Frank, my good friend who plays saxophone marvelously, called this week. He told me that he has been in touch with people he believes can help his music career. He is trying to think of ways to include me so that I can benefit from it, too.
I had an awful week, and was so out of energy and so despondent that his words just sounded to me like another potential disappointment. So, I began crying on the phone, which understandably shocked him.
But then, to cheer me, he gave me a compliment that was really from his heart, and while it was untrue, and meant nothing to me at the time, last night I began thinking about it while lying awake, staring at the ceiling fan. It may have been the nicest compliment I have ever received from anyone in my whole life, let alone from a middle-aged black man who has the experience and street cred to know whereof he speaks.
Frank told me that, even though I'm white, I GET black people.
Now, as I say, this is untrue. White people do not GET black people. It's physically impossible because of the continuity of being black. But it still warmed me immensely to hear him say that because it's what I have always wanted. I've always wanted to be a bridge between communities and to build understanding and intimacy. I think it's the only way to have a civilization.
I want to explain what I mean about the "continuity" of being black, as it was explained to me by a friend, Puddin' Pie Moss.
Pie told me that he is black continuously. There is no escaping it. When he walks down the street, people he sees a half a block away have formed an opinion of him, based on his skin, before he ever gets close enough to them to speak.
When he is in the black community surrounded by black people, there is a specific dynamic that whites can observe, but can't be a part of. And it's not always very good. This dynamic is both inclusive and demeaning. Some of these folks do, you know, call each other the "N" word, and it's accepted. But if I did it, it wouldn't be. That "N" word reinforces the sense of unity and community, but it also demeans and denegrates. It says, "Yeah, you're one of us, but as such, your're in the same sinking boat. It's us versus a juggernaut of white power."
So Pie, within the confines of his friends, family, and neighbors, is largely defined by something that is both strenthening and pejorative.
But, when Pie is in the white community, the dynamic changes in ways that are easier to predict, but sometimes very hard for whites to identify because it's a subtle dynamic. The little non-verbal messages that black folks get from whites all the time are often things whites don't even know they're saying or doing, but they come across loud and clear.
"You're probably a criminal, or at best, not someone I should trust." "You aren't as good as me." "I'll hire you if someone makes me, but you should view it as a gift." "You're gonna have to be twice as good to be regarded as half as valuable." "I'm afraid of you and what you may represent." "You and I have no common ground. None at all. We shall not talk because there's nothing to say."
Rick, a black man, once told me that at the hospital where we both worked, a place where he was as comfortable and relaxed as any place in his life, he stepped into an elevator one day. An elderly white woman in the elevator took one look at my friend's dark face, and clutched her purse tightly to her chest.
My friend felt like he'd been cold-cocked.
This assault certainly wasn't subtle to Rick. But it's pretty fair to assume that this frail little woman had no idea at all that she had hurt him.
Now, I'm a white person who has tried pretty hard for many years to understand how black people feel. The innate racism in this country is not that hard to document. Whoopi Goldberg does not have to scream at me on "The View" that racism is real. She's a black woman, albeit a wealthy one. I'm willing to take her word for it.
And I can also catch on that within the black community, there is another form of racism that suggests to young people that they will never be allowed to succeed in the white world, and if they do, it will be such a rare, miraculous thing that it will be tantamount to a Powerball win. "So, take our word for it. Limit your expectations, give the minimum effort, and ratchet back your personal goals, cause you aren't going anywhere."
If a young black man is convinced by his friends that the only way to get over in this life is to take short cuts that will borrow a lot of trouble for himself, that is destructive. But if he buys the party line, stays in school, gets the education, struggles to succeed and then goes off into a white-dominated world and learns to embrace the same hopelessness and inevitable failure there, that's just as destructive.
Which is worse? I don't know.
The only thing this young black man knows for an ironclad certainty is that he's black. And he always will be. He has the continuity.
White people have it another way. Ones like me who have been accused of being bleeding hearts can thrust our psyches into what it must be like to have these subtle, disheartening messages piled on top of our every-day struggles. We can tell ourselves, "Oh, my! How hurt and insulted would I be if a stranger clutched her purse to her chest when I got in the elevator."
But I'll never live it. Empathy and imagination nothwithstanding, I have no continuity.
We well-intentioned white people can try to walk in a black man's moccasins if we so choose, but afterwards, we can and will hide behind our white skin. We can stop being black with a toggle switch in our imagination. Even if we are white people who are poor and struggling, we don't have the continuity, the inescapability, of being black in culture that thrives on divisiveness. And without that, we can't really understand.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Death of an American Icon
As you know, the Lou was in the national news yesterday because of the sell-out of Anheuser Busch to InBev.
The InBev leader appears to be the only one happy about this. No one in the Lou is. To no one's surprise, the first change made will be to cut costs. That means labor, benefits, and probably charitable contributions. InBev in Belgium has no charity program, so it is unlikely that the $13 million/year that AB gives to local charities will not be affected.
There was a movement on to stop the takeover and my cousin, Dan, was on the front lines. It was a wasted effort, though, because the takeover was inevitable. In the end, InBev sweetened the deal considerably, and that caused the change to become a "merger" rather than a "hostile takeover." But I don't personally see the diff.
Things that make sense always take a back seat to things that make money. And if AB had been able to fight off this merger, it would have had to raise capital anyway by making the same cuts in salaries and bennies, etc. that InBev is making, so the end result would be the same.
The only thing that opponents could have achieved is keeping a foreign national from assuming ownership of an American icon. I think we should get used to this kind of thing, though. It certainly appears that America's tenure as a world power is drawing to a close. Our dollar is weak, our economy is shot, our leaders are stupid and our values are skewed. We place way too much importance on irrelevancies, and not enough on important matters.
The InBev leader appears to be the only one happy about this. No one in the Lou is. To no one's surprise, the first change made will be to cut costs. That means labor, benefits, and probably charitable contributions. InBev in Belgium has no charity program, so it is unlikely that the $13 million/year that AB gives to local charities will not be affected.
There was a movement on to stop the takeover and my cousin, Dan, was on the front lines. It was a wasted effort, though, because the takeover was inevitable. In the end, InBev sweetened the deal considerably, and that caused the change to become a "merger" rather than a "hostile takeover." But I don't personally see the diff.
Things that make sense always take a back seat to things that make money. And if AB had been able to fight off this merger, it would have had to raise capital anyway by making the same cuts in salaries and bennies, etc. that InBev is making, so the end result would be the same.
The only thing that opponents could have achieved is keeping a foreign national from assuming ownership of an American icon. I think we should get used to this kind of thing, though. It certainly appears that America's tenure as a world power is drawing to a close. Our dollar is weak, our economy is shot, our leaders are stupid and our values are skewed. We place way too much importance on irrelevancies, and not enough on important matters.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
In Memoriam: Customer Service
My bank did not do a mitzvah recently when the car burned up in August. It took seven weeks to get my insurance settlement. Shelter Insurance sent a check to my bank with dispatch to pay off what I owed on the car, almost $4,800. Three weeks elapsed and I called Shelter to find out why I hadn’t heard from them about my settlement. They had not received the title from the bank. I called the bank. They had never received the check.
Ms. Brooks assured me that this is not unusual. They misdirect, lose or else never recover bank drafts all the time. This appalled me. I told Shelter to send another check. A week later my bank had not received the second check. It was lost. A letter was sent to the bank from Shelter explaining what had been going on. The letter was lost. A third check was issued. It never found its destination. While all this is going on I am on the phone daily with this bank who assured me repeatedly that the address I had given Shelter was the correct address to send pay-off checks to. After seven weeks I was on a first name basis with the loan department’s supervisor’s supervisor’s supervisor. After the third check was lost I told Ms Really Big Shot to prepare the title for pick up, that someone would be there in person to get the title and drop off another check. This is against bank policy, I had learned by that time, but I didn’t care and Ms. RBS was too embarrassed to argue with me.
Then I had Shelter prepare another check. Then I sent a cab to pick up the check, take it to the bank, pick up the title from there and take it to Shelter. I forced Shelter to pay the $76 for the cab.
Now, let's not let Shelter off the hook here, either. They knew that something was not right with this entire procedure, and their office should have stepped in. So when I got the phone call from the claims adjuster that he wanted to bring me my check, I got ready.
He met me in the lobby of my office building. He had nerve enough to say to me, Well, Jana, we took steps to force your bank to release the title, so I am here with your settlement check.
"No, Ed. WE didn't. I did the work. I did your job. I forced the bank to act by sending a cab and instructing the driver to stand at the bank until those imbeciles did right. You did not. You didn't do ANYTHING to settle this. I did."
He was quiet after that, but he gave me my check.
Several weeks later, the bank headquarters sent to Shelter all three checks which they had had the entire time. Shelter called me and told me that.
Ms. Brooks assured me that this is not unusual. They misdirect, lose or else never recover bank drafts all the time. This appalled me. I told Shelter to send another check. A week later my bank had not received the second check. It was lost. A letter was sent to the bank from Shelter explaining what had been going on. The letter was lost. A third check was issued. It never found its destination. While all this is going on I am on the phone daily with this bank who assured me repeatedly that the address I had given Shelter was the correct address to send pay-off checks to. After seven weeks I was on a first name basis with the loan department’s supervisor’s supervisor’s supervisor. After the third check was lost I told Ms Really Big Shot to prepare the title for pick up, that someone would be there in person to get the title and drop off another check. This is against bank policy, I had learned by that time, but I didn’t care and Ms. RBS was too embarrassed to argue with me.
Then I had Shelter prepare another check. Then I sent a cab to pick up the check, take it to the bank, pick up the title from there and take it to Shelter. I forced Shelter to pay the $76 for the cab.
Now, let's not let Shelter off the hook here, either. They knew that something was not right with this entire procedure, and their office should have stepped in. So when I got the phone call from the claims adjuster that he wanted to bring me my check, I got ready.
He met me in the lobby of my office building. He had nerve enough to say to me, Well, Jana, we took steps to force your bank to release the title, so I am here with your settlement check.
"No, Ed. WE didn't. I did the work. I did your job. I forced the bank to act by sending a cab and instructing the driver to stand at the bank until those imbeciles did right. You did not. You didn't do ANYTHING to settle this. I did."
He was quiet after that, but he gave me my check.
Several weeks later, the bank headquarters sent to Shelter all three checks which they had had the entire time. Shelter called me and told me that.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Fermentation
I moved back in with my dad after my divorce, and the experience was good for both of us. He was less lonely, and I certainly was. One feature of my father's taste that will always stay in my memory was his fondness for pineapple-grapefruit juice. He always had some on hand. To lengthen its refrigerator life, he would pour it out of the can it came in and into a glass bottle with a screw-on cap. That way, it never tasted like the can, and was easier to pour.
Not long after I moved back home, I introduced him to Laura Haskell, and they were constant companions until she died. When she got sick with cancer, he moved to her house to care for her and left me to take care of our house. Me and the pineapple-grapefruit juice.
Trouble is, I didn't care for pineapple-grapefruit juice. It sat in the fridge for a long while, unmolested by me. I never drank it. I never opened it.
One day I came home from work, opened the fridge and found the result of the life threatening disaster that I had averted. The juice bottle had exploded. The juice had fermented, generating gas pressure inside the sealed bottle and on that particular day, the pressure exceeded the bottle's strength and an explosion occurred inside the refrigerator.
Tiny shards of glass were stuck to the inside of the fridge, glued on by dried juice. The shards covered much of the refrigerator walls, and all of the other items within. It was a horrible mess, and I took great care cleaning it up as the shards were tiny and very sharp.
I have thought many times in the years that have past what would have become of me if fate had dealt me a very bad hand and I had opened the fridge at the moment of critical mass. And I shudder. And I am thankful.
Not long after I moved back home, I introduced him to Laura Haskell, and they were constant companions until she died. When she got sick with cancer, he moved to her house to care for her and left me to take care of our house. Me and the pineapple-grapefruit juice.
Trouble is, I didn't care for pineapple-grapefruit juice. It sat in the fridge for a long while, unmolested by me. I never drank it. I never opened it.
One day I came home from work, opened the fridge and found the result of the life threatening disaster that I had averted. The juice bottle had exploded. The juice had fermented, generating gas pressure inside the sealed bottle and on that particular day, the pressure exceeded the bottle's strength and an explosion occurred inside the refrigerator.
Tiny shards of glass were stuck to the inside of the fridge, glued on by dried juice. The shards covered much of the refrigerator walls, and all of the other items within. It was a horrible mess, and I took great care cleaning it up as the shards were tiny and very sharp.
I have thought many times in the years that have past what would have become of me if fate had dealt me a very bad hand and I had opened the fridge at the moment of critical mass. And I shudder. And I am thankful.
Monday, April 7, 2008
The Lord of the Flies
An excerpt from about 1995:
Clint gets on Carl’s nerves with things that he does that I think are hilarious. Recently at a performance in Steelville, Illinois, we were at an outside fair and flies kept getting in our car. Carl wished for them to get out (there were many). He got in the car and began shooing them out the window.
Clint tried to help by calling the flies by name and speaking to them sternly about not obeying Carl.
“Lloyd! Hannibal! Get on out of there! What’d I tell you?”
He also attempted to explain their uncooperativeness by attributing to them personalities. He explained that Jackson preferred to sun himself on the steering wheel and that Oscar had found a piece of discarded french fry on the floor and did not wish to leave until after lunch. Thorndyke, he remarked, has had an attitude for as long as Clint has known him, and buzzing around his face annoyingly is just the kind of thing Clint would expect from Danté.
Carl got madder and madder at the flies and at Clint and I was holding my gut and laughing with tears streaming down my face.
Clint gets on Carl’s nerves with things that he does that I think are hilarious. Recently at a performance in Steelville, Illinois, we were at an outside fair and flies kept getting in our car. Carl wished for them to get out (there were many). He got in the car and began shooing them out the window.
Clint tried to help by calling the flies by name and speaking to them sternly about not obeying Carl.
“Lloyd! Hannibal! Get on out of there! What’d I tell you?”
He also attempted to explain their uncooperativeness by attributing to them personalities. He explained that Jackson preferred to sun himself on the steering wheel and that Oscar had found a piece of discarded french fry on the floor and did not wish to leave until after lunch. Thorndyke, he remarked, has had an attitude for as long as Clint has known him, and buzzing around his face annoyingly is just the kind of thing Clint would expect from Danté.
Carl got madder and madder at the flies and at Clint and I was holding my gut and laughing with tears streaming down my face.
My Life as a Guy Magnet
Related to my questionable memories of my high school career, let me explain about the first and last date I had with Frank Glendon. My friend, Judy, and Frank went to the same church and youth group when we were all in the same high school. I went to a different church and youth group, but often we cross-fellowshipped.
Frank had a crush on my friend, Debbie. Debbie couldn’t stand him. He followed her around, lurked at her locker, hovered around her when she tried to get to class, bothered her immensely. She complained bitterly to me, and I took pity on her. I told her to let me try something.
The next time I saw Frank lurking around Debbie, he was with her at her locker. I strode up to Debbie, and gushed, “Debbie, where did you get this gorgeous guy?” (Big fat fib.) “Why don’t you walk me to my locker sometimes?” I effused to Frank. Linking arms with the hapless dupe, I led him away so that Debbie could escape out the door.
Sure enough, he left her alone after that. Curiously, he left me alone, too. Problem solved.
A year or two passed and Frank turned up at a Bible study I attended. I was cautiously friendly to him. He was apparently with my friend, Lorrie. (Lorrie was later murdered by a drunk driver.) A day or two later, Frank called, having obviously gotten my number from Lorrie, who didn’t know any better. Before I could get my bearings, he asked me out, and I accepted.
He arrived late Friday night, having gotten lost. The program was to go to a Bible study, and then to a improvisational theater performance. Judy was at the Bible study, and I had a really good time. Afterwards, Judy and the rest of her youth group invited Frank and me to join them for a bite to eat. The bite to eat lasted so long that we missed the improv, which was okay.
I should point out that this date occurred on the coldest night in recorded history. It was very bitter. After the bite to eat, the walk back to Frank’s car was miserable as it was several blocks in the icy temperatures. His arm came around my waist. I didn’t object, but felt that if he has to do this, he should hold on tighter for the warmth.
We got to his car. He put the key in the door lock on the passenger side and unlocked it. I wanted to get in. I wanted to get in soon.
Instead, he turned to me, leaned against the door, crossed his arms in front of him and announced, “Well, I’m going to kiss you. What are you going to do about it?” Several thoughts went through my mind at once. The first and foremost was Oh, sh*t!
The second thought was a hazy recognition that this whole evening had been set up for this climactic moment when he pulls this off. I am now expected to rush into his arms with an orchestra playing some impassioned crescendo, and mutter, “Kiss me, you fool,” as I climb on top of him like butterscotch topping on a scoop of ice cream.
The third thought that went through my mind was Oh, sh*t!
I did not rush to him, say “Kiss me, you fool,” or jump on top of him. I was cruel and unfeeling. I was brutally honest and vicious. I burst his tender male ego.
I asked to be taken home.
The ride home was a little chilly even though the heater was on. He was giving me the silent treatment as he licked his emotional wounds. I ruminated the whole way about how much he had counted on this big finish and how hurt he must be to realize that I would rather not kiss him.
In fact, I would rather kiss a rhinoceros. I began to feel really bad about the way I had let him down, and reasoned that one kiss wouldn’t cost me anything except a few moments of revulsion.
It wasn’t that he was really repulsive. He was just your average guy. But it was the “I’m going to kiss you. What are you going to do about it?” approach that was smarmy and repugnant.
He was sullen and angry all the way home. My attempts at pleasant small talk were met with one-word responses spat between clenched teeth and dripping sarcasm. So I added “childish” to my list of indictments against him.
When we got to the house, he walked me to the door. Typical end of date scenario, right? I said, with regret and exasperation thinly veiled, “Why don’t you kiss me, Frank?”
His eyes lit up like I’d announced his winning lottery ticket. He grabbed me by the shoulders and the kiss was such that I was led to believe he was actually trying to eat my tonsils. After a few moments of enduring this, I broke the embrace and said good night.
An entire bottle of Listerine gave its life in an attempt to get his kiss out of my mouth. When he called the next day, I was prepared, and terminated the relationship.
Frank had a crush on my friend, Debbie. Debbie couldn’t stand him. He followed her around, lurked at her locker, hovered around her when she tried to get to class, bothered her immensely. She complained bitterly to me, and I took pity on her. I told her to let me try something.
The next time I saw Frank lurking around Debbie, he was with her at her locker. I strode up to Debbie, and gushed, “Debbie, where did you get this gorgeous guy?” (Big fat fib.) “Why don’t you walk me to my locker sometimes?” I effused to Frank. Linking arms with the hapless dupe, I led him away so that Debbie could escape out the door.
Sure enough, he left her alone after that. Curiously, he left me alone, too. Problem solved.
A year or two passed and Frank turned up at a Bible study I attended. I was cautiously friendly to him. He was apparently with my friend, Lorrie. (Lorrie was later murdered by a drunk driver.) A day or two later, Frank called, having obviously gotten my number from Lorrie, who didn’t know any better. Before I could get my bearings, he asked me out, and I accepted.
He arrived late Friday night, having gotten lost. The program was to go to a Bible study, and then to a improvisational theater performance. Judy was at the Bible study, and I had a really good time. Afterwards, Judy and the rest of her youth group invited Frank and me to join them for a bite to eat. The bite to eat lasted so long that we missed the improv, which was okay.
I should point out that this date occurred on the coldest night in recorded history. It was very bitter. After the bite to eat, the walk back to Frank’s car was miserable as it was several blocks in the icy temperatures. His arm came around my waist. I didn’t object, but felt that if he has to do this, he should hold on tighter for the warmth.
We got to his car. He put the key in the door lock on the passenger side and unlocked it. I wanted to get in. I wanted to get in soon.
Instead, he turned to me, leaned against the door, crossed his arms in front of him and announced, “Well, I’m going to kiss you. What are you going to do about it?” Several thoughts went through my mind at once. The first and foremost was Oh, sh*t!
The second thought was a hazy recognition that this whole evening had been set up for this climactic moment when he pulls this off. I am now expected to rush into his arms with an orchestra playing some impassioned crescendo, and mutter, “Kiss me, you fool,” as I climb on top of him like butterscotch topping on a scoop of ice cream.
The third thought that went through my mind was Oh, sh*t!
I did not rush to him, say “Kiss me, you fool,” or jump on top of him. I was cruel and unfeeling. I was brutally honest and vicious. I burst his tender male ego.
I asked to be taken home.
The ride home was a little chilly even though the heater was on. He was giving me the silent treatment as he licked his emotional wounds. I ruminated the whole way about how much he had counted on this big finish and how hurt he must be to realize that I would rather not kiss him.
In fact, I would rather kiss a rhinoceros. I began to feel really bad about the way I had let him down, and reasoned that one kiss wouldn’t cost me anything except a few moments of revulsion.
It wasn’t that he was really repulsive. He was just your average guy. But it was the “I’m going to kiss you. What are you going to do about it?” approach that was smarmy and repugnant.
He was sullen and angry all the way home. My attempts at pleasant small talk were met with one-word responses spat between clenched teeth and dripping sarcasm. So I added “childish” to my list of indictments against him.
When we got to the house, he walked me to the door. Typical end of date scenario, right? I said, with regret and exasperation thinly veiled, “Why don’t you kiss me, Frank?”
His eyes lit up like I’d announced his winning lottery ticket. He grabbed me by the shoulders and the kiss was such that I was led to believe he was actually trying to eat my tonsils. After a few moments of enduring this, I broke the embrace and said good night.
An entire bottle of Listerine gave its life in an attempt to get his kiss out of my mouth. When he called the next day, I was prepared, and terminated the relationship.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Paper Clip Update: How Did We Get Grown When We're Too Stupid to Live?
Paper clip update. You will recall the case of Sarah who recently had a baby by Bill Roberts, one of the men accused of abducting, assaulting and brutally raping a young woman outside of a night club on the east side. Sarah is living with her aunt. I pointed out previously that Sarah is exceedingly stupid. Just terribly stupid. Just mind-bendingly stupid. Like a paper clip.
Carl continually defended her because he liked pretty young women and it doesn’t much matter if they are bright enough to work a vending machine on their own. But he is fed up with Sarah. He was all set to throw some work at her so she would have some extras for the baby, etc. But when she told Carl that she was still in love with Bill and wished he would be out of prison so they could all live together as a family, that is all Carl could stand. He no longer contradicts me when I announce that there isn’t a retarded ferret anywhere in the world who does not have a huge leg up on this little twit.
Not that I have been Einstein when it comes to men. I have committed acts of unbridled stupidity that defy reason, myself. But I have never claimed undying love for a violence-crazed misogynistic rapist.
Another of Carl’s less-than-gifted friends, Chris, is in jail. Several years ago she was dating some guy who mistreated her. So she dumped him and started dating his father instead. Dad was a truck driver who was out of town a lot, so whenever he would leave, his son would call Chris and ask for a reconciliation just enough to get his rocks off. Chris fended him off, but he got angrier and angrier. Eventually Chris married the old man because he was decent to her at first.
But matters did not stay that way. The apple don’t fall far from the tree and the tree don’t grow far from the rotted fruit. The old man began to hit her and so forth so she took her kids (not by him) and left. He pulled some strings and had her utilities turned off and then reported to Family Services that her kids were hold up in a place with no heat or electricity. Family Services removed the kids to foster care.
Chris went through endless grief trying to get the kids back and to prove that she is stable and can provide a home, etc. Once DFS suspects you of something your life can be made a shambles.
Chris eventually did get them back and divorced the old man. This upset him. He and his son came over, and in a cooperative inter-generational effort, beat the crap out of her together. Way to bond with your son, huh?
She got a restraining order against the two men. When the son called her up to notify her that he was on the way over to beat her up again, she called the cops. Our friends, the cops. They arrived and were willing to enforce the restraining order, but could not find it in their computer. So they ran her name through the computer looking for it and a bench warrant popped up for $250 worth of traffic tickets she had not paid. So she went to jail and the kids went to foster care. Hundreds are needed to bail her out and there is not a soul in the world to help her. She is frightened and alone in the jail. Fortunately, she is huge, so she won’t be bullied as much as she could be. Plus she is unkempt and her teeth are green.
Do you realize I have never been physically abused by anyone? No pedophiles have ever done me harm; no relatives have wanted to play doctor, no man has ever raised a hand to me. For years I have wondered how I lucked out on this when there are so many women who don’t. It can’t be because of my sweet and loving personality that doesn’t inspire the rage or hatred usually linked to abuse because a) I don’t have a sweet loving personality; I am a bitch and b) I don’t think the temperament of the victim moves an abuser one way or the other.
There was an occasion when I was seven or eight years old when I was in a movie theater and a pervert sat down next to me. He had a trench coat and everything. He put his hand between my legs and rubbed.
Being uninitiated in matters of pedophilia and sexual deviance, and having no idea at all what this touching was about, I did not respond with fear or panic, but with bewilderment and annoyance. I crossed my legs and leaned away from him and he got up and left. I was lucky.
It was years later when I realized I had been molested. I can’t say that I suffered any long term psychological problems because of it. I think the incident had no impact on me whatsoever. As I say, I was lucky.
I wish now I had stood and screamed my head off in the theater until they had to stop the film and have the man arrested. Perhaps something worse happened to some other little girl because I did not. It pays to be educated about everything.
It is because of this episode and all the things that could have happened to me and haven’t that I suspect my life has been charmed in this area. I guess this is only fair since it has been righteously screwed up in so many others.
Carl continually defended her because he liked pretty young women and it doesn’t much matter if they are bright enough to work a vending machine on their own. But he is fed up with Sarah. He was all set to throw some work at her so she would have some extras for the baby, etc. But when she told Carl that she was still in love with Bill and wished he would be out of prison so they could all live together as a family, that is all Carl could stand. He no longer contradicts me when I announce that there isn’t a retarded ferret anywhere in the world who does not have a huge leg up on this little twit.
Not that I have been Einstein when it comes to men. I have committed acts of unbridled stupidity that defy reason, myself. But I have never claimed undying love for a violence-crazed misogynistic rapist.
Another of Carl’s less-than-gifted friends, Chris, is in jail. Several years ago she was dating some guy who mistreated her. So she dumped him and started dating his father instead. Dad was a truck driver who was out of town a lot, so whenever he would leave, his son would call Chris and ask for a reconciliation just enough to get his rocks off. Chris fended him off, but he got angrier and angrier. Eventually Chris married the old man because he was decent to her at first.
But matters did not stay that way. The apple don’t fall far from the tree and the tree don’t grow far from the rotted fruit. The old man began to hit her and so forth so she took her kids (not by him) and left. He pulled some strings and had her utilities turned off and then reported to Family Services that her kids were hold up in a place with no heat or electricity. Family Services removed the kids to foster care.
Chris went through endless grief trying to get the kids back and to prove that she is stable and can provide a home, etc. Once DFS suspects you of something your life can be made a shambles.
Chris eventually did get them back and divorced the old man. This upset him. He and his son came over, and in a cooperative inter-generational effort, beat the crap out of her together. Way to bond with your son, huh?
She got a restraining order against the two men. When the son called her up to notify her that he was on the way over to beat her up again, she called the cops. Our friends, the cops. They arrived and were willing to enforce the restraining order, but could not find it in their computer. So they ran her name through the computer looking for it and a bench warrant popped up for $250 worth of traffic tickets she had not paid. So she went to jail and the kids went to foster care. Hundreds are needed to bail her out and there is not a soul in the world to help her. She is frightened and alone in the jail. Fortunately, she is huge, so she won’t be bullied as much as she could be. Plus she is unkempt and her teeth are green.
Do you realize I have never been physically abused by anyone? No pedophiles have ever done me harm; no relatives have wanted to play doctor, no man has ever raised a hand to me. For years I have wondered how I lucked out on this when there are so many women who don’t. It can’t be because of my sweet and loving personality that doesn’t inspire the rage or hatred usually linked to abuse because a) I don’t have a sweet loving personality; I am a bitch and b) I don’t think the temperament of the victim moves an abuser one way or the other.
There was an occasion when I was seven or eight years old when I was in a movie theater and a pervert sat down next to me. He had a trench coat and everything. He put his hand between my legs and rubbed.
Being uninitiated in matters of pedophilia and sexual deviance, and having no idea at all what this touching was about, I did not respond with fear or panic, but with bewilderment and annoyance. I crossed my legs and leaned away from him and he got up and left. I was lucky.
It was years later when I realized I had been molested. I can’t say that I suffered any long term psychological problems because of it. I think the incident had no impact on me whatsoever. As I say, I was lucky.
I wish now I had stood and screamed my head off in the theater until they had to stop the film and have the man arrested. Perhaps something worse happened to some other little girl because I did not. It pays to be educated about everything.
It is because of this episode and all the things that could have happened to me and haven’t that I suspect my life has been charmed in this area. I guess this is only fair since it has been righteously screwed up in so many others.
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