I've been wanting to write a blog for a while, but I've been fighting it, because part of me doesn't want to even partially legitimize what's been going on by writing about it.
I'm feeling really low and discouraged and I despise feeling this way. I guess I'm just on edge and really emotional lately, and I'm not one to cry or explode or anything. I never let things out and it all becomes this seething, boiling red hot anger. My other emotions are just shut off, they have to be.
Last week something happened at work, and it was first time I've ever experienced anything like it. I never thought it would happen, I thought in this day and in my area of the country, in my town, we were past it. Evidently I was wrong
A man walked into the bakery and just went off. He just started yelling something like: "I don't want eat at this FAG RESTAURANT (he screamed it). You know, you could get AIDS! You shouldn;t be EATING HERE! Get OUT of here! You Don't want AIDS!
At first I froze. I felt like I was watching an over zealous portrayal on a tolerance-in-the-workplace video. Then I felt my face flush and I was furious. I wanted to kill this guy. I wanted him to stop yelling. I didnn't want to be seeing him. I didn;t want this to be happening.
Luckily there was police officer picking up lunch at the counter when the guy came in. He dealt with him. It's not even worth elaborating on.
Except that after I felt embarassed and violated and mortified and sad.
Why would someone feel compelled to do that? What's the point?
I live in the Philadelphia metro area, not Armpit Stank, Idaho or Mooseburger, Alaska.
The truth is, I've felt like shit about it for days, since it happened.
You have to understand, I don't live my life closeted. I don;t understand being in the closet. I burned mine down a long time ago. People know I am gay. Most of my exployees knew I was gay before the incident. The day it happened, one of my kids quit. No real explanation, just he couldn;t work for me anymore.
Maybe he thought he'd get AIDS. (Not that this needs to be said but I am 100% HIV negative. And that's so beside the point anyway).
Nothing else has happened at work.
But something else happened today....
I actually called my Dad because his birthday is coming up and I thought I'd be a "good son" and call him. People who know me know I don;t see or talk to my Dad very often. Partially because he lives across the country, and partially because he doesn;t approve of my life choices. Translation: he doesn't like where I stick my dick. He's a bigot and a homophobe.
But I was gonna get the birthday thing over with.
Well, somehow he get on the topic of Prop 8 and gays and lesbians right to marry.
Now, my Dad don;t talk about me being gay...but he knows I am. And he's met all of the past important men in my life.
Well he starts saying that he would probably voye for gays to have civil unions, but he doesn;t believe gays should be able to marry because "that's not what the Bible says and that is not the way laws are written. Plus, what if gays just start marrying so they can get benifits??"
My Dad is a colossal douchebag
I ask him if he really believes that I shouldn;t be able to get married and have the same rights as straight couples...
He starts talking about how it's not fair or right for people to ask for special rights. He says what's next? Are fat people gonna ask for special rights? Or people with red hair?
I tell him it's not the same thing.
I tell him that civil unions are the equivalent of separate but equeal. And every resonable, educated person knows that separate but equal was always separate but never equal.
He gets flustered. Starts his normal line of bullshit about how Obama is gonna get into office and "change everything around with his liberal friends" He says Obama wants to change the Constitution! Imagine that!
We argue. He makes a derogatory comment about gay relationships not being real, not being legitimate. he makes a joke, basically calling my ex a faggot and me a fudge packer.
I call him a bigoted crusty old fuck and hang up on him.
I am instantly and harshly reminded why I never talk to him.
And here I sit, trying my best let it roll off my back. Trying to fake-it-till-you-make-it smile with my kids.
But I'm hurt. And writing about it in a blog is better than punching a hole in the hole or plotting Shakespearean-worthy senarios or patricide.
I know some people actually do read this blog. And I am officially asking for feedback. Even if you just tell me to get over myself. Because maybe I need to. I don't know. Something needs to change tho.