My cast of characters:
Me: Yours truly.
Eva: My fantabulous girlfriend who is infamous for making up new verbs, despises the Bush family even more than I do, has a very sexy accent when she speaks Italian, gives wonderful massages, and takes more pictures than anyone I've ever met. Has worked as an EMT. Has made it her goal to see me blush.
Daybreak: My girlfriend's near four year-old daughter who, according to her mom, is my shadow, likes to arrange the condiments at the table, and can usually be counted on to make me go "awww" in record timing.
The Bait: My roommate and as of this past Sunday is my sponsor for Confirmation, is often the butt of my jokes hence his nickname but he takes it in stride.
Pippi: The Bait's girlfriend. She is the one who taught me how to play guitar and crochet. She is a living karaoke machine. Has recently taken to spoiling my puppy rotten and calling my roommate The Bait in real life which makes me smile.
Mil: My actual little sister although we are as different as night and day. A shopping addict who is trying to become a broadcast journalist once she finishes college.
Faith: My newly acquired Chocolate Lab. Will often nip my fingers as a sign of affection or to let me know she wants something. Is a major prima donna and makes sure me and The Bait know who is really in charge. A frisbee fanatic and she often thinks she is a monkey.
Imogen: Ruth's girlfriend, Eva's best friend, and Daybreak's godmother. Very very much into the arts. Classically trained ballet dancer and now teaching classes in her town. She has been a close friend since high school whom I love dearly.
Ruth: Imogen's girlfriend and quickly became one of my best friends over the summer. She is my writing buddy who is currently trying to convince to pick up journalism again. Is quite possibly one of the most scarily intelligent people I know. Like Eva, she has done some modeling before.
Scarlett: One of my neighbours. Very dramatic and has a voice much more powerful than what you'd expect from someone her size. Has a female hard-on for Edward Cullen. Will more than likely be my roommate next year since The Bait is going to graduate school in Boston and Marilyn is heading to New York.
Marilyn: Scarlett's roommate. As Eva said, "she makes everything seem sexy." Will often ask me to go clubbing with her and Scarlett. Makes the best margaritas. Ever.
Tinkerbell: Ex-girlfriend who is now a very dear friend. Has the same sense of humour I do, will tell you when she thinks you have your head up your ass, and one of the most caring people I know. She was also the one to introduce me to country music.
Miss Frizzle: My personal hero and the teacher I work under for my education class. Like her nickname suggests, she does channel the spirit of the wacky teacher. Is engaged to Fabio.
Mami: Not my biological mother. One of the women who raised me and expecting twins of her own for me to spoil. Now lives in Boston with her girlfriend who is one of the sweetest women ever.
The Pop Queen: A relatively new friend who I know through theater appreciation and the drama club here. Absolutely hilarious and we are now convinced we are twins who were separated at birth.
The Ginger: My lab partner in Bio. Calls me "Mother" as I am always on her to quit smoking the sticks of cancer. Acts bossy in front of others but is really a sweet person. She dyed her hair brown to void my nickname for her, an accusation she futilely denies.
Diva: My boss. Got married over the summer and invited me which was cool. Takes no shit from anyone and is a trained chef. The things this woman can do with a knife...
The Spawn: Childhood best friend who I am still really close to, one of my two closest guy friends. Is a very avid gamer and the one who first got me to play D & D and Halo. Has the greatest dad ever.
Dolly: A very conservative coworker of mine. Is both intelligent and a sweetheart so I don't hold her views against her. Much. We often talk about politics which is always amusing to the people around us in the restaurant.
Skittles: Adorable but absent minded girl in the class I teach. Has now come up with ways to house train me as her pet.
Clark Kent: Boy in my class, sweet and always hilarious. Also one of the most polite six year-olds ever. Despite the fact that he has Type 1 Diabetes, he always has a smile for you.
Wonder Girl (WG) Another child in my class who is always the first to volunteer to help out. A bit on the bossy side but her heart's in the right place.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Just Call Me Black
Why am I called African-American?
Does that not imply that I was born in Africa?
As far as I know, the last member of my family to come to this country came in the spring of 1937. She came from Spain to escape the war and I would go on to call her Nana.
Beyond her, I know my family had been here since the 1850's so where does the African part come in?
Why not just call me black?
Is there some anger about it somewhere that I don't know about?
Nigger, I understand. Negro, I understand. Coloured, I understand.
But black? I don't get it.
I honestly don't.
I was eating dinner with Eva, Imogen, and Ruth at Imogen's apartment when this topic came up. Eva and Imogen are white. Ruth is Indian. And you know what colour I am.
They just call themselves white or simply American.
She can honestly be called Indian American as she was born in New Delhi and lived there until she was 15.
So why do other black people get angry when I say I'm black, not African-American?
Someone please explain it to me.
Marching to the beat of my own drum,
The Odd Duckling
Does that not imply that I was born in Africa?
As far as I know, the last member of my family to come to this country came in the spring of 1937. She came from Spain to escape the war and I would go on to call her Nana.
Beyond her, I know my family had been here since the 1850's so where does the African part come in?
Why not just call me black?
Is there some anger about it somewhere that I don't know about?
Nigger, I understand. Negro, I understand. Coloured, I understand.
But black? I don't get it.
I honestly don't.
I was eating dinner with Eva, Imogen, and Ruth at Imogen's apartment when this topic came up. Eva and Imogen are white. Ruth is Indian. And you know what colour I am.
They just call themselves white or simply American.
She can honestly be called Indian American as she was born in New Delhi and lived there until she was 15.
So why do other black people get angry when I say I'm black, not African-American?
Someone please explain it to me.
Marching to the beat of my own drum,
The Odd Duckling
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Faith Rewarded Part II
I would spent the next three years or so thinking of God as a sadistic, overgrown child with a magnifying glass and an ant farm. Until a trip to Italy and a walk inside the Sistine Chapel changed my life. Looking at the painted ceiling and hearing people burst into tears, I couldn't believe God to be malevolent.
No cruel being could be the subject of something so breathtakingly beautiful.
At this point, I could not look anyone in the eye. And my gaze completely avoided the pew where my roommate, his girlfriend, my neighbour, my girlfriend, and her daughter were seated together. I had tears gathering in my eyes and was just waiting for Father Oak to tell me to leave and not come back.
The first thing I heard were the sounds of sniffling throughout the crowd. Then I saw them. My girlfriend and her 3 year-old daughter had stood and were walking toward me. Both were crying.
Her daughter Daybreak let go of her mother's hand, moved to stand in front of me, and held up her arms. I gathered her into mine and as she buried her face in the crook of my neck, she whispered four little words.
"I love you, Papa."
Then her mother, Eva, wrapped her arms around my waist and said she loved me as well and that she was proud of how far I had come since then. I am not sure how long the three of us stood there. Just holding each other.
Then I feel another face rest against my back as my roommate's girlfriend hugs me from behind and a hand on her shoulder from my roommate. Finally, a hand wrapped around my free one as my neighbour stood by my side.
This scene alone was enough to make tears actually course down my cheeks but it was the finale that made me start to sob.
Slowly people stood from where they were standing. First the children from my Sunday School class with their parents, then the other people my age in the youth group, my friends from the Choir, and then most of the congregation.
All were circled around us and saying such things as "thank you", "we're proud of you", and "we love you".
The people I had been afraid would scorn me for a mistake I made years ago had started a mass group hug around me. I was not alone. They did not look down on me. They were all a part of my family and were loved as such. I stood there in a sea of arms and smiles and had to smile through my tears.
Sometimes it really is nice to have your faith rewarded.
Marching to the beat of my own drum,
The Odd Duckling
No cruel being could be the subject of something so breathtakingly beautiful.
At this point, I could not look anyone in the eye. And my gaze completely avoided the pew where my roommate, his girlfriend, my neighbour, my girlfriend, and her daughter were seated together. I had tears gathering in my eyes and was just waiting for Father Oak to tell me to leave and not come back.
The first thing I heard were the sounds of sniffling throughout the crowd. Then I saw them. My girlfriend and her 3 year-old daughter had stood and were walking toward me. Both were crying.
Her daughter Daybreak let go of her mother's hand, moved to stand in front of me, and held up her arms. I gathered her into mine and as she buried her face in the crook of my neck, she whispered four little words.
"I love you, Papa."
Then her mother, Eva, wrapped her arms around my waist and said she loved me as well and that she was proud of how far I had come since then. I am not sure how long the three of us stood there. Just holding each other.
Then I feel another face rest against my back as my roommate's girlfriend hugs me from behind and a hand on her shoulder from my roommate. Finally, a hand wrapped around my free one as my neighbour stood by my side.
This scene alone was enough to make tears actually course down my cheeks but it was the finale that made me start to sob.
Slowly people stood from where they were standing. First the children from my Sunday School class with their parents, then the other people my age in the youth group, my friends from the Choir, and then most of the congregation.
All were circled around us and saying such things as "thank you", "we're proud of you", and "we love you".
The people I had been afraid would scorn me for a mistake I made years ago had started a mass group hug around me. I was not alone. They did not look down on me. They were all a part of my family and were loved as such. I stood there in a sea of arms and smiles and had to smile through my tears.
Sometimes it really is nice to have your faith rewarded.
Marching to the beat of my own drum,
The Odd Duckling
Faith Rewarded Part I
I have toiled for the last two weeks to decide on something to write about. It's not that I can't think of a topic. Not at all. It's that I have about half a dozen floating in my head and I was being indecisive. No more.
Faith.
Way back in June I think, one of our priests asked if we had had our faith tested. This was a group of about 20 college students from the RTP area and I was one of the four who raised their hands. It wasn't followed up on that day so I eventually put it out of my mind.
Today, said priest who I will call Father Oak, asked during Mass if those who felt compelled would share their testimony with the congregation. My roommate's girlfriend who is one of the five people not counting myself that knew the story started nudging me and telling me I should share.
Something you need to understand is that I am not a shy person. In the least. For all my other issues, I am a very extroverted person who has little trouble striking up conversation when I meet people. However this is sharing something that I am ashamed of to this day with over a 100 people.
The easiest way to describe the fear is that I felt as if I may be run out of the church once I finished with torches ablaze. Especially since I taught a good number of the younger children in Sunday School.
Growing up I never questioned that God created and loved me. I loved having either my Nana or a great aunt of mine read stories from the Bible and explain in a way a small child could understand. Something I know now is not an easy task.
Then certain events came about when I was 13 and I was so angry. People told me 'God has a plan' and that just made me madder. I wanted to feel better right then and there. My grandmother (who has largely disowned me, I'll post about that at some point) had me talk to her pastor about what I was feeling.
Think pretty much every negative stereotype of a preacher and you have this guy. Pinstripe suit, Jerry curl, at least one woman on the side, and a Mercedes obtained mysteriously. Needless to say, I did not trust this man so I wasn't too responsive.
I don't remember the actual conversation now but by the end of it I wanted to punch him. He then told me God has a plan. In that moment, I made a decision. I turned to the cross that had been situated behind the altar and spat on it. Cue, shocked gasp from the people of my church as I tell them this.
Knowing what was about to come would shock them even more I asked the parents of children who they didn't want to hear a very strong curse word to cover their ears. Those who felt the need did so and I told them how my last act before leaving that place was to yell, "Fuck God's plan."
To be continued in Part II...
Faith.
Way back in June I think, one of our priests asked if we had had our faith tested. This was a group of about 20 college students from the RTP area and I was one of the four who raised their hands. It wasn't followed up on that day so I eventually put it out of my mind.
Today, said priest who I will call Father Oak, asked during Mass if those who felt compelled would share their testimony with the congregation. My roommate's girlfriend who is one of the five people not counting myself that knew the story started nudging me and telling me I should share.
Something you need to understand is that I am not a shy person. In the least. For all my other issues, I am a very extroverted person who has little trouble striking up conversation when I meet people. However this is sharing something that I am ashamed of to this day with over a 100 people.
The easiest way to describe the fear is that I felt as if I may be run out of the church once I finished with torches ablaze. Especially since I taught a good number of the younger children in Sunday School.
Growing up I never questioned that God created and loved me. I loved having either my Nana or a great aunt of mine read stories from the Bible and explain in a way a small child could understand. Something I know now is not an easy task.
Then certain events came about when I was 13 and I was so angry. People told me 'God has a plan' and that just made me madder. I wanted to feel better right then and there. My grandmother (who has largely disowned me, I'll post about that at some point) had me talk to her pastor about what I was feeling.
Think pretty much every negative stereotype of a preacher and you have this guy. Pinstripe suit, Jerry curl, at least one woman on the side, and a Mercedes obtained mysteriously. Needless to say, I did not trust this man so I wasn't too responsive.
I don't remember the actual conversation now but by the end of it I wanted to punch him. He then told me God has a plan. In that moment, I made a decision. I turned to the cross that had been situated behind the altar and spat on it. Cue, shocked gasp from the people of my church as I tell them this.
Knowing what was about to come would shock them even more I asked the parents of children who they didn't want to hear a very strong curse word to cover their ears. Those who felt the need did so and I told them how my last act before leaving that place was to yell, "Fuck God's plan."
To be continued in Part II...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
