Hey..just remember to be kind, once in a while, Darlings. When you retell our stories, okay?
I know, there will be a huge motherlode of laughs and material for the future of film making..when they open the archives from our youth and the entire “sexuality” topic is sitting there, gleaming with artistic possibility.
I have a sense of humor just like the next guy or gal. I can see it. And I will understand with a half-cocked smile on my old wrinkled face, if I’m lucky enough to experience the huge heft of this “ship” getting rocked and eased back on course, for you ‘guys’ in the up and coming decades.
I just ask of you..without lecture, without desperation and most certainly with good natured understanding if you choose to ignore the request altogether..(but you won’t-because this ship will never get set back on course by any other type of generations, other than the wisest and most kind hearted ones..which I KNOW will begin with You)
..I ask of you to keep in mind a few things, from the following words I have to write. Which, surprisingly enough, is proving to be one of the most difficult moments of my writing practice.
As a teenage woman, I can’t remember one girl or woman who ever spoke of the likes of the Tom Cruises of the industry or the John Travoltas (“John Revolta” according to my cruel desk mates in second grade) with anything resembling passion or raw female enthusiasm. At all.
There was even a moment in news history, when a group of female fans protested the casting of Tom in a movie which was based on a novel with a very different sort of male lead on its pages. In came the ole puppet Oprah, a huge marketing shin dig that “sexed” up the disappointing reality and onward the world went, to watch the movie into being a blockbuster hit. Or, so as the sub level masters made it appear.
However, if I may bounce to the present times for a minute, I would have to admit that it’s obvious that these types of males weren’t meant to be what we were “supposed to be attracted to” as much as what we were supposed to get used to..as being the only type left for us to choose from. Sadly, as in my own “jumbled case of identity” history can prove, I did happen to be one of those girls who kept pursuing the effeminate type males. I realized I wasn’t the only one by the time I hit my adolescence, when the ugly term of “fag hag” started making the rounds for my coming of age in the 80’s.
I don’t think it’s possible to describe some of the things that went down for many of us females, coming of age in this country. And the men-my poor homosexual male buddies, sometimes showing annoyance and/or not so kind curiosity as to
“Why??dear GAWD..why are all these girls insisting on thinking they can climb into bed with us??”
When both parties were on the look out for and yearning for the same type of robust and deeper voiced Man.
I tried explaining, once in this diary, how humiliating it was to be dressed as a boy in my pre-teens. I’ve also pussy footed around more disturbing habits of creative imagination (concerning males and females) which I exhibited at the early ages of three, four and so on-only one portion of the “unacceptable horrors” that disturbed my parents. Without going into detail, they were things that have kept my head shaking and brow furrowed in wonderment for many years. Until recent years.
I also mentioned my stay in the State sponsored group home system-when I finally liberated myself from my “home”. Although I did it by ending up as a very desperate and angry fifteen year old “troll” who had turned out all of the lights in the house, sitting on the lid of the toilet in the downstairs bathroom..with a length of rope and 32 inch hedge clippers by my feet. Waiting for hours.
Don’t worry, my parents weren’t harmed and the police cruiser whisked me off to my new life in State’s custody, where I could finish off my teen years to mature into a far happier and far safer young lady.
It’s there, in those group homes, where I met a greater number of “transgendered” boys than the average citizen probably knew existed. It wasn’t about asses hanging out of cowboy chaps and mincing purrs and arched eyebrows..as our ugly hearted Massa keeps portraying.
For me, for us, it was a lot about hugging one another. Laughing about kid stuff. If we weren’t bored to death retelling of our troubles in group (“therapy”. Pff.) or lining up for meds (yours truly, forever and thankfully excluded) we were sneaking joints in the dorm bathrooms, holding long heartfelt discussions of a world we didn’t understand yet and holding one another’s hands. Sometimes talking about the sex changes some of us needed (not wanted..needed) and sometimes talking about the possibility of college. Which, not one of us ever made it into. All of us wounded from one sad sack story or another, but there for one another none-the-less.
There aren’t words in the world to describe how it felt, trying to be a “beautiful and sophisticated” adolescent woman, when all you ever hear is disappointment and criticism. There are even less words to describe walking in on or looking under a table to witness your man stroking the thighs of another man. In more than one instance. Over the course of different years and places.
There aren’t words to describe the confusion and anger of “feeling wrong”..despite being the only one operating your limbs, speaking from your own mouth and such. But trying your best anyway. I am, however, proud as peaches to declare that it does feel fantastic when you finally blossom into not giving a damn about what your so-called society and media have to say about who you are “supposed” to be.
For clarification’s sake, it was MEDIA and the Law which contributed the greatest number of damages.
Not the parents, who have loved and will continue to love their children “no matter what”, throughout the ages. But it was the State, the Church and the Media which have led to our imprisonments, our hangings and shifting social attitudes. By what they finessed into our lives, by what they wrote into our laws and by what they punished us for. For centuries-whether they’re currently playing a sloppy game of “kiss ass for the ages” or not.
I was born with what Nature gave me, as a female, and that became and remained good enough for me..because Nature NEVER makes any mistakes. Neither, as I have always believed and stuck by, is it ANY one’s business as to what I or anyone else do between the sheets in the privacy of our PRIVATE affairs.
I may have been groomed and encouraged to “hate children” (which I did, as a teenager, sadly enough) but I promise you one thing..those children I bore, were and are the prized jewels of a life which could have turned upside down and sideways at way too many moments in my youth. And it’s nothing but a damnable system which can harbor the audacity to take that opportunity away from any human being.
A system which massages and pounds in whispers of hate, discouragement and confusion into its young. Let alone a system which switches its masks to turn an entire system upside down (with the human lives in it) to suit its insufferable agendas and hide its stinking rat tracks.
The majority of music videos, from that time, prove that my generation was as far from being “homophobic” as was possible. They barely, if at all, gave us any other directions to grow into. Each and every positive “love” song (where one can hear the man woo, promise and spend his love for a woman) was purposefully limited to high pitched sounding, “girly” and young boy sounding voices. These are facts that don’t need to be uncovered and don’t require some genius “conspiracy” hunters to reveal. They are bare facts that exist laying on the topsoil, all over the place.
As I asked, my darling and beloved youngsters..when its your turn to tell our story, try to be kind.
As you struggle (and stand firm) in your quest to right the unconscionable biological wrongs they committed against your parents, your grandparents, as far back as these hard headed Frankensteins have been at it..and against you…try to remember how little “choice” was truly involved.
As the truly funny scripts and dialogues are written, for the movies and stories, on “how blind” we may have been, to not see what was obviously, now, too large to miss..if you can think on how very little a young child can control on what they are taught, what is shown to them and what they “know as truth”…hey, it’ll be more than good enough.
For those who never made it.
For those who cried themselves to sleep throughout their childhood, only to wake up long enough to tighten the noose or pull the trigger into their own faces.
For those who decided that “playing the part” was the only way they could make it, but spent their time “making it” stone cold drunk for most of it.
For my brothers, with the soft voices and the slight bone structures who had to listen to being called “faggot”..when their most cherished dreams involved finding a good woman and having a couple of kids.
For the big boned girls, the “pretty nerds” (hi) who were forced to balance on a fence where they were never “enough” on one side or “proper” enough for the other, always questioned and never believed.
As additional, but most important, side notes..may you also insist and demand that they keep their hands off of your bodies, your DNA and whatever else biological matter they had the nerve to declare they would never touch so long ago, in whatever bogus “anti-human experimentation” documents they scribbled up. Liars.
May you find the sense of humor to joke with one another again, amongst friends and those whom you should know would never hurt you..no matter what some grinning and scheming outsiders may croon and hiss into your ears.
And may you flourish, Darlings. With YOU deciding “what” you are and what YOU need to do. Without laws, rules and harassments from those who would rather see you dead and dying and spend all their fortunes to misdirect and ruin every single one of you..if they could have.
Write the screenplays. Let your imagination flower far past the boundaries they set in place for over a century. But never forget..that real human lives suffered some horrendous damages which can never be rectified nor corrected. With You at the helm…there won’t be any need for it, anyway.
I thank you in advance, in case it takes a little longer than expected.
Per the length (and typos) of this post, I humbly thank you for your patience.
MUCH love, Ramsy.