I remember now.

I'm 56 now and graduated from high school in 1973,  college in 1977. I mention the dates because after listening to the news today, I realized that I should start recording my memories of high school. Apparently in 10 years or if I ever choose to run for president (not gonna happen, I promise), I will lose my memories of that period of my life.

So here are a couple of things I remember - I was regularly called a faggot and a homosexual through-out high school and college. Well actually it was more like "fag" and "homo".

I figured at the time it was because I was tall, had long hair and loved music, theater, singing and dancing. I was a little outside the norm during my school years, particularly after having accelerated in fourth grade. Nothing like pushing your desk down the hall in the middle of a school year to tag you as different. That in combination with my reaction to my father's death in sixth grade certainly made me feel different from others....or at least so self involved that I didn't care or have a clue whether I was like them or not.

I remember being regularly singled out and challenged to fight in junior high, at the bus stop, at my locker, surrounded by a half a dozen of my class mates. Apparently I was particularly scary in my polyester bell bottoms with matching neckerchief. The words I remember more than the fists.

I remember the verbal baloney got so bad during my senior year in high school that when I was cast as the lead in our high school musical, the theater and music teachers insisted that I forgo any other activities that put me in front of my schoolmates until after the musical was performed.  Huh.

In college the words continued to be used through my freshman year. Yeah my hair was down to my shoulders, I wore a fedora and an ankle length car coat with a fur collar when it got cold.

Now I'm sure that my behavior - particularly my mouth attracted some of this abuse. I have a tendency to say what is on my mind. Although I've never understood what having an active mind and exercising it in concert with my mouth had to do with my sexual orientation.

I was coached to brush off the words and the insults, reminded that, "sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you." So I created a facade. You can't get to me, I don't care.

What colossal rubbish.

I remember.

I choose to not remember who said what, but I do remember what was said.

I remember how I reacted to those words and what I chose to make them mean.

I'm fine now.

I do care.

I remember.

I learned.

Words. Are. Important.

Namaste,
Lon

One step at a time.

Peace

9-11 remains one of the most heart wrenching memories of my life.

Broken hearts - shattered lives - souls adrift. We took care of each other.

May we continue to offer our hearts and hands to each other as brothers and sisters. 

Peace and love to you and yours. God bless.

Is no news, good news?

I am turning off the news more often than not these days. The only legitimate reason I find to read or look at whats happening in the world beyond my own backyard, is to determine who is in need of my prayers the most. What is up with that?

A beautiful place in Australia.

School taught me that an informed citizen was a responsible citizen. I can remember devouring newspapers and news magazines. Journalism was a fascinating subject to me and was practiced by many excellent organizations.

Today, I believe there are very few organizations that allow their writers to be journalists. We are being informed by a generation of writers who were not given the time or experiences to develop the skills to truly investigate a story. In a culture that often values speed over accuracy; profits over integrity; our writers rehash what they are told. Told by messengers who work on carefully crafting the message of their masters, governments, corporations or [fill in the organization of your choice].

We have devalued journalists so thoroughly that the organizations that used to develop and pay them are disappearing. Rapidly. Our Fourth Estate is dying a not so slow death.

A Tribute to my Father

Posted at Gratefully Yours, Lon.

Gratefully Yours, Lon

The other day I began to write a piece about gratitude. It ended up being about Angels and Teachers. I realized as I kept remembering more people from my past to express my gratitude to;  it was likely I would meet more people to thank in the future; so a separate space should be created. So welcome to Gratefully Yours, Lon.

Beauty and Truth: All You Ever Need To Know

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This saying has been traced back to the 3^rd century BC, with many writers including Shakespeare restating it in their works. Its current form is attributed to Margaret Wolfe Hungerford from her novel Molly Brown published in 1878.

I believe that not only beauty, but truth are found in the eye of the beholder. We simply can't see things in anyway, but the way we see them. 

My world is colored uniquely by the way I've experienced the world, and what I've made those experiences mean about, and to me. It's a circular construct that continually evolves. My truth ain't growing no moss.

Be a Queen! (Bee) or I Am One with the Cannoli

Someone told me once that if I felt huge resistance ( fear ) to taking a particular path, I might as well start walking down it now, or I would simply have to face it later.

Damn them.

THE JOURNEY:

Nothing scares me more than to imagine, a life lived alone. Living without companionship, intimacy, love, family or friends. It might appear to some, that is exactly where I am putting myself. Alone, in plain sight. Maybe...

I've started down this path a few times before in my life, every time going a little further, but in the end always turning back. Why? 

Umm...cuz I got scared maybe?

On this journey, there is no one but myself to talk to, listen to, or reason with. ( I know I made all of these rules up, but somehow they were important for me to learn, to own. ) There are only my opinions, my voice, my actions, and my wants and desires.  I am the one responsible for, loving and respecting who I am.  Yeah I know, cue “I've Gotta Be Me”.

Trust me I've had HUGE resistance to the idea that I'm all I've got. Are you kidding me? Look at the evidence. I'm pretty sure that a fourth grader could build a convincing case that I am a disaster in progress!

OH, OH, HE THINKS HE'S GOD

I Stand on the Side of Love. Join me.

There’s no bad reason to love someone. Do you love people only because they love you back?

Enjoy this beautiful piece at Thinking Too Hard.