tell her how she should be standing so that he would not get "bumped". Wrong Latina though. While not the best display of wit or intelligence, she went into pure survival mode and decided to scream louder than him and tell him about himself and how miserable he is and where he needs to keep that misery.. namely not directed at her.
They went at it for a short while and then it died down. I stepped closer to her because I was not confident if this man would hit her and while I loathed the notion of having to put down my kindle and scrap on the train I was ready to defend this young lady if he tried anything. Thank God it never happened and I got to read some more.
Oh new York transportation perhaps one day will clean you up and get some order... or maybe a psychiatrist present on the MTA.
It all starts with me walking on the Fulton platform waiting for my A train to arrive and walking up the platform where I can get to a spot that will allow me access to the first 3 cars of the train. I observed this Indian boy of no older than 15 yrs old, sitting on one the railings underneath the stairs minding his own business and on his phone. This was a place many people sat and or leaned back upon as they wait for their train as seats are limited on the platform if at all present. This day was already rainy and damnp leaving people in somewhat of a mood that can only verge on tense or annoyed. This older white women walks by and her plastic bag pancho gets snagged on the knee of this youth. The pancho catches and causes a tear along its side between her arms and flank. She jerks a bit from the snag, looks at the youth trying to decide if he did it on purpose. He obviusly did not as he softly apologized. She walks away shaking her head, headed back down the platform on her unmerry way. By this point I'm just passing the young guy in my swift NYC stride. This is when I hear a ruckus erupt behind me. Would you know this woman walked back to this kid and started screaming and cussing at him.
"You shouldn't be fucking sitting up there. Get the fuck down from there you fucking idiot!"
The boy, eyes wide and very intimidated started to gather his book bag and move..
Enter me, Captain save a ho got up right in his face without looking at her and said, "you stay right the fuck there. You don't let no bully get in your face and tell you to move. She had plenty of room for her plump ass to meander and navigate where she was going. You stay right where you at and ignore her stankin ass!" At this point i shot her a glare and she shut the hell on up and walked away from him.
I want to know what warranted such an outburst from her towards the youth. Granted the kid could have been more aware himself of where he sat and perhaps the length of his legs as he was quite tall but there is no need to talk like that to that young man who already apologized. I could not help but wonder would she have talked to him this way if he was a white child? Did she realize she was just as unaware as he was in where they were at the time of their collision and interaction? She could have easily watched her surroundings instead of assuming he was ware and would move.
I often mind my business but I see it more and more as people tend to lose their good sense or consideration for train and or subway they share with other people. I see people who think nothing of your space and comfort as their need to get home or wherever they are going overrides all things including others.
Today a black man screamed at a Latina woman because every time the train moved her bag or arm grazed him and he was not one to be touched in a crowded train in the over populated NYC. She was standing with her reasonably sized pocketbook clutched to her side and he wanted to tell her how she should be standing so that he would not get "bumped". Wrong Latina though. While not the best display of wit or intelligence, she went into pure survival mode and decided to scream louder than him and tell him about himself and how miserable he is and where he needs to keep that misery.. namely not directed at her.
They went at it for a short while and then it died down. I stepped closer to her because I was not confident if this man would hit her and while I loathed the notion of having to put down my kindle and scrap on the train I was ready to defend this young lady if he tried anything. Thank God it never happened and I got to read some more.
Oh new York transportation perhaps one day will clean you up and get some order... or maybe a psychiatrist present on the MTA.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Clothes #52essays2017 Week 17
Today was great. I bought new clothes that were smaller than I'm used to buying. I tried on shirts I couldn't close before and can now close comfortably, and fitted jeans I could or would never wear. See, people my size didn't wear fitted anything.
Going shopping has always been a depressing thing for me to do. To look for cute clothes they never made in your size. Feeling taunted by racks and racks of clothes that were all the stylish rage but you could never fit into. The myriads of clothing marked your size but definitely run smaller than average not only wasting your time in trying them on but dealing a back handed sinister stab to your emotions. Marked XXL but really a medium large.
There were moments in a dressing room I stared in horror as the shirt i just tried on did not lay on my thick built body but instead clung to mounds and dimples I tried hard to ignore. It willingly punted me to every problem area I avoided. If i stood still enough and listened i could feel the clothes laughing at me. They carried the mirth of the manufactures who must have owned this moment. My own private humiliation. Tears have often streamed down my face as I looked at myself in these intimate private moments. I would never be stylish, I would never be cute..i couldn't get the clothes I want I instead had to settle on whatever could close and button around my rotund frame.
Frustrated,defeated and annoyed as I would leave clothing stores.. wanting nothing more than to head to the food court for a will placed taco bell meal or Auntie Anne pretzel.. fuck it I can't fit these clothes anyway. Might as will eat the goddamn carb laden food available and accept my date as the frumpy fat die with the cute face.
This day though, this day was different.. I got jeans i liked and they fit. Clothes I was going to throw away that didn't fit me last summer I was able to keep. This is new, this feels good. While I don't feel remarkably attractive by any means it felt nice for once in my 34 years of shopping to actually feel positive about clothes shopping.. feeling stylish or dare I say Cute.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Brothers mine #52essays2017 week 16
I can tell you that me and my brothers rarely had a relationship when we lived together or when we lived on our own. The interaction was arms length at best. I do not know if it was the age difference, or the emotional baggage that comes from being half siblings, or the sibling rivalry and growing pains of normal family structure. All I knew is that I felt estranged from them my whole life. It is odd I got older one day having not interacted with them in such a long while and here comes my mother with an altered reality of life and how our whole childhood supposedly happened, reminding me that I should call my brothers and see how they are doing. UURRRR!!!!!!! :Record scratch: what was that mother? Why would I call and speak to family that never really acted as such. My earliest memories were of being picked on almost every moment. The smile spread across the face of a sibling as I got my ass beat for something I did or something I was blamed for by the smiling sibling. Or the teasing and constant reminder of how fat I was or how Girly I was, or how different I was. It is odd I would somehow be asked to forget this to hold on to a notion of brotherhood that existed only in the fantasy of one mothers mind. Do not get me wrong, I do not hate or never not loved my brothers. There was an obligatory love that one learns growing up as one is reminded of the importance of blood relatives and family. However, I could not have talked to my brothers and be just fine.
When we did speak it was always the same awkward conversation of them asking me the same questions, "How are you? Still work in the hospital? Still work for radiology? Still singing?" This is it, the only questions they could ask because this is all they knew of me in all of my life on this earth. I worked in medical and I sang. Remind me again why I needed to get involved in this so called relationship?
It is then I started thinking of mortality and my mother aging and feeling if her and my father leave this earth they would really like to leave behind an actual functioning family. A legacy of family members that can stick together and carry on some semblance of normalcy. But what if our normal was this? Divided and individual aware of each other and there in theory?
I recently connected with one of my brothers as he got a new girlfriend and his first child, my niece and its beautiful to see him being a father to not only her but to his girl friends son. It strikes a familiar cord as my father raised my brothers who had their own father from my mothers first marriage. Maybe this was the legacy that was supposed to be left behind. The responsibility, the good morals to step up to the plate as you take on a new family.
This got me thinking what was my legacy? This set me down a whole new slew of thoughts.
Legacy and me? Hmmmm
When we did speak it was always the same awkward conversation of them asking me the same questions, "How are you? Still work in the hospital? Still work for radiology? Still singing?" This is it, the only questions they could ask because this is all they knew of me in all of my life on this earth. I worked in medical and I sang. Remind me again why I needed to get involved in this so called relationship?
It is then I started thinking of mortality and my mother aging and feeling if her and my father leave this earth they would really like to leave behind an actual functioning family. A legacy of family members that can stick together and carry on some semblance of normalcy. But what if our normal was this? Divided and individual aware of each other and there in theory?
I recently connected with one of my brothers as he got a new girlfriend and his first child, my niece and its beautiful to see him being a father to not only her but to his girl friends son. It strikes a familiar cord as my father raised my brothers who had their own father from my mothers first marriage. Maybe this was the legacy that was supposed to be left behind. The responsibility, the good morals to step up to the plate as you take on a new family.
This got me thinking what was my legacy? This set me down a whole new slew of thoughts.
Legacy and me? Hmmmm
Monday, April 24, 2017
Stockholm is a summabitch #52essays2017 week 15
Stockholm Syndrome is a mother fucker. I will not even understand how it happened and why it is even an actual thing.
My recent run in within my spiritual community has been a known domestic violence abuser and offender who many have ignored and or turned a willing blind eye too. One of his wives was a woman I spoke to over the years and a friend of friends and I just found out now since she could not speak of certain things until the divorce was finalized. Having viewed this mans pleas to guilt and her first hand accounts of some of the things she had to endure as his wife and mother of his children.
Me and a few others decided to put this ass on blast all over facebook and bombard his page and groups he uses to target women. We posted and tagged everyone we cold and can and have continued to.
This awareness has allowed other victims to speak up and tell their stories and thank us for our voice and the safe platform for them to tell their truth and perhaps relieve some of their burden they have not been able to share.
Low and behold my friend called me to thank me as someone who was molested and in physically abusive relationships. She called to tell me, that while I may get some push back from men for questioning and exposing toxic masculinity and male misogyny and all the privilege therein it would be women that would defend this behavior the most and be our greatest obstacle. I could not and would not believe such a thing. Why would women do that? Are they not tired and sickened by what "maleness" has done to them?
Then someone mentioned Stockholm syndrome and I had to look up the exacts of the term. Stockholm is considered a complex reaction to a frightening situation, and experts do not agree completely on all of its characteristic features or on the factors that make some people more susceptible than others to developing it. Many researchers believe that Stockholm syndrome helps to explain certain behaviors of survivors of World War II concentration camps; members of religious cults; battered wives; incest survivors; and physically or emotionally abused children as well as persons taken hostage by criminals or terrorists. In addition, people who often feel helpless in other stressful life situations or are willing to do anything in order to survive seem to be more susceptible to developing Stockholm syndrome if they are taken hostage.
Is this what happened? Have women felt terrorized and held hostage by maleness? Has their experiences been so traumatic they convince themselves they love these individuals and or need to defend them? I had women blatantly ask "How long ago was the abuse, because if not recent its a moot point. A thing of the past." Because trauma can simply be forgotten with some time, and no one really suffers from traumatic events of their past that still haunt them and or shape various aspects of their life. (All of that was sarcasm)
Another asked, "Maybe he has changed and we should give him the benefit of the doubt." I have never been one for giving someone more than one chance to hurt me the same way again, and while I do believe people change most often there are steps one must take in that process. For instance naming their victims and apologizing to them. In this instance a public apologizing would be even greater since so many people did not know this man who was teaching classes to the community and empowering so many was also a predator and offender.
It was women who came to the forefront and called us "Petty haters" and "Shit stirrers who are getting in peoples business." I was under the impression as a community we govern and watch out own and therefore the well being of one another was a shared responsibility.
I am appalled at this point and have no words on something that plagues so many. I only know that I can only encourage my sisters that they can and must proceed to speak up and out and being complacent and silent is not the option. As it is women have bared the pain us males could and would never and we owe them all we have. We all came from a mother or benefited from a maternal figure. I am ashamed at the eye rolling and huffing and puffing I did in my youth at girls and women who tried to tell their story. I was already conditioned to familiarize myself with the term 'drama queen'.
I apologize now by being vocal and standing along side my sisters and it has been eye opening to the reason I was called to serve under a female deity in my priestly role.
My recent run in within my spiritual community has been a known domestic violence abuser and offender who many have ignored and or turned a willing blind eye too. One of his wives was a woman I spoke to over the years and a friend of friends and I just found out now since she could not speak of certain things until the divorce was finalized. Having viewed this mans pleas to guilt and her first hand accounts of some of the things she had to endure as his wife and mother of his children.
Me and a few others decided to put this ass on blast all over facebook and bombard his page and groups he uses to target women. We posted and tagged everyone we cold and can and have continued to.
This awareness has allowed other victims to speak up and tell their stories and thank us for our voice and the safe platform for them to tell their truth and perhaps relieve some of their burden they have not been able to share.
Low and behold my friend called me to thank me as someone who was molested and in physically abusive relationships. She called to tell me, that while I may get some push back from men for questioning and exposing toxic masculinity and male misogyny and all the privilege therein it would be women that would defend this behavior the most and be our greatest obstacle. I could not and would not believe such a thing. Why would women do that? Are they not tired and sickened by what "maleness" has done to them?
Then someone mentioned Stockholm syndrome and I had to look up the exacts of the term. Stockholm is considered a complex reaction to a frightening situation, and experts do not agree completely on all of its characteristic features or on the factors that make some people more susceptible than others to developing it. Many researchers believe that Stockholm syndrome helps to explain certain behaviors of survivors of World War II concentration camps; members of religious cults; battered wives; incest survivors; and physically or emotionally abused children as well as persons taken hostage by criminals or terrorists. In addition, people who often feel helpless in other stressful life situations or are willing to do anything in order to survive seem to be more susceptible to developing Stockholm syndrome if they are taken hostage.
Is this what happened? Have women felt terrorized and held hostage by maleness? Has their experiences been so traumatic they convince themselves they love these individuals and or need to defend them? I had women blatantly ask "How long ago was the abuse, because if not recent its a moot point. A thing of the past." Because trauma can simply be forgotten with some time, and no one really suffers from traumatic events of their past that still haunt them and or shape various aspects of their life. (All of that was sarcasm)
Another asked, "Maybe he has changed and we should give him the benefit of the doubt." I have never been one for giving someone more than one chance to hurt me the same way again, and while I do believe people change most often there are steps one must take in that process. For instance naming their victims and apologizing to them. In this instance a public apologizing would be even greater since so many people did not know this man who was teaching classes to the community and empowering so many was also a predator and offender.
It was women who came to the forefront and called us "Petty haters" and "Shit stirrers who are getting in peoples business." I was under the impression as a community we govern and watch out own and therefore the well being of one another was a shared responsibility.
I am appalled at this point and have no words on something that plagues so many. I only know that I can only encourage my sisters that they can and must proceed to speak up and out and being complacent and silent is not the option. As it is women have bared the pain us males could and would never and we owe them all we have. We all came from a mother or benefited from a maternal figure. I am ashamed at the eye rolling and huffing and puffing I did in my youth at girls and women who tried to tell their story. I was already conditioned to familiarize myself with the term 'drama queen'.
I apologize now by being vocal and standing along side my sisters and it has been eye opening to the reason I was called to serve under a female deity in my priestly role.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Music #52essays2017 week 14
I do not recall a point in my life when music didn't do the most for me. Music was my therapist, my friend when I felt alone, my solace in any time of crisis. I am still amazed at how much music plays a part in every part of my story.
I was maybe 2 years old when I would sing Fragile Rock theme song (correctly) and supposedly, as my mother tells it, singing to the top of my lungs "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf.
Between 5 & 6 years old I would listen to my father singing Under The Broadwalk, by the Drifters. This was a cassette tape he had made at Coney Island I believe in one of those karaoke record your own cover booths. I was enamored with the sweet Bari/tenor tone of my fathers voice.
I was about 8 years old when Mariah Carey first came out. Living in Long Island myself, and seeing this biracial long island girl rail thin with frizzy curls hitting highs and lows with such grace. I knew the moment I heard her voice I would be a singer. I knew that I wants to make sounds that were pleasing to the ear.
Along with Mariah's music I was avidly listening to EnVogues first Album, Born to Sing. I can still tell you the many nuances of that album but most notable the songs Lies, Part of Me, Boogie woogy Bugle Boy of Company B remake of the Andrew Sisters Classic, Just cant Stay Away a remake of Natalie Coles original, Don't Go and of course Hold On To Your Love. I was amazed at the harmonies and how perfect they blended with the hip hop beats that were hitting the air ways with more and more R&B melodies. These were the two albums that influenced my love of singing.
This was the late 80's into the 90's. This was the time of boy groups Shai- If I ever Fall In love, H Town -Knocking the boots, Silk- Freak Me, Boys II men- Motown Philly & Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday, Mint Condition- Pretty Brown Eyes. Or the other girl groups SWV- Weak and I'm so Into you, Salt & Pepa- Push it & None of your business TLC- Aint to proud to beg, Jade- Don't walk away boy & If The Mood is Right, Zhane- Groove thing & Hey Mr. DJ, Brownstone- If You Love Me. It was am influx of sound that became the soundtrack to the life and happenings around me. These songs informed me more than any news broadcast could. I was learning the various feelings of the times through the innocent ears and eyes of a child. I was learning about love, life, empowerment, fun, sex and various other things I had yet to understand and experience but wanted to.
My father saw my love for music and made sure to always play the good music there was to be heard. Good music were the Milk Crates which held countless vinyls of groups I never heard and artist I would only know because he made sure to point them all out to me when he played them. He made sure the Vinyls played well every weekend as me and/or my siblings did any household chores. This was Stylistics- Stop Look Listen & Betcha By Golly Wow & Break Up to make up & You Make Me Feel brand New, Delphonics- Ready or Not & La La Means I Love You & Didn't I Blow Your Mind, The Moments- Love on a Two Way Street, Dells- Oh What A Night & Stay, Manhattans- Kiss and Say Goodbye & Theres No me Without You, Main Ingredient- Rolling down the mountainside & I'm so Proud & Everybody Plays the Fool & Just Don't Want TO Be Lonely, Ojays- Stairway to Heaven & Forever Mine & Used to Be My Girl, The Originals- Baby I'm For Real & The Bells, The Spinners- Love Don't Love No Body, Summer Madness- Kool and the Gang, Earth Wind and Fire- Mighty Mighty & Reasons & Fantasy.
He took me down many avenues of female singers too Like Patti Labelle & the Blue Bells- Down the Aisle & Oh Danny Boy & Somewhere Over The Rainbow, The Three Degrees- Maybe, Emotions- Don't Ask My Neighbor & Best of My love, Rose Royce- I'm going Down & Love Don't Live Here Any More, Mary Jane Girls- All night Long, Rufus feat Chaka Khan- Tell me Something Good & Stop on By (and countless others).
This was my soul reaching music this was music that reached into me and pulled feelings out that I could not express but reveled in. I This was the music I would compare all other music and singers to. I wanted to always feel something stir in me instead of just enjoying the good sounds made by singers.
It was in my journey I began to listen to Patti Labelle as a solo artist, Luther Vandross after Change, Angela and Renee, Lisa Fischer, Rachelle Ferrell, Phil Perry, David Peaston, Phoebe Snow and countless other artists who pleased my ear and soul. It was in this time I began to be vocally trained by the late great Lilian Coran of Smithtown, and the formal training by classical vocalist who taught me music. Cynthia Lee and Anne Kollar of the Brentwood School District. I took my gift seriously and I competed in state and county competitions singing anything from Opera, to Jazz Standars to Broadway belt to the back of the house numbers. Music colored everything I did.
I am one of those music nerds (and I am so glad other singers and musicians do this very same thing so I know I'm not alone) who will find some small part in a song and become obsessed with it. Which means I will listen to that one part 5000 x's until IM tired of it because it was so overtly great and or Subtlely amazing and I needed to cackle my joyous cackle which only occurs when I'm estatic, or shaking my head and slapping at the air because anything this good encourages me to act some what violently in the most playful of manners.
It was a culmination of things that made me feel music in relation to my gift was much, much more.
Rachelle Ferrell first said two very important things that made me re think everything about music and ones individual gift. First thing she said in a live concert at the BLue Note I attended was, "Do not compare yourself to me or any other singer. Understand that what you do and how you do it is amazingly you. I cannot duplicate what you do nor create what you do, it is solely your sound and your expression. You are creating a thing in the moment only you can." This coming from a woman who could sing at opposite ends of the piano and who could give you such textures of her voice you are never quite sure is actually happening in the moment or transmuting through this reality from another world. However, what an amazing thing to say.
As someone who struggled with self worth and or talent this was something I needed to hear, the world needed to hear. I often compared myself to other singers and thought, "I cant sing like that. All that range they have and the ability to do incredible things with their voice, I sure as hell can do that. Why even bother trying to sing?" This I didn't realize was foolish simply because what I do was what I do and it was not mean to be compared against what anyone else does. I was competing with no one. I was simply creating and expressing.
The second thing she said was in a youtube interview, she said, "The Bible states that in the beginning there was the word.,, and the word was God. God spoke life and life was... this is vibration in sound. There is energy in what we do when we create sound and we therefore are creating energy and vibration.." This blew my mind. Linking the sound ministry we create with instruments and voice to creation of energy and the movement therein. Is this not the very truth by which music arrested me from the beginning? It stirred something in me, the sound of it made me tap into emotions of various kinds and I was able to empathetically connect to artist and what they were singing about despite my inability to fully relate.
Then I joined Celebration Spiritual center in Brooklyn, where I have received some of the most valuable lessons in stepping into my artistry and music ministry. I have the pleasure of vibing with a choir of wonderful singers but led by the amazingly talented Greg Stamper and Yolanda Batts who execute every song they sing with poise and power. I was pushed into this wonderful space of allowance, surrendering a part of myself to the music and letting spirit do the rest in guiding me through the song I sang or we sing. I have had the absolute pleasure of people approaching me after services and using a specific word in relation to my singing. "Healing. Honey. Warm." These three words have been repeated to me by almost everyone that ever approached me and it humbles me that I am allowing my gift to be what it is and that those who need it are getting from it what they need.
This is why music will always be my saving grace no matter what I do. It will be my muse, my lover, my friend, and my soulmate.
I was maybe 2 years old when I would sing Fragile Rock theme song (correctly) and supposedly, as my mother tells it, singing to the top of my lungs "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf.
Between 5 & 6 years old I would listen to my father singing Under The Broadwalk, by the Drifters. This was a cassette tape he had made at Coney Island I believe in one of those karaoke record your own cover booths. I was enamored with the sweet Bari/tenor tone of my fathers voice.
I was about 8 years old when Mariah Carey first came out. Living in Long Island myself, and seeing this biracial long island girl rail thin with frizzy curls hitting highs and lows with such grace. I knew the moment I heard her voice I would be a singer. I knew that I wants to make sounds that were pleasing to the ear.
Along with Mariah's music I was avidly listening to EnVogues first Album, Born to Sing. I can still tell you the many nuances of that album but most notable the songs Lies, Part of Me, Boogie woogy Bugle Boy of Company B remake of the Andrew Sisters Classic, Just cant Stay Away a remake of Natalie Coles original, Don't Go and of course Hold On To Your Love. I was amazed at the harmonies and how perfect they blended with the hip hop beats that were hitting the air ways with more and more R&B melodies. These were the two albums that influenced my love of singing.
This was the late 80's into the 90's. This was the time of boy groups Shai- If I ever Fall In love, H Town -Knocking the boots, Silk- Freak Me, Boys II men- Motown Philly & Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday, Mint Condition- Pretty Brown Eyes. Or the other girl groups SWV- Weak and I'm so Into you, Salt & Pepa- Push it & None of your business TLC- Aint to proud to beg, Jade- Don't walk away boy & If The Mood is Right, Zhane- Groove thing & Hey Mr. DJ, Brownstone- If You Love Me. It was am influx of sound that became the soundtrack to the life and happenings around me. These songs informed me more than any news broadcast could. I was learning the various feelings of the times through the innocent ears and eyes of a child. I was learning about love, life, empowerment, fun, sex and various other things I had yet to understand and experience but wanted to.
My father saw my love for music and made sure to always play the good music there was to be heard. Good music were the Milk Crates which held countless vinyls of groups I never heard and artist I would only know because he made sure to point them all out to me when he played them. He made sure the Vinyls played well every weekend as me and/or my siblings did any household chores. This was Stylistics- Stop Look Listen & Betcha By Golly Wow & Break Up to make up & You Make Me Feel brand New, Delphonics- Ready or Not & La La Means I Love You & Didn't I Blow Your Mind, The Moments- Love on a Two Way Street, Dells- Oh What A Night & Stay, Manhattans- Kiss and Say Goodbye & Theres No me Without You, Main Ingredient- Rolling down the mountainside & I'm so Proud & Everybody Plays the Fool & Just Don't Want TO Be Lonely, Ojays- Stairway to Heaven & Forever Mine & Used to Be My Girl, The Originals- Baby I'm For Real & The Bells, The Spinners- Love Don't Love No Body, Summer Madness- Kool and the Gang, Earth Wind and Fire- Mighty Mighty & Reasons & Fantasy.
He took me down many avenues of female singers too Like Patti Labelle & the Blue Bells- Down the Aisle & Oh Danny Boy & Somewhere Over The Rainbow, The Three Degrees- Maybe, Emotions- Don't Ask My Neighbor & Best of My love, Rose Royce- I'm going Down & Love Don't Live Here Any More, Mary Jane Girls- All night Long, Rufus feat Chaka Khan- Tell me Something Good & Stop on By (and countless others).
This was my soul reaching music this was music that reached into me and pulled feelings out that I could not express but reveled in. I This was the music I would compare all other music and singers to. I wanted to always feel something stir in me instead of just enjoying the good sounds made by singers.
It was in my journey I began to listen to Patti Labelle as a solo artist, Luther Vandross after Change, Angela and Renee, Lisa Fischer, Rachelle Ferrell, Phil Perry, David Peaston, Phoebe Snow and countless other artists who pleased my ear and soul. It was in this time I began to be vocally trained by the late great Lilian Coran of Smithtown, and the formal training by classical vocalist who taught me music. Cynthia Lee and Anne Kollar of the Brentwood School District. I took my gift seriously and I competed in state and county competitions singing anything from Opera, to Jazz Standars to Broadway belt to the back of the house numbers. Music colored everything I did.
I am one of those music nerds (and I am so glad other singers and musicians do this very same thing so I know I'm not alone) who will find some small part in a song and become obsessed with it. Which means I will listen to that one part 5000 x's until IM tired of it because it was so overtly great and or Subtlely amazing and I needed to cackle my joyous cackle which only occurs when I'm estatic, or shaking my head and slapping at the air because anything this good encourages me to act some what violently in the most playful of manners.
It was a culmination of things that made me feel music in relation to my gift was much, much more.
Rachelle Ferrell first said two very important things that made me re think everything about music and ones individual gift. First thing she said in a live concert at the BLue Note I attended was, "Do not compare yourself to me or any other singer. Understand that what you do and how you do it is amazingly you. I cannot duplicate what you do nor create what you do, it is solely your sound and your expression. You are creating a thing in the moment only you can." This coming from a woman who could sing at opposite ends of the piano and who could give you such textures of her voice you are never quite sure is actually happening in the moment or transmuting through this reality from another world. However, what an amazing thing to say.
As someone who struggled with self worth and or talent this was something I needed to hear, the world needed to hear. I often compared myself to other singers and thought, "I cant sing like that. All that range they have and the ability to do incredible things with their voice, I sure as hell can do that. Why even bother trying to sing?" This I didn't realize was foolish simply because what I do was what I do and it was not mean to be compared against what anyone else does. I was competing with no one. I was simply creating and expressing.
The second thing she said was in a youtube interview, she said, "The Bible states that in the beginning there was the word.,, and the word was God. God spoke life and life was... this is vibration in sound. There is energy in what we do when we create sound and we therefore are creating energy and vibration.." This blew my mind. Linking the sound ministry we create with instruments and voice to creation of energy and the movement therein. Is this not the very truth by which music arrested me from the beginning? It stirred something in me, the sound of it made me tap into emotions of various kinds and I was able to empathetically connect to artist and what they were singing about despite my inability to fully relate.
Then I joined Celebration Spiritual center in Brooklyn, where I have received some of the most valuable lessons in stepping into my artistry and music ministry. I have the pleasure of vibing with a choir of wonderful singers but led by the amazingly talented Greg Stamper and Yolanda Batts who execute every song they sing with poise and power. I was pushed into this wonderful space of allowance, surrendering a part of myself to the music and letting spirit do the rest in guiding me through the song I sang or we sing. I have had the absolute pleasure of people approaching me after services and using a specific word in relation to my singing. "Healing. Honey. Warm." These three words have been repeated to me by almost everyone that ever approached me and it humbles me that I am allowing my gift to be what it is and that those who need it are getting from it what they need.
This is why music will always be my saving grace no matter what I do. It will be my muse, my lover, my friend, and my soulmate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)