Diversity

I'm not naming names, but someone close to me has been posting stuff about immigration recently on Facebook -- stuff like "Like and Share this picture if you don't want to be forced to learn a second language to accommodate illegal immigrants." You know the stuff I mean, I'm sure.

This saddens me, really a lot for several reasons: first, no one is being "forced" to learn a second language in order to "accommodate" anyone. There are several very good and valid reasons, some of them solely about the way our brains create neural pathways, for learning a second language. We are a member of a global society; not everyone we are ever going to interact with speaks only English or even halfway decent English (although my understanding is that it's becoming more and more common a second language in other countries). And if we were in fact being forced to learn a second language for the sake of others, surely there would be a standard language that was the only second language available to learn (maybe varying regionally?) Not to mention many fields of study's jargons can be almost like having to learn a completely different language (have you ever asked or been asked "Once more, in English this time, please?").

Chinese dragon

SO.

My biggest reason why stuff like this saddens me is that it seems to want to homogenize our nation. Setting aside the question of the legality of the immigrants speaking other languages -- we have no way of knowing, just from looking at someone, if they're legal or not; language is hardly a clue. They may very well be able to speak and understand English but choose not to on what they consider home ground, or may have trouble with it for one reason or another.

One of the things I find most fascinating and compelling about the United States is all the little pockets of foreign culture that pockmark the country. You can, in some cases, literally cross a street and be immersed in a completely different way of life: different styles of architecture and decoration, dress, food...and language is a vital and integral part of that. How much less magical would Chinatown be if all the shopkeepers and passersby and customers spoke in unaccented, textbook, workaday American English? What nuances would be lost?

Taste of Greece 2012 -- Chicago (from: Greektown Chicago)

This country was built, as it is now, on immigration, and for many many years there were few if any restrictions. The people who came here came searching for something that was not available to them in their home countries: freedom to make their own choices, freedom from religious persecution, jobs...are we now to turn others away from the search for those same things? I get that we can't support the entire world. There are people here who are still looking for work, who are persecuted for their religious beliefs, even, ironically, those who use their religious beliefs as grounds to persecute others. And there were people harmed -- harmed DEEPLY -- by the way European settlers went about creating nations on these continents. We're not perfect. But it seems to me hypocritical in the extreme to on one hand proclaim what a great country we are, and on the other, attempt to deny all the things which made us.

Irish step dancers (from Savannah Irish Festival)

Religion and Reading and a LOT of Rambling

So, I was chatting with a friend over Twitter about religion -- specifically regarding interpretation of the Bible/Torah/Your Holy Book of Choice -- and how that can damage people. And then I read an article somewhere about the movie (or TV miniseries? I don't know) called The Bible, wherein Satan was deliberately portrayed as Barack Obama (which just disgusts me on levels I don't feel up to getting into here and now) and THAT article discussed the whitewashing of the Bible in terms of artistic portrayals -- Jesus is Westernized as a very toned, pale-skinned, nearly-blonde man, instead of the medium- to dark-skinned Middle Eastern Jew he actually was. [ETA: here is the article] And then TODAY, I was chatting briefly with someone else about some of the defining books of our teens -- books like Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams -- and when it's appropriate to start indoctrinating my little Minions by reading them aloud at bedtime. My oldest, the Girl-child, at Very Nearly 13, is probably old enough to read them on her own, but sometimes I have difficulties getting her to actually, y'know, ACCEPT my suggestions. The boys are 7 and 9, and I think they *might* be a little young, but DinoBoy, the elder of the two, is pretty precocious and sophisticated in some ways, so I could be wrong about him. And I think he might enjoy some of the humor, even if he won't get a lot of the references for years yet, if ever.

And we mentioned, in passing, on Twitter, that we're only just now, as adults, starting to realize the number of those references and subtleties that we missed as kids, and how much deeper and richer certain narratives are when approached from this new, grown-up perspective.

So this little ramble today is probably going to be about those things -- books, particularly the ones I read as a teenager for the first time; how they affected me then; how they affect me now that I'm starting to share them more and more with my own kids; and, of course, though to a lesser extent, religion.

I think there are actually a LOT of books that I read in my teens which affected me profoundly then, but which I continue to be amazed and enthralled by (in new and exciting ways!) now that I'm an adult -- and more pertinently, perhaps, now that I'm married and a parent. Because I can't deny that those two things probably have more to do with the new sight than simple age. Just a few of those books, offhand, are the Anne of Green Gables series, Little Women, Good Omens, Hitchhiker's Guide, and most of Mercedes Lackey. I don't think I'm going to touch on ALL of them here today; it's been a while since I've read some of them, and I'm not too clear on some of the details, but suffice it to say that between Louisa May Alcott, Lucy Maud Montgomery, and the combination of Pratchett and Gaiman, I had *quite* a religious awakening as a teen.

I mean, I'd had a basic religious "education" as a kid. We went reasonably regularly to a surprisingly non-judgmental Baptist church in TN until I was 10, where I was completely miserable because I just could not make friends with any of the other kids in the youth group. I suspected then, and still do, that it was (as it sometimes still continues to be) the fact that I not only read, but I asked questions about what I read. And I expected logical, consistent answers, which religion is usually hard-pressed to provide. When I was 10, we moved to Ohio. We stopped going to church regularly, but when we did it was to services at a nearby Presbyterian church, and that was when I fell in love with the more formal service, and the music of religion, but still, most of the logic managed to elude me. At 12, we moved to a small town outside of Atlanta, and the nearest church was another Baptist Church -- a HUGE one, comparatively -- where the pastor preached about the Evils of Women in the Work Place, and about tithing. This went over like a lead weight with us, because at the time, my mom was the sole earner. A year later, we moved again, to Virginia, where my parents still live, and, again, had a bad Baptist experience, at which point, my parents pretty much gave up. They figured we had the basics of how to behave as socially responsible, polite little people, and the rest would work itself out on its own. And Mom made sure to leave various books lying around for our education and amusement.

So, Faith (of the kind that can, theoretically move mountains) wasn't exactly a high priority, nor was it mashed and stuffed down our throat like some kind of baby food for the toothless. We were given a basic road map, and the tools to navigate, and allowed to find our own way there, or not. And honestly, a lot of what passes for my faith was built on the backs of Anne Shirley and the March girls. They had what now seems like a simplistic but logical view based largely on the tenet "Do Unto Others" and they still struggled with that, in a way that I struggled with it. But they really tried to simply be kind to others, generous with those in need, and honest and non-judgmental with themselves and others. The "Thou Shalt Not" stuff was rarely, if ever, an issue, and, while I know it's probably more a sign of their times than a deliberate event, things like women bringing in a paycheck were not looked down on. Yes, there was a bit of racism/bigotry in some attitudes, and some classism, but those tended to be confined to the group of "older and set in their ways," rather than condoned by the characters the stories were really about.

However, I had issues with religion as it was presented to me in Real Life, particularly relating to things like the Old Testament's attitudes toward anything and everything, and how nobody seemed really interested in the Love & Kindness stuff unless it was directed toward them personally, and I really had trouble reconciling the omniscient/omnipotent God with the whole Garden of Eden and Fall of Lucifer, as well as the whole issue of free will, who has it, who doesn't, and why on Earth we would be told it was a huge gift from God in one breath while the next breath told us not to question what we were being told. There were just too many contradictions for me in all of that, and then World History started getting into the evolution of religion in the Western world, and there was fracturing and schisms and latching on to established Holy/Ritualistic/Spiritual days and just... I was spinning.

And then, my best friend and I were at the library together (as you do) and she handed me this book: hardback, black cover with white writing, nattily-suited angel and devil. "This is the funniest, smartest book I've ever read. You'll love it, I promise. I mean, listen to this list of characters!" and I was hooked when she got to the bit about Crowley: An angel who didn't so much fall as saunter vaguely downward.

So I read it. And read it again. And a third time, just to be sure. And it addressed -- and seemed to be just as bewildered by -- many of the same issues that had been bothering me, in that nebulous, can't-really-put-my-finger-on-it way, with humor and gentleness and sometimes harshness and... I was completely blown away. It wasn't me -- or wasn't JUST me. Some of this stuff didn't really make any sense!

And then, I passed it on to my mom, who also loved it. And my brother and sister...

And now, I've finally been able to reconcile my spiritual side with my skeptical side. Religion is all about interpretation, and doing the best you can. You can choose to believe blindly, thoughtlessly, the interpretation of others, or you can exercise free will and choose your own interpretation. I think the most important -- the ONLY important -- part of the Bible or any other religious work that I've studied (however cursorily) boils down to what we call the Golden Rule: "Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You."

In the end, if there is a God, I think I will be judged based on my intentions, not my slavish adherence to another's need to Be In Charge and Tell Others What To Do. I think He'll be a more generous judge than many "more religious" people seem to believe.

And if there's not? Well, by that point maybe I won't be aware. But either way, I'll have the personal satisfaction of know that I'm trying, as hard as I can, to be kind, generous, honest, loving, and non-judgmental.

What more can we really ask?

The Human Pack

I should be at the store doing my grocery shopping; instead I had stuff tumbling over itself in my head and thought I should let some of it out before it's lost for good -- or takes over so deep I can't do anything else. This is a result of clicking on links from *this* to *that* to *hey, over here!* so I can't point you directly to any specific articles. It also has to do with Romance Novels and Erotic Romance and M/M Romance and...anyway. Onward.

One of the bits I read this morning was about homosexuality in animals, observations made by the people who make those kinds of observations about animals, and observations made by the people who make those kinds of observations about other people. And overwhelmingly, what I've noticed over the years, boils down to this: animals engage in homosexual behavior. Some of them flit from partner to partner, never bothering to learn names -- or even gender -- of the partner-of-the-moment, sowing their seed copiously. It may or may not take, depending on the partner's gender and fertility and whatnot, but...there you are. Those are the party/frat boys of the animal world. Others engage in long-term/permanent relationships with Just One Partner -- whether or not reproduction is involved depends on the genitalia. Still others are in long-term sexual relationships with members of the same genital club but will briefly defect just long enough to (hopefully) propagate the species, obeying primal biological necessity, before returning to the beloved partner.

Sound like any people you know?

The next thing I observed is the sheer volume of paranormal fantasy/romance, whether of a straight version or M/M persuasion, wherein one or more of the main characters is a shapeshifter or werebeing. Many many of these are series; plenty of the series follow a single couple through myriad trials and adventures along their course to True Love Ever After, but an equal if not greater number focus on different couples within a single unit -- pack or family or both. (Statistically, unless the pack is composed of unrelated persons who were cast out from their family groups for being gay, I seriously doubt there are *that many* gay werewolves in a single pack, though. Not that I mind, I'm just sayin'...) (and, yeah, just so you know...I've read WAY more of these in the M/M category. Probably because that's what I'm mostly reading right now.)

The difference is that within a pack of animals with no human side, those animals displaying "homosexual tendencies" are not cast out of their group, they are not treated as pariahs. As long as they can fend for themselves, other animals seem to be pretty much live-and-let-live about it. (What, do my freckles give me "redheaded tendencies"? I don't really understand that phrase -- I understand the individual words, but I think the usage is, at best, disingenuous.)

So here's what I think. I think we, as humans, are not as far removed from the animal as we would like to think we are. We believe the opposable thumb bestows some special form of self-awareness, a sense of Holier-Than-Thou, makes us somehow MORE than strictly Animal. And, in a sense, we do have some of that. We have fire. We have technology. We have domesticated animals and domesticated vegetables. And yet...does that make us better off? In the sense that we can now expand our living space to include areas that were once too cold or too hot, yes, perhaps. In the sense that we can support the kind of population growth that a lack of biological-imperative-driven fertility periods seems to inspire, yes. In the sense that we can now, to an extent, control the length or our lifespans, I suppose (although, really, that seems unnecessarily cruel in some ways. I don't exactly relish the day when I will be unable to care for myself and will have to sit through unending hours of same.)

But how are we putting that self-awareness to the test? Are we choosing to use it for general good? Are we accepting that we have the same proclivities as our animalian ancestors? We are all in search of food to eat, water to drink, shelter from cold and wet. We know that others are in need of the same things. Yet we choose to focus on superficial externals -- genitalia, sexuality -- as an excuse to decide who we feel deserves our time and attention, rather than helping out wherever we can and leaving the rest to be sorted by whoever's in charge of sorting (God, or some equivalent thereof, for most of us.)

'Scuse me; I got a bit derailed there. I was trying to make a point about pack behavior.

The pack is a unit of its own, composed of multiple individuals, and can go by many names in the animal kingdom -- hive, flock, herd...they all mean the same. When unaffected by people, these tend in general, although not exclusively, of loosely-related family groups.

And we humans have an urge to belong to a pack , or sometimes several of them. We define our packs differently. Your pack may be a family group, or a group of friends. It may be a business association, an arts council, a religious organization, a political affiliation. You may surround yourself with a pack connected by the same school, social group, ethnicity or geographic location. But you are part of at least one pack, and most probably more. And you change, from pack to pack -- the people in your family may see one You, while your office pack sees someone else with no relationship to the other beyond superficialities of appearance and home address.  Perhaps you are conflicted, because the goals and ideals of one of your groups is in distinct contravention to another -- how do you reconcile a social life in which you're in love with someone of the same sex as yourself with a profoundly fundamentalist religious belief?

Maybe we need to start looking at all of the world as one big pack. Animals don't kick other animals out of the pack for any reason. We're not wholly animals anymore. We are aware of our actions; shouldn't our actions be *more* than those of animals? Even animals show compassion toward pack members who are injured; when did we (humanity as a whole) lose our ability to show compassion to all our fellows? Nobody says you have to like me, or want to make the same choices I made, but compassion dictates that you help me if they turn out to be the wrong choices. Compassion says that you support my right to live my life in a way that doesn't actually harm you.

Coming....Out? sort of, anyway.

I love reading, and I truly admire authors who are successful enough to have published. I am awe-full, and horribly, horribly jealous. This is why; and why I hope maybe, one day, it might change.

I remember being a kid -- a really young kid, still in single digits. I remember playing -- with my Barbies, although they weren't my favorites, with My Little Ponies and baby dolls and my brother's GIJoes -- with, really, any apropriate, even *vaguely* anthropomorphised toys I could find. I even seem to recall perhaps anthropomorphising leaves and twigs and flowers when nothing else was available (like, we were at my Grandma's way out in the country & hadn't taken toys or they had been left inside when we kids were pushed out the door and told to go roam the field and forest but don't go further than the stream, you know which one!

I remember that, with these, I created elaborate, almost soap-opera-like storylines, some that would continue for days and some that were episodic shorts. Some, even, were complete in and of themselves. But they were definitely stories, each with a beginning, a middle and an end. If, for some reason, I couldn't complete a specific storyline in a given play session, I would stay awake after I was supposed to be asleep and plot it all out in my head.

Sadly, as I got older, I started listening to the outer voices. They weren't saying things like, "You can't do that." "You're no good." Instead, they were saying things like, "You should be thinking about your math and science." "Learn to cook and clean; those are skillls that will serve you as an adult." I learned to say and do what those voices -- the adults in my life -- told me. And as I got older, I lost track of the authentic, ME voices. I lost something essential to my emotional health. And it's only continued as I got older.

In high school (those of you who know me in Real Life will probably remember) I had a string of random, disastrous, long-lasting relationships. I stayed in them, as you may or may not know, out of guilt. I had this idea of what each of them needed from a relationship, and I strove to mold myself to that idea, whether it was true to me or not. And it almost always was not. I'm lucky enough to still be good friends with ONE of those guys.

I had one year of college where I was able to break free of the molds I had been struggling to feel all my life. I was able to live in the dorms and just be, without worrying about my whether I was meeting my mom's expectations, or anyone else's. I experimented with my sexuality (just a bit; I still managed to be a Good Girl) and with my voice. I took a creative writing class, but it focused mostly on poetry. I liked the poetry, but it wasn't what I wanted; I was looking forward to the prose portion, but the instructor left it for the last 3 weeks of a 12-week course, and just sort of...turned us loose with no real attempt to direct us (probably because she was a poet.) That was pretty much disastrous, and scared me away for a long time from trying my skills again.

Then came kids and family obligations and life.

Sometimes, I feel like I fail as a girl, and know I'd make an even worse guy. I am not confident in my persona as a wife or mother, and I *know* I'm not the greatest of housewives. But I'm an excellent reader, and I convince myself I'm a slightly-better-than-decent friend. I'm good at the technical aspects of writing -- I know research, and I can string together some pretty effective arguments when I need to. Essays, check. And I can, if pressed, paint one HELL of a word-picture. But the creative end of it? I don't know.

I read author interviews, and there's a sameness to them: "I am just a vessel for the Muse." "The characters tell me their stories and I write them down." "I get these plot bunnies and I have to chase after them..."

I don't hear those Voices any more. I loved those Voices, and I miss them.

I don't argue about stuff, and I don't often offer my opinion unless I feel very strongly. I have learned that there are people who don't hear you, and sometimes those are the people closest to you, the ones you most need to have hear. So it's hard for me. I worry sometimes I've killed off that part of me that dreams and travels and Speaks to me. I hope not, and I have occasional flashes that keep that hope alive.

So, this is me, coming out of my hiding place, letting the Voices know they can come back and see me. My head is open for business. Just be kind -- or go away; don't let me think you're listening if you're really not.

Hello, Internet!

I am me, and I am proud!

I've been pondering and musing a lot lately (I have time for this, what with having to sit and supervise homework for an hour or more every day). And what I have been thinking about is myself. Sometimes it's hard for me to put into words all the things I think about me, but the one thing that keeps coming up is how much I *want* to love this elusive "ME" and how much I don't love her. And how far away she seems sometimes.

I'm not really sure who "ME" is, most of the time. I've never really been, to be completely honest. I've looked for her from time to time, with varying levels of success, but she's never really been...there. Just kind of hovers in the background, but won't let herself be caught (rather like a nervous, not-quite-feral cat. Maybe that's why I identify with felines so strongly.)

But the topic keeps coming up in my mind, and occasionally on blogs or Twitter or Facebook, and so I keep thinking about it (and always when I don't have the computer handy to write down my thoughts. So I keep forgetting key points. Or not forgetting, just...misplacing.)'

There are things I want to do with myself, for myself...and the only thing holding me back is me. If I were determined, I could work around the kids-and-husband issues (although the single-car, no-money part may be more difficult) and find a job or a school. I choose whether or not I exercise, how I (and the rest of the family) eat (they eat better than I do.) I choose what I read and watch on TV -- no apologies for any of that. When "smarter" stuff than romance appeals to me, that's what I read. If I feel the need for a preponderance of escapist material these days, who are you to judge?

I have let others control my life too much. I have let *circumstances* control my life too much. I let my guilt and external expectations curb my naturally sunny nature. I'm lucky, I suppose, in that I haven't exactly reached a point where complete strangers feel the need to comment on my life, the books I read, the things I say on here...I expect it will probably come eventually; I can't continue in this sterile state of limbo forever. I hope I'll be ready for it when it happens (but I equally hope I'll be able to deal if it *doesn't* -- there's always, I suppose, the possibility no one will ever discover me here in this little corner of the internet.) One day, I may even be brave enough to deliberately put myself out there in front of others.

You'll be the first to know.