In the midst of some of the brouhaha here lately, I told a story of an childhood incident that left a decided impression on me. I don’t tell that story to make anyone feel guilty, or to garner pity or anything… but for the lesson it taught me, that I’ve since tried to live up to. Ductape mentioned that I should make a diary of out it, but I didn’t really want to do that, and wasn’t sure how to anyway… but then I remembered… I already had, last year. I’m going to repost this here, even tho it’s a bit dated, just because it tells a bit of where I’m coming from. I hope others will also tell some of their experiences and lives and maybe we can reach some of this “convergence” that scribe described so beautifully. Anyway, here goes:
I think of the era in which I grew up to be the best of times. Others…? Eh, they think of it as the opening of the floodgates of Hell.
Yes… I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, in California.
Born in 1958, I am at the tail end of the Boomer Generation, so I was surrounded, from birth, by discussions of equality, challenging authority, challenging tradition, changing the world. Although I didn’t at the time realize the magnitude of the tragedies that were the deaths of John and Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, I shared in the sorrow because those around me were sorrowful. But not defeated. No cause depends on just one person, but is built up from the many individuals who decide that now is the time; enough is enough.
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My older brother was the hippie of the family and would bring all sorts of interesting people home. I spent hours listening to their discussions about war and peace, about justice and equality, overthrowing the establishment, building a new society and peace and love, man. I was too young to join them in their endeavors (and quite often, it seemed to me, some of them were too… chemically enhanced, let’s say, to do much of anything anyway), but I loved sitting in the corner and absorbing their thoughts and dreams. Did I ever thank those young men and women, not that much older than I was, for their idealism, their belief in the ability to create a better world, their willingness to protest and to fight for what they believed in? I know some of you are still around, still fighting the fight, leading the way, still dreaming and believing that change is possible. Thank you.
The older I get the more I realize how unique my upbringing was in one respect, for that period of time. In our home we were raised to believe that “our kind” was humankind. Not just through meeting people of different cultures at school, or at events, or in books, but by having them a part of our lives. The known and loved faces of my childhood were Black, White, Mexican, Japanese, Italian, Irish, African, Indonesian, Gay, Straight and in between. Gatherings and parties at our house were like the UN, before the UN was cool.
My mom… divorced single mother, business owner, with three children, didn’t join peace marches or organizations of any sort, that I can remember. What she did is live every day as an example, whether she knew it or not. I learned much just observing her kindness and courtesy to all individuals, regardless of their “station in life”; the respect she commanded just by respecting others, and recognizing the dignity and humanity in everyone, regardless of who they were. It was up to them to live up to that respect. Or not. She still treated them the same.
It’s my belief that you can talk about tolerance to your children all you want, but it’s who you invite into your home and life that seals the lesson.
For me, life was good. But as we know childhoods eventually end. Bigotry, hatred, racism are no respecter of age or reason.
It’s pretty devastating when you are 10, and at a school friend’s apartment for a birthday/pool party, to have the apartment manager come racing out, screeching that you… and only you… must get out of the pool RIGHT NOW, we can’t have a Negro child in there or we will have to drain the entire thing!
This was my first remembered encounter with the dreaded (but to be pitied) Ignorant Person my mother warned me about. And, I noticed, they were just as ugly as she said they would be. (A lot of things were tolerated in her household, but being an Ignorant Person wasn’t one of them).
I still remember everyone gathering around me, back in the apartment, as I sat shivering on the couch, not from cold. They apologized for the manager, but explained that of course I would understand if everyone carried on swimming without me, here there are books and a TV and we’ll be back soon. I nodded an agreement that I didn’t exactly feel, and watched them all walk away, out the door and back to the party.
I think it was at that moment that I decided that if ever it came down to a choice of standing with someone against an injustice, or walking away, I would choose to stand, to the best of my ability. Sometimes I’ve failed, over the years, made the wrong decisions, took the easy way out. More times, though, I have been fortunate enough to have the courage make that stand, even when it would have been easier or more comfortable to walk away.
This, to me, is part of the essence of liberalism.
I love being a liberal. Sometimes I even love being a Democrat. We’re not in the least bit perfect, thank the gods.
We debate things to death, go to bed thinking we’ve done a good job, wake up with a new outlook on the matter and debate it all over again. We have that blessedly cursed ability to see many sides of an issue; forget just shades of gray… someone usually throws some fuchsia and lime green in just to make sure we have everything covered.
We tried so very hard in 2004 to walk lock-step, which is basically antithetical to our nature. But boy, did we try. The wildly beautiful discordance of our multitude of voices attempting to sing the same song (often to distinctly different music), will not soon be forgotten. Nor should it. We accomplished much, if not what we most wanted.
We are still more than they ever will be.
There is great beauty in our variety. To me, conservatives are dull monochromatic creatures (vultures, maybe?), while liberals, progressives, Democrats… we range from fierce hawks, to brilliantly hued and flamboyant tropical creatures, to the softest, most helpless tiny warblers.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. We stand up for all, are made up of all.
Right after the election, in the midst of anger and grief and recriminations, when we are still being beaten about the head daily with words flung by pundits and prognosticators and charlatans masquerading as the godly — “It was gay marriage. It was Hollywood, it was atheists, it was a documentary, it was him, it was her, it was you, it was whatever I want you to believe it was no matter what…blame them, they lost the election for you. ” – we’ve done what we do best. We’ve talked, we’ve debated, argued, planned, searched our policies, our souls and Google; should we retool, refit, reform, get religion, make a new presentation, wrap a package up differently, embrace the middle, move left, move right, yell, whisper, march, organize, or simply pull the covers over our heads and wait it out.
What we didn’t do… except for a very few… is say, “Let’s walk away, we can still have our party without them.”
I love our principles. I love standing with people who realize that “equal rights for me, but not for you” is an unacceptable contradiction. Who believe that justice should be more than just a word carved on a courthouse wall. Who believe helping those with the least among is us not only a good thing, but also the right thing to do. That, regardless of your political persuasion, you should have a vote, and that your vote should count. That our actions should a true reflection of our ideals, not just phony posturing. That torture is not a moral value.
I love most of all that while we necessarily squabble and debate, pull in opposite directions in an effort to reach the same destination, argue passionately and forgive wholeheartedly, and probably always will, that the debate is over how best to achieve our goals and stand up for ourselves and others. Not whether to stand up at all.
