A very moving "It's Gets Better" Video

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

Marima

So, this tickled me, so I'm posting it for no reason.  

I'll say this for it.  The hair really makes the video.  

Don't do drugs, kids.

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

Funny

This dinner is supposed to be all about Mom (Sunday is her birthday). But it just ended up being about the kids. These kids are making me tired.

Wm--

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

A girl and her horse.

Maddie loves this thing.

Wm--

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

I don't know who she is...

But she is pissed about something. Mom is going to throttle her if she doesn't get out of her way.

Wm--

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

Masquerade Ball

Went to a Masquerade Ball Fundraiser last night for the Shelby County Players.  Had a good time, got to hang out with good people, and got to see some smiling faces.  Here I am with my mask.  

I was told on more than one occasion that I clean up well.  

 

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

You Asked For It

I was once asked if i had a picture of myself in the purple pimp outfit I wore for a fundraiser a couple of years ago. I just found one. Let the comment whoring begin!

Sent from Catch Notes on iPad

Sent from my iPad

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

Without A Cord: An "It Gets Better" Blog Entry

I was the subject of antigay bullying in school.  This isn't some secret that I had, but I never really elaborated on it.

With the recent suicides and subsequent focus on bullying in schools, I have had several people ask me if I had ever seen or experienced any harassment when I was in school because I was gay.  My response was always, "Oh, yes.  Yes, I did."  But I wouldn't go on, because it never really seemed like the proper time or place.

But while I was surfing the net last night, I saw how many people had created videos for the It Gets Better Project, and I wanted to create a video.  It was on my to do list for the day.  

Then, as I was trying to sleep last night, I started thinking about what I was going to say in the video.  My thought process started running hot, and I knew that a video wouldn't be in the cards.

But a blog entry, that might work.  So here it is.

---

I never really had a chance.  No matter how you sliced it, there was no way I could ever fit in.

My family moved to Speedway Indiana when I was in the second grade.  I was the only black kid in my school, and I was extremely quiet, shy, and nervous as hell to boot.  I was a fat kid, and *that* didn't help the situation, and what as worse, while it wasn't acceptable to pick on me because of my color, it *was* acceptable to pick on me because of my weight.  

So, that's how the teasing started.  I would be picked on because I was fat openly, with the teachers shaking their heads and, in some cases, offering me suggestions to lose weight.  Only the nastiest kids would start with the race thing, doing everything from taking a pencil eraser and rubbing it on my skin to see "if it came off", all the way to punching me in the gut and while calling me "nigger".  And even then, I was certain that a couple of teachers saw, but did nothing.  

By the time the 5th grade rolled around, I had become used to it.  When my books were knocked out of my hand, I had actually devised an order of how I picked them back up.  We didn't have school busses, so walking to and from school was a gauntlet of terror, with kids taunting me from the other side of the street throwing rocks at me.  My reflexes aren't the best, so I would end up with a bruise or two each week.

There was a family who lived in a small house on the route the I walked that was sort of a safe house.  A Jewish family where the parents were modest and kind and the kids went to a private school, they were the only ones who chased off would be bullies, and made it clear to me that if anyone was after me, I could go into their house.  The door was always open, and I didn't need to knock.  I didn't understand their kindness then, and I can only guess at their incentive to make sure that I made it safely home each day.  I just wish I had the mind to say thank you when I could.

The 5th grade was the turning point for me when the bullying went from bad to worse.  While some of the other boys were maturing, I was not.  I still had my weight problem, and I was still awkward and uncoordinated, but now it was becoming a girlie boy.  My voice hadn't dropped, and my panic disorder was starting to kick in.  I was a twitchy, girly mess, and suddenly my color and weight seemed secondary to my tormentors.

And still, the teachers looked the other way.  All except one. My 6th grade teacher, Mr. H______.

In his class, there wasn't room for bullying, or anything like that.  He was an alpha male who let his students know that this word was law.  I can't say for sure, but I'm almost convinced that he always kept watch over anyone in his class that might be picked on.  

All I know is that there were only very light instances of bullying, and they were almost negligible compared to previous acts so it was easy to overlook them.

During this respite, I began to wonder if my personal hell would continue when I went on to Junior High.  I knew that it would be a different school, but many of the students in my class, most of whom I shared a classroom with since the 2nd grade, would be going to this school as well.

My hope was that without the ability to bully me openly, they would move on to something else, and by the time the end of the year came, I was convinced that going to a new school would make things different.

When you are in the 6th grade, about to move on, you are constantly being told that Junior High is a big step.  There is more responsibility, and you are expected to mature to meet that expectation.  This was the glimmer of hope that I needed.  In elementary school, everything was spoonfed to you, so you had time to come up with creative ways to pick on the fat black girly boy, but my chances of being picked on would diminish because the school was bigger, my tormentors would be spread out all over the place, and they would also be much busier.

---

I went into my first day of Junior High was a sort of stunted optimism.  I was wary, but I was going to take every opportunity to make things better for myself.  There were a couple of other black children in the school, and that was a plus.  There were definitely kids who were heavier than me, and that was another plus.  I wasn't alone anymore, and I planned on taking advantage of that.

When I went to the other black children, I was met with social disaster.  They were cool kids, urban and slick.  They had inside jokes, and a slang I didn't understand.  As soon as I approached them, they rolled their eyes and ignored me.  I only pushed the issue once, only to be told that as far as they were concerned, I wasn't like them because I was half white.  

"What was wrong with white women that your daddy had to shame himself like that?" one girl asked one day sitting next to me in class.  I didn't answer.

So, I moved on to the heavier kids, thinking that I would have different results.  

I was isolated by not only the fat kids, but also anyone else who was bullied and picked on.  Unlike me, they were still trying to get in with the "cool crowd", and associating with me made that impossible within the hiearchy of coolness.  Why?  Because I was still a sissy.  

So, the bullying continued.  Menacing threats in my locker.  Tripped up feet when trying to run in Phys Ed.  Unspeakable acts of bullying in the boys room.  It went on and on.  And any teacher that noticed, reversed that quickly and moved on.

At the end of the year, I was told by my mother that with her new marriage, we would be moving, and that I would be going to a new school.  This time, the school was completely different, and the old residue wouldn't even be there, so I would get a truly fresh start.  Once again, my optimism was sparked, but I had no idea that bullying isn't something you can escape when you are hopelessly different.

---

My 8th grade year went much like the 7th, only it wasn't because of something I did, but rather who I wasn't.  A lot of the friendship and cliques had already been established the previous year in that school, so I had that going against me. I ran into the same problem of not fitting with the black cliques because I was "too white".  There were many white kids that picked on me because I was still black.  And there was the girly thing.  While my previous junior high didn't focus much on sports, my new one did, and my disinterest in anything physical became apparent rather quickly.

The 8th grade was also when I started developing crushes.  Not only on other male students, but on a couple of teachers as well.  Unfortunately, all it takes is one slip:  a glance, a smile, and stalkerish type follow from one class to another, which is all it takes to start the gay rumors.  Thing is, I never did anything to deny it.  Even then, and even with everything that was going on, I would not deny something that was true.

The bullying continued into the 9th grade, and showed no signs of slowing.   More notes in the locker, and books knocked out of my hands, and more physical altercations than you can imagine.  I was called "fag", "queer", "sissy", and "homo".  I was asked if I had AIDS yet.  Girls was flamboyantly walk behind me, flailing their arms while the other kids laughed.  It looked nothing like me, though.  Their head was up.  mine was down.  

It was all too much, and I didn't see anymore hope.  It had been dashed too many times for me to attempt it anymore.  And the prospect of going to yet another school and having it start all over again was too much.  It had to stop.

---

The following summer was worse for me than usual.  The boiling cauldron of emotions about my sexuality was rolling fiercely, The one boy who I considered my boyfriend had moved away, and I was alone again.  

I decided to go for a walk, when an argument at home became so heated I couldn't take it anymore.  The argument started because of my own bad mood, and I just wanted to get away and calm down before I could do anymore damage.

But as I walked, my sadness intensified.  I knew that I had just caused a problem at home because of my own pain, and I didn't know how to fix it.  My mother and siblings were all upset, and it was because of this unresolved, unrequited emotion I had going on inside me.  It never entered my mind that I shouldn't be gay anymore, because that seemed as silly as not wanting to be black anymore.  

But it *was* possible to just be.....gone.  

I just happened to be on an overpass when the thought occurred to me.  Sure, the thought of suicide entered my mind many times, but it was the first time it was within my reach mentally.  While I brushed it off before, it was the first time I had the impulse to do so.

Knowing that the courage to do it wasn't going to last long, I went over to the concrete barricade and looked over.  Traffic was rather brisk in the late afternoon, and my courage began to waiver a bit, but the pain of everything going on was doing a good job of holding that courage together.  Or, at least what I thought was courage.

I got one knee onto the concrete barricade when I heard a voice behind me. 

"You are either going to need a higher bridge, or a shorter cord there, boss."

I froze, cursing myself for not checking to see if anyone was looking.  That's the problem with doing something impulsively, you forget the basics in an effort to do something impulsive.

A second passed, and then I heard the voice, "Hold on.  Where is your bungee cord?"

There was no humor in the voice, and that scared me most of all.  I turned my head to see a policeman standing there leaning against his patrol car.  The lights weren't going, and I was very shocked that I hadn't heard him pulling up.  Perhaps it was the waves of noise coming from the traffic below me combined with the "do it, Do it, DO IT!!!!" chant going on in my brain.

I put my leg back down and turned to face the officer, mind whirling with excuses and the panic that things just became very complicated.  A cop just busted me trying to jump off an overpass.

He had his arms folded and a look of consternation on his face, "Bungee jumping off an overpass is against the law you know.  You could hurt yourself."

That did it.  My back met with the concrete wall and I just slid own it, tears streaming down my face.  Once I sat down, I buried my face into my arms and waited to be carted off to jail, or juvenile, or even be shot by this officer.  I really didn't care.

I could hear his footsteps as he approached me. He said, "Look, I don't know what's going on to make you want to bungee jump without a cord, but I can tell you, it ain't worth it."

I didn't say anything.

"Hey, if you are brave enough to want to pull that crazy stunt, then you are brave enough to face whatever it is that's bothering you.  Ever think of that?"

I sniffled.  I felt snot drip from my nose.  I didn't care about that.

"Answer me."

I looked up at him and said, "You don't understand."

"No," he said, looking me in the eye, "I probably don't.  But you never answered my question."

I buried my face again but as I did, I said, "I'm not brave enough."

"If you are willing to pull a stunt like that you are.  I'm just glad I stopped you before you made that mistake.  It might have been brave, but it wouldn't have been very smart." he said.

I looked up at him again.

"Now, I'm going to take you home.  Let me do that, and I don't have to report this.  Argue, and I'm gonna have to call it in.  Which is it?"

I gave a shaky sigh.  The realism of what I almost did was starting to sink in.  Neither of us spoke for a second, then I stood up.  I started walking and said, "Can I just walk home?"

"No.  I want to see you home safe.  It's my job."

I wondered if he could come to my school and keep me safe there too.  It was going to be a new year and I wanted someone to protect me from what I knew was coming.

We got into his police car, and I told him where I lived.  It wasn't a short drive, and we were quiet the entire way.  When we pulled up to my apartment, he said, "You got lost.  I helped you get home.  Understand?  It will be a quiet evening for the both of us."

His words stung, only because it sounded like he only did what he did to save himself some paperwork or something.

"You *are* brave enough, son.  But if you had jumped, you never would have been able to prove that to anyone." he said, and got out of the car.  He opened my door, and we approached my apartment.

He told my mother that I was lost and scared, and she thanked him for his time.  He kept the conversation going, though, as if he wanted to make sure she wasn't the reason I was on that bridge to begin with.  He must have seen the truth, because he shook my hand, smiled for the first time, and then he was gone.  I never saw him again.

Mom chided me lightly for going out and getting lost, but seeing me with a policeman scared her so bad that the reason for the cops visit was a huge relief, so she let the event slide.  She was concerned about what the neighbors thought, but that was an ongoing issue.

I went to my room to think, and while I didn't feel any better about going to back to my den of tormentors, I did wonder if I was indeed brave enough to face what was bothering me.  

---

That night I dreamed that I did jump.  I woke up in a sweat, the images too awful to think about.  

---

My first year of High School picked up where Junior High left off.  My tormentors were still there, but not always in the same classes as I was, but they still found me in the hall and acted accordingly.  There was less tolerance for bullying though, so the attacks came less frequently as I learned how to stay near a teacher who wouldn't put up with bullying.  

By the end of the year, I began to stand up for myself.  While I'm too much of a pacifist to fight back, I used my words, which I tried to make a scathing as possible.  This made more trouble for me in the end, but it was on my terms, not theirs.  And it was satisfying to see a couple of my tormentors get razzed by something I said.  It wasn't much, but it was something.

During this time, I met students who I considered allies.  They were nice and kind to me, and with it being a school with a yearly graduating class of at least 500, it was easy for them to do so without being too harshly labeled.  I was too distrusting to call them friends, and I kept my distance to protect myself, but it was a solace I never got to thank them for.

By the time I entered my senior year, I was completely out at school.  In a way, this made things much better for me, because it allowed me to see who my friends were.  The bullying seemed so mild at this point, it was laughable by comparison, and if anything did get to me, I had someone to talk to about it.

It got better, but not by chance.  It got better because that policeman gave me more than just empty words or false promises.  He gave me perspective.  I used my new found bravery and I used it to face my demons, speak my mind, begin to trust people.  

It got better because I saw what the bullying was doing to me.  I decided to become stronger, for my own sake.

It got better because I found people who were, for all intents and purposes, on my side.  They were there, I was just too busy feeling sorry for myself to notice them.

It got better because as I grew older, I realized what mattered and what didn't.  My sexuality didn't matter to me, and it doesn't matter to those who love me.   It got better because I realized that I was loved.  It may not have seemed like it, but it was there.  It was hard to see, but only because I didn't want to see.  I didn't think I was worth loving.  Facing that would have dismantled everything I knew, and that scared me.  But, in the end, I was fine.

Looking back at my younger self, I want to hug that poor kid who was scared to go from class to class.  I want to sit with him at lunch, while he ate alone, and tell him that everything will be fine, and that one day he will know happiness.  I want to tell him that there will always be bullies, and that the trick was to cancel them out, with friends, with laughter, and with pride of who I am.  

To anyone who doesn't think it gets better, take it from me.  It doesn't happen on its own.  Don't listen to the bullies.  Don't let them win, they don't know shit.

Find your happy.  Find someone to share your happy with.  

Don't be silent.  Confide in your allies.  If it gets really bad, tell those who have authority to do something about it.  Don't worry about consequences, because you are braver than that.  I found I could face anything if I wanted to.  But if I needed help, then I asked for it.  

There isn't a person alive who deserves to be bullied.  Everyone deserves peace, and if you aren't getting it, you need to fix that and make it happen.  Your life and future are in your hands, but if you give that life away, you won't have a chance to prove to the assholes who try to bring you down that you are better than they are.  And you are.

I'm a 36 year old biracial homosexual that's been through my own kind of hell, and I'm here to tell you that it does get better.  

It.  Gets.  Better.

*hugs*

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way

What now?: A Ramble

Wow, it's been a really long time since I've posted anything of substance.  I know part of it is because even when I have free time, I still can't focus because of the constant checklist in my head of things I need to do.  Another part of it is because I sometimes wonder if anyone even reads this anymore.  I know LiveJournal still has a following.  I check posts on it regularly.  And copies of my blog go to Tumblr and Facebook, and a link to it goes to Twitter.  

Not that I write for others rather than myself, but it is a social outlet for me, and it seems that I do a lot of talking, but I don't get a lot of response.  

Yeah, I knew that was going to come out like I was an attention whore.  Hoped it wouldn't happen, but there it is.

I have so much to write about because there has been so much going on.  Plays, musicals, podcasts, self discovery, depressions, friendships, heartbreak, all of it.  So much going on.  And when I sit down to write, my brain gets in the way.

But today is the first day I have had off, and I mean a day that is mine to do with as I wish, in a very long time.  All I really have to do is some shopping, and make dinner.  That's it.  

True, I have two one video project to finish, and another one to begin.  The first is almost done, and to those waiting for it to finish, I can't apologize enough.  Time management isn't my strength, and it doesn't help that with everything going on, I don't have anyone to help me in times like this.  

But now that things are winding down to a manageable level, I am going to use what I have learned and make more time for myself.

So that is what I'm doing today, I'm going to take things one hour at a time.  Figure out how to finish up loose ends, how to get things back in order, and where I can go from here.  

I know that right now, I just want to write.  But before I can do that, I need to figure out what I want to write about.

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way