Michelle Plays Connect the Dots Between Misogyny and Homopobia; Part Two: Gaydar

*disclaimer:  I say some negative things about my husband in here…I want to say up front that he is an incredible man; he may have had some not-so-proud moments at times(hey, who doesn’t?), but he has the humility to admit it and the bravery to look at himself and change.  Which makes me amazed at his strength and so proud to be called his wife!

You can read Part One here.

Um, no.

PART TWO:  

There is no such thing as “gay-dar”.

I know this sounds like a complete departure from my previous post, but stick with me. 

Conservative Christians have the absolute worst stereotypes of the homosexual community EVER.  

Which is so hypocritical, because the only reason that community exists is because WE KICKED THEM OUT of ours.  WE ostracized them.  And God created humans to live in community, so they found each other.  And communities create their own subcultures, which turn into stereotypes.  So homosexuals may tend to have similarities because they live in similar communities.  Just like upper-class communities will have a vernacular quite different from those living in poverty, or the Hispanic community will have traditions unique to their world.  So, yes, you may notice something “outside your comfort zone” about the homosexual culture but that doesn’t mean you are imbued with a superpower called “gay-dar” anymore than I have “German Baptist Radar” whenever I see a woman wearing a cap and a calico dress.

Nope, they don't look different from me.  Not at all.

Some Christians have rationalized that homosexuals are in open rebellion to God, so they are required to kick them out of the community until they repent.  But anyone who says gays(in general) are in open rebellion has probably never experienced the fear many go through when telling loved ones as they “come out”.  A rebellious person would not go through so much anguish, would not hide their feelings, would not show so much LOVE for those people in their lives that they deny what they are experiencing within themselves in order to please others.

I am not saying here that homosexuality is or isn’t a sin.  I’m leaving that out of the debate totally, because that’s not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about empathy.  I want to talk about love, and what a community which professes to be the embodiment of Jesus should look like.

Not the best writing, but good thinking.

Recently, I read a book called The Cross in the Closet about a man who pretended to be gay for a year, to break through all his Christian stereotypes.  I was talking about it to Chris, and somewhere in our discussion, he asked if this man adopted the entire “gay persona”.  I asked what he meant, and he said, “You know, the whole lisp and limp hand thing.”  And he acted it out in a way that, to me, appeared to be mocking.

I got offended.  We know enough gay people to know that’s not the norm, and I said as much…but he countered by telling me that he had plenty of gay patients, and they “all” acted like that.  To which I responded…”Yeah, the ones you KNOW were gay, because they made it obvious.  But not everyone who has a lisp is gay.  Plenty of heterosexual people have speech impediments, and plenty of gay people don’t.” 

It really doesn’t help that he has a half-brother who has a slight lisp and who is a hair-dresser.  I mean, really.  Stereotype to the max.  Plus, he dresses like he owns the room, has impeccable taste in everything, AND he drinks cosmos… I practically snorted my sandwich through my nose at our last family get together as Chris was escorted into the kitchen by his two gay brothers, who were both like, “What?  You’ve never had a COSMO?”  I wanted to respond with, “Well, he’s not GAY!”

Straight men; drinking a cosmo won't make you gay.  I promise.

So, yeah, I have my own stereotypes too.

But it seems like so many heterosexual men think they have “gay-dar”; that they can spot a homosexual man from a mile away—this is a super power bestowed upon them.  I am constantly baffled that it never occurs to them that their “gay-dar” is only going off because #1) The gay man WANTS to be recognized as such OR #2) Their “gay-dar” is incorrect.  

I recently read an article where a waiter, who is most definitely heterosexual, was assumed to be gay by some patrons because of his “gay” qualities.  And he just went along with it because he didn’t want to embarrass the patrons by correcting them.   Why is it so difficult to understand that there is a wide range of physical qualities in heterosexual men?  Or, for that matter, in homosexual men? 

I love this Tumblr blog, http://thingsmystraightboyfriendsays.tumblr.com because it shows how we stereotype gay men.  And how we limit heterosexual men.  Some men are so homophobic that they don’t dare behave in any ways that might be even slightly construed as “gay”.   Why can’t a man have an opinion on style, or food, or room design without being labeled as gay?

And think about it, we mock and we fight against the “gay agenda”…but why is this people group fighting for their rights anyway?  Why do they have their own unique characteristics?  Oh yeah, it’s because WE REFUSED TO ASSOCIATE WITH THEM. 

We have homosexuals in our family.  I love them.  I don’t need a supernatural push, because their sexual orientation has nothing to do with their person-hood. My brother-in-law, who came into my life just a few years ago, is a perfect example. He’s full of love…because he loves Jesus.  He’s a much better Christian than many I run across.  And he has experienced the worst of the worst.  He has said that if he could choose to be a different way, he would, because the path he is on is not an easy path.  He has experienced hate and discrimination, and he still chooses to compassionately love others: 

I have most certainly tried to pray the gay away. I have prayed, fasted, denied myself, I could go on and on. I am gay like my eyes are blue. I had no choice in this. What God has given me in my pursuit of righteousness is patience....love....empathy, qualities that I wouldn't trade for the world. If someone comes to know the Lord through His love and kindness shown through my lispy voice and soft ways then my existence has not been in vain.  

(yes, he read this blog and my comments about his lisp, and he couldn't help but add a bit of humor in there for me.)

One time, we were driving in the car together, and he said one of the most impactful things anyone has ever said to me.  He told me that both I and his birth mother (my mother-in-law) have shown HIM the love of Jesus more than any other person he’s known.  I would have said that he will never know how precious that moment was to me, but when he reads this, I suppose he will (Hi Ron!  I love you!).  I wasn’t even sure what I’d done.  I just treated him like everyone else around me (as he put it…I validated his love for Christ, not his homosexuality).  It made me mad at all the other people.  He is so loveable.

But maybe that’s the point.  He was used to being treated as less-than.  I can identify with that.  And I don’t want anybody, ever, to feel like that.  No Child of the King should ever feel like that, and *newsflash* WE ARE ALL CHILDREN OF THE KING.  Yeah, every homeless bum you see; every person you FEEL superior to…nope.  They are ROYALTY, and deserve to be treated as such.  We are all image-bearers.

learning the word "Namaste" changed my life.

I still treasure my “Namaste” rock. 

I love the meaning.  I think of it often, especially when I’m walking the streets where I encounter strangers.  I enjoy meeting eyes and smiling, and thinking “The image of God within me recognizes and honors the image of God within you.” 

That idea is not exclusive.  We can’t pick and choose which human gets to be like God.  It’s not like, “Hey, I like you and how you think, so I will honor you.”  That’s not true honor.  When you truly disagree, yet still respect that person and desire unity…that’s honor.  When you can’t find unity within the doors of the church, if you hate each other that much, what chance does the unbelieving community around you have?

I know that if I was gay, those signs would TOTALLY make me want to know more about Jesus and his loving ways...yeah, they would COMPLETELY make me want to change.  I would be charging into church the next Sunday for SURE!  But hey, look how FRIENDLY those people look with their smiling faces!  At least GOD LOVES THEM in all their self-righteous glory.

I was very disappointed with my husband when Ron entered our family, because he wasn’t as accepting as I was.  Chris was trying, I could see that.  But there was something holding him back.  It was only this past week where I finally learned why.

Stay tuned to hear PART THREE.

Michelle plays connect the dots between Misogyny and Homophobia; Part One: Male Space

Hold on, it’s going to be a roller coaster ride.

I want to share with you some thoughts and perspectives that are very dear to me; things I have learned over the past year, which culminated in an epiphany today.  I have a VERY DEFINITIVE POINT I want to convey, but in order to get there without losing all of you, I feel I need to explain a few OTHER things first.  Therefore; this one point will be brought to you in multiple posts, so as to attempt to refrain from being overwhelming to all of us.  But mostly me.

So, let’s buckle up!

PART ONE:
 Public space is NOT public space; it is male space.

I can’t recall where or when I first heard this idea, but it totally clicked with me—basically, one of the reasons men struggle with understanding how women feel in public is because MEN OWN PUBLIC AREAS, but they BELIEVE public areas are owned by everyone.

Did you laugh?  Even just a little bit?  What does this say about your subconscious beliefs?

Allow me to explain.  When a man goes to his job, a store, the movies, a park, etc., he (in general) does not experience other people cat-calling him when he walks.  He doesn’t experience jokes whose sexual innuendoes are against his gender.  He doesn’t get groped in a crowded elevator.  People don’t “undress” him with their eyes or make comments about his weight or attractiveness.  People don’t casually touch his waist when walking past him, or tell him to smile (you know, because those frowny lines will put WRINKLES on your pretty little face) when he may just be thinking deeply. 

Women, on the other hand, experience these things frequently, and when they address the issue, the men often make the excuse that they were complimenting the woman, and she should feel flattered.

To further identify public space as male space, you can notice that if a woman is being treated in a sexual way, and a man who is her boyfriend/husband/etc. joins her, the unwanted man DOES NOT apologize to the woman, he apologizes to the MAN, because the woman, after all, BELONGS TO HIM, and he realized that he was infringing on the property of another man.

This notion of male space became more mainstream with the backlash from the Isla Vista Murders in 2014, prompting the twitter handle #YesAllWomen.  For example; 

#yesallwomen because "I have a boyfriend" is more likely to get a guy to back off than "no", because they respect other men more than women -- ZAmmi (@ZAmmi) May 26, 2014

✔@aimeemann

The cops who asked me "Well, what were you wearing?" when I reported an attack and attempted rape. #YesAllWomen

What? No, I have plenty of space, dude.  Thanks for checking tho.

Another popular site garnering attention is the Tumblr blog “Men Taking up Too Much Space on the Subway” where you can view photo after of photo of men spreading their bodies all over compact women on subways, trains, airplanes, and buses.  This article discussing the Tumblr page includes a particularly incisive quote:  

"I think men just feel entitled and don't notice. They are oblivious,'' said Asya Kamsky, a San Francisco software executive who flies about 200,000 miles a year. Ms. Kamsky said she defends her space against encroaching elbows and legs. "I don't have a problem kicking if I need to,'' she said. 

My own personal experience testifies to the truth of male space, AND to the fact that this is so deeply ingrained in our culture that neither men nor women even notice.  I had only begun to develop sexually when this became a part of my regular routine.

I was in the 7^th grade, and there was a group of boys who thought it was funny to congregate in the halls between classes, so that it became crowded and I had to squeeze through to get to my locker or my next class.  As I moved through their “gauntlet”, I would invariably get my butt pinched or my chest groped.  It wasn’t just me; many of the girls suffered through this.  There never seemed to be a way to use my textbooks and folders to safely cover all the parts they could grab.  And I felt immense shame.  I used every method in the book to keep the tears at bay.  I would not give them my tears too.

But those boys, they were totally ignorant that what they were doing was traumatic.  Looking back, I know their faces were not cruel.  They were “boys being boys” in a society where public space is MAN space, and they were testing their fledgling man-wings.

Fortunately, that kind of behavior was only a daily occurrence for one school year.  But it still affects me.  I don’t like crowded hallways, elevators, rooms.  I won’t go to concerts.  I sit and stand against walls or in corners where I can observe the rest of the room and no one can come up behind me.  It’s a protective mechanism I subconsciously developed after years of men thinking it was “fun” to startle me, grab me from behind, etc. whether or not they were being sexual or not.  They still do it.  They think it’s funny to see me jump.  It’s not funny.  At all.  Because what men don’t realize is that “startle reflex” that is SO HIGH in me and other women…well, it’s high because MEN have sexually harassed us since we were too young to even understand that we were being traumatized.

Want to argue that we don't live in a "Rape Culture"? This is an ad for what?...looks like gang rape to me.  Oh wait, it's for upscale clothing.  Of course...makes total sense.  I know I totally want to wear that now!  Because nothing says "you need this outfit" like being the sex toy for four men.  I mean, that's every woman's fantasy, right?  RIGHT?  I mean, those guys are totally HOT, so it's OKAY, right?  I'm sure she probably wants it.  It's cool.  Just leave this totally safe magazine around for your children to learn about "normal" culture.  I'm sure they won't get any wrong ideas.

Even men who are attempting to push for the rights of women—they still use the concept of male space when they speak about rape culture.  You hear men say things like, “Imagine if that woman was YOUR wife, YOUR sister, YOUR daughter who was harassed, assaulted, raped.  How would YOU feel?”  Sure, the intentions are good as the man is attempting to personalize the situation…but in making a man personalize the situation to the violence occurring to someone that BELONGS to him, it emotionally incites him to want vengeance against the person who damaged his property instead of thinking compassionately and empathetically about what it might feel like to BE the victim.

Why do we not ask the men to imagine what THEY would feel like?  Perhaps because their general response is, “Hey, baby, PLEASE harass me, grope me, do whatever you want to me!”  Because men (and yes, I am generalizing A LOT, so give me a touch of grace here) perceive attention from a woman as a confidence builder, not a threat.  Men have such a difficult time imagining the FEAR they create in us, when they perceive their actions to be complimentary.

Hmm...

And, quite frankly, I’m tired of being a good sport about it.  I’m tired of the adrenaline and the cortisol and the epinephrine.  I’m tired of the sudden reactions I have, which I have to turn into a sudden “ha, ha, oh hey, you got me…”  I mean, I know you’re a nice guy, and you’re just being silly, but one of these days I’M GONNA CRACK AND YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE YOUR JEWELS.

I didn’t start taking ju jitsu classes just for fun.  They are difficult, especially for this unathletic, uncoordinated thing.  But I am determined to be able to take a man down if I have to.  I’m sick of this male-dominated society where I get trashed around everywhere and I have to smile and take it just because I’m too little to do anything about it.  Newsflash:  I’m not a toddler.  And I know how to break your arm in two easy steps. (although, at this point, you may need to be totally compliant for it to work…)

Okay, well, the roller coaster just did its first loop.  Stay tuned for part two…

Taking Jacob to College

He's already more organized than most.

Tonight, for the first night of forever, my son sleeps in a bed not of my own.  Yes, he has bunked at camp.  He has slept over.  But tonight he has “moved in” to a place he will now call “home”.  A home not of my making.

He will wake up tomorrow, and breakfast will not be in my kitchen.  He will have his own refrigerator with milk we bought and cereal his sister sent for him, but that will run out and he will be on his own.

He will wake himself, and all the mornings that irritated me will be gone.

Last week.

The four places at our table will be reduced to three.

I can barely remember a time in my life where he wasn’t there.

And he won’t be back in a week.

His wit and sarcastic commentary on life won’t be there while we eat dinner.  I won’t need to buy four boxes of cereal each week, or a pound of deli meat.  Or two bags of bagels.

And I wonder if I’ve done enough.  Have I loved enough?  Have I been there enough?

Me taking a pic of Carina taking a pic of Jacob.

I painstakingly unpacked his clothing, his towels, his toiletries.  I hid little fun things for him.

But he lived with me during the hard years.  He got used to the rough life with me, and he spent a lot of time alone.

I am glad he will be with other people.  I pray he will have healthy friendships.  I am glad he has maintained the ones he has had.  I am glad we had the opportunity to visit one of his friends last week.

I wish we could have met his roommate.  It feels very insecure to leave him alone in a room with some stranger.  But Chris has spent a great deal of time pouring into him.  And I know that those words won’t come back empty. 

We are not leaving Jacob alone.  He is surrounded.

But here.  We feel the emptiness.  And the gladness.  We know he is ready.  We are too, it just hurts.

My Soap Box About San Fran

Chris and I recently took the kids on a vacation to California, and I feel as if my heart is bursting with things to share…

my new journal...

We went to San Francisco, a city much more beautiful than I was expecting; then we went to Sequoia National park and Kings Canyon before returning to San Francisco to fly back home.  I hope to share with you a few of my experiences and observations; positive, negative, and introspective.

You may know that I am meticulous at keeping a journal, but you may be unaware that certain events have caused me to be reticent to write as I have become accustomed to—on my computer.  Vacations give me the opportunity to jump-start the writing process because I refuse to take my computer with me and instead carry an old-fashioned journal.  This time, knowing I’ve had “writer’s block”, I junked my previous paper journal for a new one---

Seems appropriate for me, eh?

Yet our vacation was so full that I had little time to journal and instead wrote lists of items of “things to process later”…

I thought I might process them with you.

#1.  San Francisco.

 I noticed many homeless people, but they were quite different from the homeless I encountered while living in Chicago.  They were not IN-YOUR-FACE begging for money or anything of the sort.  They were just “there”.  Much like the homeless were in the Philippines; it was an accepted way of life.  During a city tour, our guide told us that many of the homeless had been “shipped” there from Phoenix as they emptied out their mental institutions…they were handed a one-way ticket to San Fran…due to the excellent care and laws they have in the city towards the homeless, apparently some cities “send” their mentally ill and destitute to San Fran to make their cities look cleaner…so I checked and found many articles like this:  (http://www.seattletimes.com/nation-world/sf-sues-nevada-for-giving-mental-patients-one-way-bus-tickets/)

              

The guide on our tour said most of the homeless had little interest in being placed in institutions or homeless shelters; they liked their “freedom”.  I immediately recalled the book by Jeanette Walls entitled The Glass Castle where her mentally ill parents also chose the same lifestyle in New York  http://www.amazon.com/The-Glass-Castle-A-Memoir/dp/074324754X.  It's an interesting side-note that MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE CAN'T MAKE WISE DECISIONS ABOUT THEIR LIVES.  HEY, I SHOULD KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, you can't force an adult to swallow their meds and think clearly.  But come on, many of these people need serious help and saying that they "enjoy" their "freedom" is just about the world's biggest cop-out EVER.

              

It IS nice to see a city where there is a great deal of compassion and tolerance for the homeless.  Chicago was a horrible city as far as dealing with the homeless, and I often became nauseous living there, wanting to help those on the streets, but being told over and over again that I was “enabling drunks” and that I should not even look at them.

               

Somewhere along the way I decided to stop thinking about homeless people as being “them”.  I decided to look them in the eye.  I refused to listen to the majority and chose my own way.  I am so glad I did.

fyi, you still are my neighbor.

                

Because I met that young woman with the dog in the grocery store, that one time. http://fragileclayjars.blogspot.com/2012_03_01_archive.html

                

And because last week, I watched a couple (a married couple?) sit together at Fisherman’s Wharf.  

They looked like they were American Indians; they were so dark and red, except that when they sat and crossed their legs, you could see the gaps at their pants where the white showed through.  We were on a tour…having been given a boxed lunch from a place called “Boudin” (Chris said it was on the Food Network or something…) and were relaxing in the shade while listening to some street musician playing music while some other man (mentally ill? Most likely…) swayed with some interpretive dance a few yards away and people lined up along the pier for some tour…

                

While we were eating, the man approached another family from our tour.  I have no idea what he said to them, but he seemed gregarious enough, but the woman remained seated in the shade.  Later, Chris told me that he was the "scout"; the one who begged, while the woman was the one who guarded their meager belongings.

                

Our sandwiches were enormous and they included a bag of chips.  I ate the meat and cheese from my sandwich, throwing away most of the bread, and on an impulse held the chips back.  As we passed the woman, I held them out and asked if she would like them.

                

The only comparable thing I can say is…it was like someone walking past me and saying, “Hey, I’ve got this Crème Brulee and I don’t really want to eat it…” 

               

 She was so happy.  And I had been so nervous.  I mean, how do you approach someone with food without appearing pretentious?  I had no idea what the culture was actually like…after all, the driver said that “these people” liked their freedom.

                

But did they like Doritos?

                

Yes, the answer was yes.

                

Then my family fell in behind me, scavenging in their lunch boxes for all the “safe” food they hadn’t eaten (i/e food that was in a sealed bag) and they left it with the dumbfounded woman.

                

And I realized several things:

1.   San Francisco isn’t all that different from Chicago, for all their lofty ideals.  Because if I can shock the socks off a woman with a bag of Doritos, nobody is REALLY caring for the homeless here.

2.   I should really quit caring about what people think about me, and just do what I feel compelled to do, because being embarrassed is a really lousy excuse for doing nothing.

3.  I am glad there is a city with a mild temperature where there are people who have a tolerance for the mentally ill and the homeless.  I wish my city was more like that.  I wish I was more like that.  I wish that city was more like the way they think they are.  At least nobody is likely to lose their fingers or toes to frostbite there.

4.   If I could do it over again, I would be more aware and I would share a lunch and give away a wholesome sandwich along with the Doritos.  I had more than enough to share; I had just been conditioned to only give away food that was factory sealed.

Part of me feels so completely shamed.  Why am I not ALWAYS prepared to share with others?  It reminds me of the time, many years ago, when the children and I passed homeless people nearly every day on my way to work (and their way to an amazing after-school program)...and it broke my heart, so we bought nutritious snacks and juices and the kids wrote Bible verses and painstakingly taped them to the bottles and snacks...and the homeless people disappeared overnight.  We looked EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. to find a person to give our gifts to, and they were all just...gone.  I can't explain it.  The snacks eventually hit their expiration date, and the juices too...

Now our family serves once a month at a food kitchen in our town.  We are "waiters", so to speak.  It's an amazing place, where people are treated with dignity.  It is run like a restaurant, so I wait tables, serve drinks, take orders, and bring plates of food to the people of MY community.  They don't stand in lines.  They rest, for once.  My daughter usually brings a tray of desserts around, where the patrons choose something to treat themselves.  Birthdays are celebrated with cakes.  Some toothless guy I can barely understand sits next to the trash can and berates me for my poor ability to scrape the plates clean...he says I'm getting better.  I have to laugh.

A young woman with beautiful red hair comes in most weeks, all alone, after the regulars have come and gone, and eats a meal.  We keep inviting her to church.  Perhaps one day she will come.

A group of elderly couples show up sometimes.  The wife of one said she was "just so hungry" and I wonder what their story is...why they have been reduced to coming to get a free meal.  Just a few turns for the worst, and that could be me.  She has such a spark, and I find myself loving her.

I actually find myself hoping to see these people the following month, when my church returns for their time-slot.  But then I realize that these people DON'T hope to return.  They have a love-hate relationship with the soup kitchen.  They love the people who run it; the people who have worked so hard to create a respect-oriented environment.  But they don't want to NEED it.  

 Most homeless or destitute people are NOT drug addicts.  Most people on welfare are NOT druggies either.  You spend time with them and you know.  These are people with lives, with stories.  They have experienced more life than most of us will ever know, or WANT to know.  They deserve compassion and respect.

Okay, I'm done.