I have another facebook account. It is my vanilla, accountant, mother of two page. "Friends" on that account consist of family, people I didn't care for in high school, co-workers and a very small handful of very important people in my life. Very few of them are privy to who I am here; the writing, genderqueer, oftentimes unstable Echo Brooks. Those that I have allowed to take the ride with me both here and there are the few that either know who I really am or would at least be OK with it. I appreciate those that I haven't had to compartmentalize and hold at arms length.
This morning I posted a song lyric and some comments on my other account. An ex partner of mine made a comment about not realizing I had become so sarcastic. At first I wondered why she even said that. Of course I am sarcastic. Everyone knows that. Don't they? I stated that surely I had been witty and charming back then. To which she replied "No you were sincere and heartfelt".
I was quite thrown by that comment. At first I was concerned that people no longer saw me as genuine and caring. That concern soon gave way to wondering when I changed. Apparently I had. I felt the need to explain myself. Explain that if she really knew who I was today she would know my sarcasm is a defense mechanism. That my witty remarks keep me from having to be serious with people. That the chivalrous charm I used to carry with me has been tainted and replaced with mocking charm. I felt the need to say life has made me this way. The need to protect myself made me this way.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized she knew me as a young adult just out of childhood. She knew me before I learned me. She knew me before the pain of life caught up to me.
I have come a long way since the 1980's. I have grown and have evolved. I am still sincere and heartfelt, just guarded.
Now that I have found "me", I need to go back and bring the rest of the pieces along for the ride.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
One Man's Trash
Last weekend we finished the demolition of the old, and raising of the new, shed. I opted to spare the new shed some of the old shed's contents and made several trips to the curb with handfuls of who knows what.
On one of my last trips I saw a woman walking up the alley. She looked weathered and I suppose natural, for a lack of better words. Her skin had seen a lot of sun, her shoulder length hair had no meaning other than to exist and do what hair does, and her clothes were dumpster at best. She reminded me of what I would assume someone who has committed themselves to studying wildlife in Africa might be like. Although disheveled and messy, she seemed clean enough to be healthy and exuded an air of calm and peace.
As she passed the enormous amount of bundled old shed wood and rubbish, she quietly said, "
Oh, old racquetball rackets. Mind if I take a look?". I found it incredibly odd how she managed to see the very tip of the handles poking out of one garbage can and was able to recognize that not only were they old, they were racquetball rackets.
"Help yourself" I said a little bewildered.
In that moment I ran a gazillion thoughts through my head. She pulled the rackets out of the can, looked them over with what appeared to be the knowledge of a professional antique racquetball racket appraiser and said "I will take this one if you don't mind. You know, one man's trash is another man's treasure".
I happily obliged her request and nodded at her commonplace words of wisdom. As I was turning around to head back through my gate into the backyard she stopped me and said "and I don't mean just garbage".
I turned and studied her face for further clues. "That applies to all things in life, including people. Remember that." Again I nodded and spun to go back into the yard. "Nice art work" was the next thing she said. She was looking at the tattoos on my arm.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have to have a tattoo related conversation with someone. I prepared myself for my standard answers. When asked I explained that I did them myself she said "are you an artist"? To which I emphatically said "no", with a chuckle just to seal the deal. She looked at me quizzically and said "you know, it is never too late to be what you should have been".
With that she walked away up the alley. I watched her wondering who she was, why I had never seen her before, what she was doing behind my house and most of all how she knew those little bits of racket handle belonged to a vintage racquetball racket.
I am not an artist. I do not desire to be an artist. However her words resonated with me so much over the past week that I had to write them down. "One man's trash is another man's treasure" and "It is never too late to be what you should have been".
I couldn't agree more.
On one of my last trips I saw a woman walking up the alley. She looked weathered and I suppose natural, for a lack of better words. Her skin had seen a lot of sun, her shoulder length hair had no meaning other than to exist and do what hair does, and her clothes were dumpster at best. She reminded me of what I would assume someone who has committed themselves to studying wildlife in Africa might be like. Although disheveled and messy, she seemed clean enough to be healthy and exuded an air of calm and peace.
As she passed the enormous amount of bundled old shed wood and rubbish, she quietly said, "
Oh, old racquetball rackets. Mind if I take a look?". I found it incredibly odd how she managed to see the very tip of the handles poking out of one garbage can and was able to recognize that not only were they old, they were racquetball rackets.
"Help yourself" I said a little bewildered.
In that moment I ran a gazillion thoughts through my head. She pulled the rackets out of the can, looked them over with what appeared to be the knowledge of a professional antique racquetball racket appraiser and said "I will take this one if you don't mind. You know, one man's trash is another man's treasure".
I happily obliged her request and nodded at her commonplace words of wisdom. As I was turning around to head back through my gate into the backyard she stopped me and said "and I don't mean just garbage".
I turned and studied her face for further clues. "That applies to all things in life, including people. Remember that." Again I nodded and spun to go back into the yard. "Nice art work" was the next thing she said. She was looking at the tattoos on my arm.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have to have a tattoo related conversation with someone. I prepared myself for my standard answers. When asked I explained that I did them myself she said "are you an artist"? To which I emphatically said "no", with a chuckle just to seal the deal. She looked at me quizzically and said "you know, it is never too late to be what you should have been".
With that she walked away up the alley. I watched her wondering who she was, why I had never seen her before, what she was doing behind my house and most of all how she knew those little bits of racket handle belonged to a vintage racquetball racket.
I am not an artist. I do not desire to be an artist. However her words resonated with me so much over the past week that I had to write them down. "One man's trash is another man's treasure" and "It is never too late to be what you should have been".
I couldn't agree more.
Monday, September 19, 2011
High School
The last of my children started high school this year. Thinking of high school always makes me cringe. While some of the best moments of my life happened during those years, some of the worst did as well. The best live as fond memories that I recall every now and then. The worst I live with every single day, even 25 years later.
I think back to the bullying; the chants, the spray painted driveway, the eggs on my car. All things that seemed to just go with the territory of being openly homosexual in the 1980s. Time has moved us forward, unfortuanetly I cant seem to grasp that, at least not the feeling of it.
Until the other day when I listened first hand to some incredible high school kids talking on the subject of gender and sexuality, I had no idea that being gay no long carried the stigma it used to. Even as much as I write and speak to people about LGBT issues, I never realized how accepted kids truly are of their peers. And while we have a long way to go and a lot of bullies to put out of commission, I am seeing that we are winning the fight.
In a conversation with a coworker about this I actually got choked up as I tried to explain what life was like for me; family that disowned me and friends that took my membership card away. I tried to say, "Do you have any idea how that feels? How it feels to be unworthy in so many people's eyes?". But I could not get it out, doing so would have made me cry. I pride myself on fighting emotion and never allowing my past to creep up and make me feel weak, but it got the better of me.
When she told me a friend of her sons parents told the friend that he better not (insert any 'act gay' behavior here) in high school or the kids will beat him up, she said she was stunned, as was her son. "They would never do that just because someone was gay" was their thought process. And while I know that is not the truth I was amazed that the thought that someone would not get abused for their sexual orientation came before the thought that surely they would. It's progress. Progress I wish I had experienced then. I wish I could feel it now.
The emotions that surfaced that day were not sparked by self pity, but rather envy. Envy mixed with relief. Relief for the kids that will be able to experience high school as a person instead of a label. I wonder how different my bullies from that day would feel if their own children were enduring the people they used to be.
I think back to the bullying; the chants, the spray painted driveway, the eggs on my car. All things that seemed to just go with the territory of being openly homosexual in the 1980s. Time has moved us forward, unfortuanetly I cant seem to grasp that, at least not the feeling of it.
Until the other day when I listened first hand to some incredible high school kids talking on the subject of gender and sexuality, I had no idea that being gay no long carried the stigma it used to. Even as much as I write and speak to people about LGBT issues, I never realized how accepted kids truly are of their peers. And while we have a long way to go and a lot of bullies to put out of commission, I am seeing that we are winning the fight.
In a conversation with a coworker about this I actually got choked up as I tried to explain what life was like for me; family that disowned me and friends that took my membership card away. I tried to say, "Do you have any idea how that feels? How it feels to be unworthy in so many people's eyes?". But I could not get it out, doing so would have made me cry. I pride myself on fighting emotion and never allowing my past to creep up and make me feel weak, but it got the better of me.
When she told me a friend of her sons parents told the friend that he better not (insert any 'act gay' behavior here) in high school or the kids will beat him up, she said she was stunned, as was her son. "They would never do that just because someone was gay" was their thought process. And while I know that is not the truth I was amazed that the thought that someone would not get abused for their sexual orientation came before the thought that surely they would. It's progress. Progress I wish I had experienced then. I wish I could feel it now.
The emotions that surfaced that day were not sparked by self pity, but rather envy. Envy mixed with relief. Relief for the kids that will be able to experience high school as a person instead of a label. I wonder how different my bullies from that day would feel if their own children were enduring the people they used to be.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Parking Lot Lesbians
We had what might have been the most stereotypical lesbian drama unfold in our work parking lot yesterday.
One of our facilities backs up to a field as well as a small highway. An employee, while walking to her car noticed two women in the field chasing after a small dog seemingly topless (the girls, not the dog...well him too). After putting on her glasses for a better look my co-worker realized indeed the girls were shirtless. They grabbed up their little dog (a cat would have made the story perfect) and walked across the parking lot to where.....yes.......their U Haul was parked. While one put the dog in the car, the other took the liberty of stripping off her pants and waving them over her head while facing the highway traffic. Free spirits? Methamphetamine? You decide.
The police were notified mostly because there is a day care center on the premises. While waiting for the police to address the situation, and all employees' eyes on the U Haul, the one girl climbed into the back of the U Haul and laid down. The other, straddled her crotch and began to do the deed. The audience not a deterrent, the girls proceeded to enjoy each other until the police arrived. They were cited for indecent exposure (although I believe none of the peering sets of eyes found anything indecent about it) and were being assessed for possible intoxication (ya think?).
Our COO arrived right after the police (he was off site). After stating "I thought you said two naked guys were in the parking lot", he decided the situation was under control and didn't need his attention. Thank you for clearing up any question some workers still had about your orientation Sir. No charges were pressed, the young carefree and most assuredly inebriated women were sent on their way to their new destination and I was left wondering if now everyone who witnessed that scene pictures me on the top or the bottom?
One of our facilities backs up to a field as well as a small highway. An employee, while walking to her car noticed two women in the field chasing after a small dog seemingly topless (the girls, not the dog...well him too). After putting on her glasses for a better look my co-worker realized indeed the girls were shirtless. They grabbed up their little dog (a cat would have made the story perfect) and walked across the parking lot to where.....yes.......their U Haul was parked. While one put the dog in the car, the other took the liberty of stripping off her pants and waving them over her head while facing the highway traffic. Free spirits? Methamphetamine? You decide.
The police were notified mostly because there is a day care center on the premises. While waiting for the police to address the situation, and all employees' eyes on the U Haul, the one girl climbed into the back of the U Haul and laid down. The other, straddled her crotch and began to do the deed. The audience not a deterrent, the girls proceeded to enjoy each other until the police arrived. They were cited for indecent exposure (although I believe none of the peering sets of eyes found anything indecent about it) and were being assessed for possible intoxication (ya think?).
Our COO arrived right after the police (he was off site). After stating "I thought you said two naked guys were in the parking lot", he decided the situation was under control and didn't need his attention. Thank you for clearing up any question some workers still had about your orientation Sir. No charges were pressed, the young carefree and most assuredly inebriated women were sent on their way to their new destination and I was left wondering if now everyone who witnessed that scene pictures me on the top or the bottom?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
My Type
Someone asked me "so, what's your type?" I answered that I don't have one. And that is the honest truth. If they had asked me years ago, and I mean many years ago, I would have been able to describe my "type" to anyone. In my teens it was blond women with big hair, beautiful eyes, a rocking body and an edge. She was straight and dying to "try it out" with a woman. I would step in, be their hero, show them a world they never imagined possible and become the person they speak of still today. That was my type, not my reality. In my twenties it was pretty much the same woman, just a brunette.
In my thirties my life, love, priorities and self began to change. Somewhere on my journey to self discovery, my "type" became those that fed me what I hungered for, despite their looks. I would like to say maturity lessened any sense of shallowness I had, but I do not think that was it. I attribute my change in taste palette to be caused by my self-centeredness. My needs far surpassed what I could get from the small, practically non existent pool of my "types" I could choose from. I honestly wasn't really interested in happily ever after or handing out toasters to the incoming lesbians anymore. In my thirties I started to embrace who I was. I began to learn who I was, albeit very slowly. I found ways to interact with people that had absolutely nothing to do with bed post notches. Sex became an end result of a much larger picture or not at all. It no longer took the front seat.
I am now in my forties. What I learned in my thirties was vital to my life today, even if it took me a decade to figure out how to use that knowledge properly. Today I don't have a type, I have an understanding. My understanding comes in a package that is neither blond nor brunette, without big hair, with extra pounds and no sharp edges. My understanding frustrates me endlessly some days but is still understanding. My understanding has allowed me room to grow into who I wished I had been all along. My understanding does not fit a "type". And for her I am thankful.
In my thirties my life, love, priorities and self began to change. Somewhere on my journey to self discovery, my "type" became those that fed me what I hungered for, despite their looks. I would like to say maturity lessened any sense of shallowness I had, but I do not think that was it. I attribute my change in taste palette to be caused by my self-centeredness. My needs far surpassed what I could get from the small, practically non existent pool of my "types" I could choose from. I honestly wasn't really interested in happily ever after or handing out toasters to the incoming lesbians anymore. In my thirties I started to embrace who I was. I began to learn who I was, albeit very slowly. I found ways to interact with people that had absolutely nothing to do with bed post notches. Sex became an end result of a much larger picture or not at all. It no longer took the front seat.
I am now in my forties. What I learned in my thirties was vital to my life today, even if it took me a decade to figure out how to use that knowledge properly. Today I don't have a type, I have an understanding. My understanding comes in a package that is neither blond nor brunette, without big hair, with extra pounds and no sharp edges. My understanding frustrates me endlessly some days but is still understanding. My understanding has allowed me room to grow into who I wished I had been all along. My understanding does not fit a "type". And for her I am thankful.
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