Spreading the cure…

I’m uncertain as to how many untold thousands, if not millions, have been spent on spreading the disease.

The disease of making us feel that, to be anything other than “exactly like everyone else” is somehow wrong. The disease of being suckered into the ideology that having physical strength, cash on-hand, good looks or even simple charisma, makes you somehow more valued – better – than others. The disease that mandates that in order for you to feel good about yourself, you must first make another feel bad about who they are. The God-damnable disease that has us believing that Life is merely some sort of popularity contest, and nothing more.

I’m uncertain as to how many dollars have been spent in the pursuit of honoring these archaic and regressive beliefs, but I am certain as to how much it costs to help in spreading the cure.

Just $25.00.

Click for more info

Click for more info

You see, for $25.00 you can have a copy of “It Gets Better” sent to the school or local library of your choice (or they can pick one for you, should you have no preference). Aimed primarily at LGBT youth, and begun initially as a response to turn the tide on gay youth suicides that resulted from oppressive bullying, this book is a gathering of great minds, all of whom simply want to express to teens everywhere that life does, in fact, get better. My son received a copy this past Christmas, and I believe that it has helped him to understand that it’s OK to simply be yourself. And that it’s also OK to let the bullies angrily shake the ignorant cages of their own construct; as long as you don’t willingly join them in their prisons yourself.

True, a donation of this nature may be seen by some as a small step. But I feel it’s a step in the right direction. And to one who’s maybe never taken a step at all in this matter, it could prove to be a giant leap, for either themselves or for some fortunate recipient.

I know that I don’t normally like to use this site as a vehicle to push for particular causes, but I feel that this is important enough to break with the norm. I would appreciate it if you would click on the image above to learn more, and consider donating one or more of these copies to our youth. Lord knows I could’ve benefited from having a resource such as this when I was growing up, and I’m pretty sure that a lot of you could’ve as well.

Thanks for your time, kids. No music today, as I would prefer to end this instead, with one of my heroes advise to “really, anybody who’s being picked on.”

Oh what the hell, who’re we kidding?

Here’s today’s song as well. Another of my heroes, engaged in another, earlier anti-bullying effort of sorts…

500 Words Plus A Sentence, And One More After That

No self-imposed word count this week kids, as the conversation required much more breathing space than that.

Here is week # 8’s submission for Master Class 2013, who’s twist involved two prompts* being used, one at the start, and the other at the end.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

storch-badge

The past cannot be cured.

“That’s how you always lived dad, but that was on you, not me. And definitely not him.”

“I’m only saying, some day he’ll look back on the days of tramping around the house in your wife’s high heels, pretending to be a drag queen, and he’ll be mortified. He’s my grandson – I don’t want him to live in shame.”

“Now why would he feel like that dad? Again, please don’t attribute ‘your thing’ onto his life. You were the one who could never let go of your past, never feel good about who you were naturally. He’s a totally different being, a being of Light versus darkness. You and I, we’re the opposite of him. And dad, our family has had more than its fair share of our ilk, don’t you agree? Let’s give his approach a try for a spell, shall we?”

“You’re not listening to me. And you’re once again trying to fill the conversation with a whole bunch of flouncey words that don’t really mean anything.”

“Slew, dad.”

“What?”

“Slew. I would have chosen ‘slew’ over ‘whole bunch,’ dad.”

“Whatever, smartass. Listen, it’s a sin, OK?”

“No dad, it’s not OK. You see, I don’t recall anywhere in the Bible where Jesus busted on any of that. He DID, however, tell people not to judge others. He also told us to love each other, and He told us to live by His example, not Rome’s. No dad, there are all sorts of sins in this world, but my son’s orientation isn’t one of them, and it upsets me that you would feel that way.”

“But do you think I would actually feel that way? I mean, if I were alive to be there? If you recall, I was the one who bought him the Baby Doll he wanted. Do you think I would now choose my ideology over his? Would I choose myself over him?”

“I don’t know dad. I would hope not. I would hope that – like so many other times in your life – you would eventually change your mind for the love of your family, begrudgingly at first, and then in full-out abandon, to the point of being a public embarrassment. You know, like you usually did.”

“Hmmm, most likely. As we’ll never have this conversation, I suppose we’ll never really find out. Hey, are you going to tell your mother?”

“Are you insane????

“Heh, I didn’t think so.”

“Dad, do you think I’ll handle this correctly? I really don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Listen to that girl, what your friend Mary said – you won’t. You don’t give yourself enough credit, son. You’re much more a being of light than darkness yourself, you know. I’ve told you, you’re a good father. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks dad.

Dad, I miss you.”

“I miss you too Troy. And I’ll be right here, waiting for you when you come over. But not just yet, not until many years from now, when you have entered the winter of your life.

•••

A note concerning today’s tune. It doesn’t have a direct link to the above per say, other than the fact that it is the song that has been stuck inside the heads of both myself and my beautiful, heel-hoofing darling boy as of late.

Don’t listen, unless you want it getting stuck in your head as well…

* The first quote was from “Shadow of the Night” by Deborah Harkness. The second, from “Winter Journal” by Paul Auster.