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Control is fleeting?
I know what you're thinking...where's the video? Well, when the mood strikes I have to get my thoughts down and I don't have my camera with me. Also, it's just a little more human this way. I plan to get back to the roots of my agoraphobia but I was inspired and I tend to go where my inspiration leads me. Good or bad, you be the judge.
Any system or method of control neglects certain factors, and gradually the pressure of what has been neglected increases sufficiently to topple the system. Only by leaving room for the unknown and for change is there a chance for success. It was true of the Equal Rights Movement that saw women gain the right to work and vote, it was true of the Civil Rights movement that saw blacks gain the right to vote, marry, and take part in any number of social institutions that were previously denied them. It will be true of any number of communities in the years to come. But why does it take pressure to overcome the status quo? How do we as a people decide who has permission to do, or think, something a certain way at a certain time?
I guess I find myself puzzled at this because of what is going on in California. It likely occurs to me because I live in a society today that is inherently different than the one that oppressed women, or tried to suppress blacks. Mind you, neither of those communities is fully realized to the extent that they had hoped, and continue to hope. Legislating "equal pay for equal work" was only passed in the United States in the last decade. And even now, women across the continent tend to get raises less frequently than their male counterparts, and still see less frequent promotions into positions of power. And in terms of minority communities, not only is the same true, but many find themselves resented for legislation that tries to essentially force equality. But can equality ever be validated when it is forced by the state?
I guess that is the larger issue for me. When does it stop being called equality? When does it become merely existing? Being a queer guy is about the least interesting thing about me. It really is. I don't run around with a sign and I don't introduce myself as "the group homo" or whatever because I deem it necessary to label myself right away. That being said, my blog, my vlog, and my life has been largely consumed with all things gay lately. I'm disgusted that I live at a time that sees that as necessary. I'm disgusted that I should have to feel this way - not for myself but for my queer brethren. It is exhausting to be outraged all the time. It really is.
All anybody asks is to be treated with respect. And the lack of respect is rarely an issue until it is denied verbally. Marriage pretty much never occurred to me after I came out. I could have a long-term, committed relationship that defied boundaries or classification. But then someone spoke out. Someone in the queer community wanted to get married. I thought, "Well good for them." It never occurred to me such an institution as marriage - largely a legal formality more than anything (the Church only got involved when they found out they could charge for such things, and made it an issue of morality to look to the King for marriage rather than God - I mean, how many people have to be ignorant of this in order to be rationally offended by the idea of gay marriage?) - could be denied. But then it was denied. Fundamentalists around the world cried out, "Homosexuals are an abomination (as described in the revisionist chapters of the Bible, not in the gospels)!" Then there was the Federal Marriage Amendment in the United States that would go so far as to legally define a word to protect their faith (a faith so apparently feeble that it cannot stand if gays can legally - not religiously, it never truly was...the Church doesn't sell those licenses or insist about the notarization of the documentation - marry). Deny a population, and they will cry out for justice. And even if that justice is denied in the short term, activism will see that change happen in the long term.
So I've decided to be active. It is exhausting to be outraged all the time. It really is. But it is better than the alternative. As an agoraphobic, I have let fear command much of my life. I missed out on a lot in my youth because I was afraid to face that fear - I was afraid to conquer that fear because it was all that I had known for so long. I have chosen to be a conquerer of fear. Not just for those who cannot fight. Not just for those who don't know how. Certainly for me but, just as certain, for all of us.
World Vision
There are still people in the world who fear difference. The great irony is that we are more alike than we are different. Sexual orientation is fairly trivial when it comes to difference. The sex drive is the same. The emotional state is the same. It is just the gender attraction that differs. But rather than try to find common ground outside of those trivial differences, people lash out in a very reactionary, thoughtless way. The religious right is so desperate to hold on to the power they wield in this world, that they are trying to polarize the faithful against a perceived, though unreal, enemy. America has already taken a step forward in its social development. It'll just take a little more time for the next steps to come. Don't be afraid, America. Someone else's love will never take yours away, and it will never force you to love any differently.
Yes, we can.
After watching tonight's election coverage on CNN, there was little I could do but smile. A friend asked how I was feeling and all I could say was, "I'm so excited. I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am. I don't think I'll sleep tonight. It's like today is Christmas, and Santa brought a better world for me." I sat in a friend's living room, flipping from CNN to Comedy Central. The differences between a Wolf Blitzer/Anderson Cooper anchor team and a Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert duo are mind-boggling. But I have to be honest, Stewart and Colbert seemed to have a lot more fun.
Over the last year (and then some), I have watched eagerly to see who would win out in the Obama-Clinton debacle as they vied for the Democratic nomination. And in the last several months, I have followed the American election much more closely than even the Canadian election (an election in which I had a vested interest, being Canadian). Senator John McCain fought valiantly to prove himself to be the better choice. Senator Barack Obama proved himself steadfastly as the only choice. McCain has war experience, and deserves to be honored and respected for the sacrifices he suffered for his country. But Obama has charisma. McCain has a running mate who is both female, and young. But Obama has a running mate who is both engaging, and daring.
More than that, Barack Obama offers America something John McCain can never bring to the table: hope. Where McCain offers a brave front in the war on terror, Obama offers an opportunity to build a truly global community. Where McCain brings the the wisdom of time and experience, Obama brings the wisdom of focus and determination. And what's more, Senator Obama has done in one year what American Presidents throughout the ages have failed to do while in office - he polarized an entire country.
You see, that is Barack Obama's special gift to the United States of America and, perhaps, the world. Male, female, black, white, gay, straight, younger, older, liberal, conservative and every person in between have come together at a time when not only a nation - but a world - are looking to a leader to finally take a stand and say to the world, "Yes, we can." Yes, we can be a community of different people who embrace diversity and share in both difference and similarity. Yes, we can find common ground at a time when politics, economics, and religious beliefs succeed only in dividing us when a love of country and a love of spirit are shared by us all. Yes, we can work together for the betterment of a nation...for the betterment of our society.
The election of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States of America is historic not because he is a man of colour. It is historic because he is a man of principle. It is historic because he wants to lead with his people, rather than direct his people. It is historic because he was a man that no one thought could be President: a young, bi-racial Illinois Senator with bright eyes and lofty ideals. His lineage was a footnote to the challenges he faced simply for being younger than the average presidential hopeful. His skin colour was ultimately irrelevant to the challenges he faced simply for lacking the same length of time in political office.
Some would say this is the dawn of a new era. Some would say no one can live up to the hopeful expectations that lay in wait for President Barack Obama when he is inaugurated on January 20, 2009. I say yes, we can.
As I was saying
So the next event that I believe helped shape my agoraphobic self happened in the winter of grade two. I remember this day vividly as I had gone to bed the night before hoping for the snow storm my parents had spoken of after supper. Mom and Dad had been trying to figure out who would pick up our nanny before work, should the weather be too bad for her to arrive by walking, as normal. Well, when I woke up to my father's standard "wakey, wakey" I knew that school had not, in fact, been cancelled. So, as usual, I slowly but surely began getting ready for the day. I ate peanut butter toast and frosted flakes (oh, so healthy), washed my face, brushed my teeth, pulled out the first clothes I saw and went to school. My morning was uneventful. Spelling test, English lesson, recess, health lesson, social studies, and lunchtime. Grace made Kraft Dinner for lunch that day. Mind you, it was my favorite so it is fairly certain that Kraft Dinner would be the lunch of choice at least twice per week. Sometimes Grace would even let me have peanut butter toast with Frosted Flakes. Not often though. More often than not we had to have something with nutritional value - fish sticks, or chicken, or my most hated of foods...soup. But I digress, as I often do... I returned to school after lunch and enjoyed the flurries along the way. I didn't linger too long though as, while I liked the flurries, they also made me nervous since they often meant wind. I missed another one. Well, next blog. The wind in the willows blog. Well, the wind in New Glasgow blog. So where was I? Right. I got back to school and we were in the midst of our science lesson, or maybe it was math, when the Principal announced on the PA that classes were cancelled. Mrs. Hennessey told us to pack up our books and get ready to go home. Everyone seemed really excited but my thoughts were filled with concern over whether or not Mom would be home, or if Grace would know to have returned to my house. This concern continued as I put my mittens on and slipped into my snow pants and winter jacket. This concern continued as I walked home with Robert, my fears getting louder and louder the more the wind and snowfall increased. The closer I got to home, the more worried I had myself that no one would be there and I would have nowhere to go and nothing to do but fall apart. When we got to my house I ran up the front steps and rang the doorbell. I turned to note that Robert was a few steps further away now. I opened the screen door and pounded on the inner door. Robert had reached the front walkway of our neighbour's house now. I looked in the window next to the door and saw no stirring. And then I turned and saw that Robert was just about beyond the neighbour's hedge. He had just about passed the point when I would be able to see him. And then it happened... "ROOOOO-o-ob-BERRRRRT!" I cried. Literally. I cried the name out at the top of my lungs. He turned and started running back calling out to me. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Nobody's home," I sobbed, "and I don't know what to do. I'm too scared to stay here alone." "Can you get into the house?" he asked. "Yeah, there's a key hidden for the back door," I cried. "But I'm afraid to be home alone." I began to sob more strongly. "I'll stay with you if we can go in. We can play Nintendo or something. Your Mom will be home soon." he said. I began to feel better almost instantly. Robert was braver than I. And I always felt he was stronger than I was. There were many summers when he and I ended up on the outs for some reason or another. I was always petrified to go out. I remember at least three summers that I spent in the house for fear of confronting Robert and being beaten up. I felt safer in the house. I felt safer with Mom. And yet, here was Robert making me feel safe. We played Nintendo for about half an hour when Mom arrived home calling out to see if I was there. The school had not notified anyone that classes had been cancelled and Mom did not hear about it on the radio for about half an hour after I had already arrived home. She kissed my head and then picked up the phone. She left an angry message for the principal on her answering machine. Mom was not impressed. She wondered aloud how many other children came home to empty houses. Mom placed her Block Parent sign in the window in case anyone needed a place to go due to working parents. I was just happy that she was home. Robert went home for supper shortly thereafter. Mom called his grandmother to let her know Robert had been keeping me company because I was scared. It was a good thing too, because she had been expecting Robert home shortly after the radio had announced the school closure and had been both worried and upset that he had not yet arrived home or called her. I was just glad that Mom was home. I was glad that Robert had stayed with me. After that day, Robert was just about my favorite person.
Maybe I missed one?
I had intended to make this blog a chronological record of the events of my life that contributed to where I am today, but it seems my memory has chosen not to cooperate. When I was four-years old, my friend Shana and I went to the grocery store with our mothers. They were best friends. So were we.
Trips to the grocery store almost felt like little adventures. There are so many aisles of different foods. Some aisles even have toys! And with all of the people and carts, it is like being on safari - at least when you are four-years old. Shana and I liked to pretend that our Moms were chasing us. We would stay with them for a few moments and then when they started chatting over some food selection, we would round the corner of the aisle, hiding just within to "surprise" them with our presence. They always pretended to be surprised. I don't know how they managed. There were about two dozen aisles (it was a small Co-Op...no Superstore or Sobey's - my Mom tends to be anti-establishment and a big supporter of small and local businesses...a trait I have always admired and aspired to).
We were rounding aisle five, the baking goods aisle, when I saw it - the Jell-O wall. It was a four-feet wide by two-feet tall shelving unit. And it was loaded with every flavour of Jell-O and Jell-O Pudding that you could ever want. And I had found my most favoritest flavour of all" Orange Jell-O. I skipped the scaring part at the opening to the aisle to run around to the other side and ask, nay beg, Mom to buy - and subsequently prepare - some Orange Jell-O. Sadly, Mom's reply was: "We already have Jell-O at home." We had strawnerry and lime Jell-O at home, but no orange. She would make some for tomorrow's dessert (Jell-O apparently took overnight preparation when I was a child - I'm not sure if it is the case today) if I was good. The three please's I offered helped me little. When Mom is determined, that's it. Accept it, and move on. I think I inherited that trait. I try to temper it since, in the last couple of years, I seem to believe that once I am convinced I am right about something...then I must be. Even though I know that is unlikely, there is something inside me that drives me to dismiss the possibility of being wrong...but now I am rambling...as I was saying, the orange Jell-O had been turned down.
***It should be said that, once the groceries were put away Mom made the lime Jell-O without any further prodding. Today, lime Jell-O is actually my flavor of choice.***
So we continued through the aisle and moved forward to the next. Shana was, by now, prodding me to continue our game of running ahead of our Moms and exploring each aisle first to see if we could find "anything good" to ask for. Sadly, I was too disappointed to continue playing as I was bound and determined to sulk my way into an orange Jell-O night. As they rounded the next corner, I stayed behind and made my way back to the Jell-O. I grabbed the first box and opened it. I decided, since my seconds of sulking had not yet worked, that I would dip my finger into the Jell-O powder and enjoy it right then and there. Mom would be forced to pay for the empty container and I will have gotten my way. Something you may not know if that Jell-O powder lacks the sugary goodness of Kool-Aid powder. Not only did I not have my Jell-O, but I was dissatisfied with my seemingly wonderful alternative. And then it happened...
I looked up from my dissatisfying Jell-O powder to see that my Mom was nowhere to be seen. So I dropped the box instantly and ran to the next aisle. Nothing. The next. Nothing. Maybe she was looking for me. So I returned to the scene of the crime. Mom wasn't there. She was gone. As far as my four-year old brain could figure, she forgot me at the grocery store. So I did what any sensible child would do in the midst of a panic attack. I wailed like you wouldn't believe.
Within seconds a nice staffer came and comforted me to calm me down and then asked where my mother was. When I began to tell the guy that I was lost I began to blubber again. Without hesitation he offered to take me to the office so we could page my Mom. It was only about five minutes after that when Mom came to the office. By that point I had scored a can of grape pop and a bag of salt and vinegar chips. But seeing Mom brought all the panic back. I began to sob once I saw her. It was more a sense of relief than anything, as I recall. Mom sat in the first chair she saw and scooped me up to give me the biggest hug of my life. She had been worried and had been searching for me with Shana and her mom. So Mom hugged me for what seemed like a warm, wonderful eternity and thanked the staff before taking me by the hand and leading me back to the produce section to finish grocery shopping. And while I shared my chips with Shana, the grape pop was all mine.
What a day it was...
A world like no other
When I was seven years old, I wrote a note to a friend in a grade two classroom. Recess was only 15 minutes long and we were picking up where we left off from yesterday's game. We were playing house. It was my turn to be the Dad. The day before I didn't like playing the child because I kept having to follow ludicrous rules simply because I was in that role and my friend decided, as father, he could make me do whatever he wanted...including carrying him on my hands and knees from "the kitchen" to "the livingroom". My note was to Jody, to whom I said we would "sleep together" and then "wake the kids" and that she and I would be "as snug as two bugs in a rug like two frogs on a log". Now, I had seen a card somewhere that said something similar and thought I was being clever and funny. At the ripe old age of 7, I had no idea what such a statement might imply other than a rhyme and people being in the same place at the same time.
My teacher had been called away to a phone call and the principal, a nun at this catholic public school. She saw the note being passed and demanded it be given to her. Keep in mind that I was 7 years old. Reading this note, the principal flew into a rage and dragged four of us to the office for reprimand. It seems that each of us in turn were terrorized with our parents having been called in due to this horrendous incident. I, being the note's author, drew the greatest ire of Sister Satan (FYI: not her real name). First I was walked across the street to the convent chapel where I was ordered to pray and beg God's forgiveness. Then I was walked back to the school and into the principal's outer office while she called my mother to find out "what to do with me". The outer office, coincidentally, had "the strap" sitting on the desk directly across the room for me. All I could do was stare in fear at this "weapon of persecution" while waiting for the Sister to return to further torment me.
When she returned to the outer office, I was told my mother could not be reached. Sister Satan, with no other recourse, said that she may have to consider contacting the local orphanage. No mother, mine presumably included, would want a child who would write such sinful things and spread such awfulness amongst my innocent classmates. Keep in mind, at this point I still don't know how my note had resulted in such anger. When my mother, who was reached, appeared I was instructed to beg my mother's forgiveness. I was already beside myself at this point, but the sight of my mother caused me to burst into tears and drop to my knees. I was so afraid that she was going to be equally inexplicably angry and give me up for adoption. All I knew to do was ask for her forgiveness and to tell her how sorry I was and that I would never do it (whatever it was) again. Mom lifted me into her lap and smiled saying of course she would forgive me and that she loved me. She suggested I go to the washroom and wash my face and dry my tears. While I was gone, she spoke with the nun who (in my opinion) changed my life forever and started me on the road to agoraphobic hell...
My mother asked her what I had done. She handed the note to my mother without another word. Mom read the note, giggled, and looked to Sister Satan saying only, "Okay." It turns out that this twisted nun assumed I was implying that I would be having sex during recess and was planning the activity with my 7-year old brethren. Sex. At age seven. Now, perhaps by some miraculous mutation there are some 7-year olds who are capable of the physical act of sexual intercourse. Granted, there may even be a number of 7-year olds who know exactly how important their genitals are to this activity. I, however, was not one of them. I was barely conscious of aiming at the toilet at this age. What the hell else was I going to do with that damned thing at seven years of age???
For the next few months, Mom didn't leave my sight. If she went to the basement to do laundry, I went to the top of the stairs. And while she was down there I checked the doors repeatedly to ensure she was not sneaking out. I even went so far as to watch out the living room window to ensure she was not slipping out the garage to get away from me. I was so fearful that my mother was going to abandon me (the sinner who wrote a note) that if she was in the washroom I was tiptoeing up the stairs to ensure I could hear her still there. It wasn't until February of the following year that my fears would see their first reinforcement.
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