Ugly Cry Time

I need to take pause from everything I have been doing (and neglecting– sorry photo challengers!) of late to express some true emotions.

The fact of the matter is: I don’t do those well. I am not a pretty crier. My face gets instantly red and puffy, snot rolls freely down my face and I can barely swallow the massive lump in my throat. But sometimes you just have to show that side– the ugly-crying side, that is– when it comes to saying good-bye. I have actively resisted crying or truly acknowledging how I’m feeling about this move to anyone (except possibly my husband) because I just don’t handle emotions very well. And I certainly don’t handle good-byes well at all.

My family has evolved so much over the past five years that Matt and I have lived in North Idaho. Our marriage has survived, not only the half-decade, but a job-change and integration into a new community. Both of my children were born here. They hit so many important milestones here. I can still see my daughter, at nine months old, playing on the floor of my now best friend’s house, on the first day that Sarah and I met. I remember the green of the grass as she stood alone for the first time in the front lawn, the exact shade of the carpet on which she took her first steps. Her first nursery, my son sleeping in the cradle at the end of my bed, the moments of them growing in this small town that have irrevocably changed me as a person and a parent. This place has been important.

Someone asked me what I would miss most, and I did not skip a beat with my answer: the people. I have met and had the privilege to form relationships with some of the most amazing people while here. It’s true that I will meet people wherever I go, but something about joining forces with my fellow moms in the formative years of our mid to late twenties has given these people a special place, forever in my heart. Watching our children grow together, some of them from the very beginning is awe-inspiring. One moment, I was touching the stretched belly of my friend and the next, I was gleefully cuddling a fresh, new person. We have nurtured each other and each others children, with no resentment toward the feeling of responsibility. These mothers have been my village. This experience of motherhood has not been singular; it has been shared. Connections never seem so strong until it’s time to let go.

The people I have met outside of my parenting circle, too, have had an incomparable effect on me. People with so much passion and drive for justice and social change, people who give all they have to a cause without thought or fear. Only in the last eighteen months or so have I become involved again with activism, and thanks to the inspiration and example of my new friends, I do not want to give it up.

These people have been so important.

I have moved a lot in my life. Three different schools with very different friends as a child and teenager, followed by a cross-country trek to Boise for college and then a northward sojourn to our current home. Now, on to Houston. There is no doubt that this time is different. Apart from all the stress and the certain culture shock that awaits our sheltered foursome, I have become attached. For all my complaining and the inconsolable itching my shoes, I will miss this place. I will miss these people.

I don’t have the words to thank everyone for what you have meant to me. I don’t have the power in me to look each one of you in the eyes and tell you the love and gratitude I have for you, whatever it is that you have done for me or my family.

Get ready to ugly cry for the next three days.

These last five years have been so important.

 

Oh, Idaho, oh, Idaho

In case you haven’t guessed it, I live in Idaho. Widely recognized as one of the most conservative, government-hatin’, proudly shit-kickin’-est states in the Union, it should also be clear to you that one of these things (that would be me) is not like the other; one of these things just doesn’t belong. I have found my niche, however, in this, the nearly reddest of places in the loudmouth liberal grassroots minority.

In working with violence prevention and gay rights movements in the area, I have found a calling. With them, I cheered a hearty cry when an Idaho judge struck down the constitutional amendment defining marriage as nonsense on Tuesday, effectively allowing same-sex couples to marry and be protected by nearly 1000 federal rights taken for granted by heterosexual couples. Until Thursday when a three-judge panel of nerds from the 9th District Court decided to temporarily grant Governor Butch Otter his request to stay the issuing of licenses until all appeals are complete.

The most heartbreaking thing is (and this may say more about me and my heteronormative privilege than anything else) that my gay friends most of all were not surprised. Angry and sad, but so used to disappointment and discrimination that they shook their heads and tried to make us feel better. It’ll just take some more time. People will do the right thing. And I have no doubt, that when this goes before the Supreme Court (that’s the gang that struck down DOMA) they will not side with Butch, or any of the other people fighting marriage equality.

Since DOMA was declared unconstitutional in June of last year, 18 states have also reevaluated their own statutes and amendments and each one has decided to recognize marriage as a right that should not be denied to anyone. Who knows how many more will follow before the case even makes it up to the SCOTUS? Hopefully, all of them. And what will the justices say then? Will they declare that half or more of the country is wrong– discriminating against gay people is totally okay on a national level. Nope. It’s not, and they know it’s not.

And, yet we wait. And the state in which I have lived and worked and loved and reproduced wastes millions of dollars preaching hate. Oh, Idaho… What will we do with you?

Add The Words

I wonder if my mother ever looked at me and thought I would be an activist.

I feel like I’ve been on a war path recently. And it’s not even a Presidential election year.

The Vagina Monologues raised awareness for the staggering numbers of women and girls who are sexually assaulted, raped, beaten, killed, circumcised, sold into slavery, coerced into early marriage and silenced. The project also brought in several thousand dollars in cash and hundreds of dollars in supplies to our local women’s shelter as well as the youth education programs it provides. I loved it. I loved getting into conversations with people and opening tight-wads up to perspectives they had yet to realize. Plus I got to say “vagina” about a million times in public places to and near total strangers and for some reason, my subversive self found that immensely gratifying.

There is a campaign here in Idaho that is stirring true and necessary attention this year, although it has been in progress for eight years. In cities across the state for the last twelve months or so, city councils have been approving ordinances which provide equal protection under the law to people belonging to the LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) demographic with regards to housing, employment and service. The Idaho Human Rights Bill already prohibits discrimination based upon race, color, religion, creed, gender or disability at a state level. The campaign, heard of most recently due to consistent silent civil protests and subsequent arrests is known as Add The Words. It demands that the voices of the people of the LGBT community and their families and friends be heard. At the very least to stop crushing the motion before public testimony can be presented.

protesters stage civil disobedience in the state capitol and face arrest

Ultimately, it demands that the bill be amended to add four words, “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” to extend the legal rights of those individuals. To allow those who currently live in fear of their truth, that they may lose their jobs or their homes, that they may be denied a service simply by being themselves to finally be free. It turns my stomach that this is taking as long as it has. Men and women, citizens who choose to live and pay taxes here have been fired, evicted, bullied, beaten, alienated, driven to suicide. Children, already grappling with crises of identity and self worth have been forced to face these horrendous situations, reeling in desperation so profound, they take their own young lives to escape it. And still, Idaho’s state legislators remain silent.

students attend candlelight vigil for equality; photo by Juli Stratton

This is just my little piece to send out into the wide world. I have this platform, and I will use it. (And this doesn’t even touch on the bigger, marriage equality fireball that burns in my chest anytime I hear the phrase “one man, one woman”.)

Add the words already, Idaho. Times, they are a-changin’, and even though you be the reddest state in all the land: it’s our time now.

Are you religious? Are you offended? What are you afraid of? Living and allowing to live does not make you “gay-sympathetic”. You believe what you believe, and I promise you, your God will judge you at the end for how well or poorly you treated others. If He wanted you to be prejudiced toward homosexuals, you will have no problems being on his good side. Granted I am no expert whatsoever, but from what I hear, it’s what’s in your heart that is the real read about whether or not you get into Heaven. If hate is in your heart, I pity the life you are leading, but if that’s what the good ol’ Lord asks of you, it’s going to be just fine if you serve a gay person a sandwich or rent a gay couple your shitty condo. Because we all know you adamantly wished harm on gay people so they wouldn’t rub off on you. But I can’t comprehend that being actually what he wants of you.

Okay, rant over. Sort of

I expect what comes of this. I’m okay with it.

candles in solidarity and memoriam; photo by Tre Vision Photography

I don’t exclude my children from these crusades. My every day revolves around making sure they see beauty everywhere, behave with love always and show utmost tolerance and acceptance of all walks of life. Holy crap– who said this job was easy?

I gathered my things together the other night to lead a candlelight vigil in support of those who have lost their dignity and lives in Idaho simply for being gay. My daughter was in the tub as I went to tell her goodbye.      

A: Where you going?

Me: I’m heading out to make the world a better place for you.

A: Oh! Cool. That’ll be amazing!

Does she know what’s she’s saying? Probably not. Was it 110% awesome anyway? You bet your ass.

Candlelight Vigil 3/10/13