part two of part II part

I promised a part two to part II "the privileged few". And for those of you hanging on the edge of your ergonomic seats for the sequel I hope not to disappoint. I've recieved great feedback on the personalized information I've provided in the past two posts in particular. I love to write stuff that people actually want to read.

So, if you have a question or anything that you'd like me to answer or write about, please let me know. If you have the question in your mind, chances are there are several others with a similar question. In college I regularly raised my hand in class. Not in order to irritate my profs or fellow students (although, well, I probably did). I usually found that I wasn't the only one with that question on my mind. Sometimes friends in class would say to me later, "Thanks for asking that question. I didn't want to ask it and you articulated it well." They usually said it in that way because my questions ranged from embarrassingly dumb, to simply embarrassing, to confrontive, to emotionally charged. Of course, in my paranoia assumed that my friends were really saying, "If you'd shut up in class we might get something done, little miss 'I-need-everyone-to-hear-how-smart-I-think-I-am'".

It is always fascinating when we have evidence which proves that we, in essence, really don't change. When I was in elementary school I used to raise my hand and ask questions all the time. Well, that stretches the truth a bit. I didn't really raise my hand, I just asked questions. Okay, well, that's a bit of a stretch too. I didn't so much raise my hand and ask questions as just talk whenever I felt like talking. I can prove this. My mom has saved numerous report cards from my childhood. On many of them the "Teacher's comments" section nearly said the same thing verbatim throughout the years and over the course of many teachers. Usually it went something like:

"Kimberly is a bright student. If she could apply herself her grades would improve. She is very entertaining. However she tends to distract the rest of the students during class time." That is how the kind teachers put it. I have a thing about the word "bright".

In my mind it is tantamount to calling me retarded (or challenged, or whatever it is now). One of my professors told me he thought my writing skills were in the top 3% of students he's taught. But then he made the fatal mistake of saying, "You're very bright Kimberly". I cried. That's right. Cried, as if to say, "How could you say that about me? I'm heartbroken!" I have no idea what it is about that word. The only thing I can compare it to is when your parents tell you your dog "ran away" when in reality he was run over by a garbage truck and his body wisked away to some pet crematorium by a kind neighbor who would expect the same if his daughter's dog was found dead. I don't know. I'm like an anorexic. I look at my intellect and see a big fat butt and cellulite.

Okay, on with the real point of my post.

Today I was having lunch with a friend who is not privy to my having "surfaced". Actually, she isn't privy to anything with regards to my "orientation". We were sitting in the Bagelry (the best bagels in the region) catching up. The sun has turned to a muggy combination of showers and spritzes. We sit and she's telling me about her and her husband's ambivalence about fostering to adopt. I'm excited for her. I think she'll be a great mom. I told her so and she made me tell her why. Remember, if you ever say something like that to someone, you better be prepared to follow it up with some real evidence! That was no problem for me, however, because I rarely ever say something just to hear myself say it or to make someone feel better because "Kimberly said so".

As we sat there eating our scrumptious bagels, in walks a family. And by family I mean to say 2 mommies and two little toe heads. It was obvious to me. Suddenly I was distracted. I focused on my friend like I would a bulls eye on a target I didn't want to miss. I wanted to accost the family. Yet I couldn't excuse myself and go talk to them because it would open the door to a conversation I didn't want to have with my friend in the short time we had before our next, longer, visit. So I prayed. "God, please don't let them leave. Please. I want to talk to them!" Two minutes later I sat helplessly watching them leave the Bagelry, children in tow. By this time I was filling her in on my very part time job without pay, my writing. I followed them with my eyes. They went to their car, and then I lost them. All I could think, way back in my head behind the conversation that was at the forefront (that I was paying total attention to), was, "Rare opportunity missed! Arg." That's right, "Arg".

But hold on. Don't even think that I give up on God's faithfulness so easily. I was sure he planned to answer me even if it meant running into them somewhere else someday. Instead, after I hugged my lovely friend from my old WWU days goodbye, I walked with anticipation across the street to the co-op/pet store. Smart thinking. Rabbits, rats, cats, birds, kids. Perfect combination. If they hadn't left downtown, that is where I would find them. No luck. I hurried past the rabbits and rats to the back where the cats and birds were. They were nowhere to be found. I did pet the cats and cry for awhile because that's what I do at pet stores. I cry. I want to take them all home and let them lie on my books in the sun. A lady came with a carrier and I asked if she was taking one home. She said emphatically, "No, I'm taking three!" A woman after my own heart but with a house. However, according to my friend Michael I'm not allowed to have cats because I'm a single woman and not only that I'm middle aged and gay. Too much of a stereotype I guess. Well, he's not so much forbidden me but has made it clear that he would be embarrassed for me.

ANYWAY! I went to purchase some landscape fabric since I was there and half way down the aisle I saw my family. My heart lept. God must have been grinning in the way he does when loves his children in demonstrative and obvious ways. Like a kid who wants your attention but runs and hides instead, I veered into the next aisle to check out the dog chews. I got over my sudden shyness quickly and ran after them just as they were exiting the store. I grabbed the shirt of one of the gals and asked breathlessly, "Are you guys a family?"

Now, you may be thinking about two things. Or not. But you may be wondering, "Why would she ask them that question?" And, "Why such eagerness on your part to meet them?"

First, why would I stalk two strangers and so eagerly desire to introduce myself and talk with them? The first answer I would give is very vague. I'm not sure I know completely myself. All I know is that I was strongly compelled. My heart lept. I knew, like I always know, that these two women would welcome me like family. And when I see them, and other "alternative" families like them, hope is what rises up inside of me. Something swells up inside. Sort of like The Grinch's heart when he realized that Christmas wasn't about stuff after hearing the singing of the Who's rising up from Whosville. But I didn't steal anyone's stuff.

I don't know many lesbians. And I definitely don't know too many my age. These gals were my age. Maybe a bit younger. I crave the community of women who experience the "uncommon" life of a gay woman. I have done all kinds of not necessarily uncharacteristic things, but definitely bold and forward things, to meet other gay people. Stalking isn't always my first choice. But a woman has to do what a woman has to do. I need to do what it takes to access a somewhat "hidden" community. By hidden I mean oftentimes unidentifiable, or cloistered. The community I seek is definitely not hiding, per se. The community I seek is minority. I will be like a drop of ink in a basin of water once I find my way into this community. They say, just like these two mommies said to me, that once you meet a few women the community opens up because the degrees of separation are far smaller than in the general population. In other words, it's tight. Not unlike the Christian community except with, perhaps, an element of "survival and safety in numbers".

I have many desires in my heart that I've let rise to the surface ever since God showed me that he would neither let me go if I "came out" or allow my theology to waver and falter** (see end of post). Among those desires is a somewhat well formed and new desire for family. It is not that I didn't desire a family before, but if you consider what I would have been giving up to pursue a family in the heterosexual context...well, needless to say, from that perspective you can see why it was shelved on the "hopeless desires that likely won't be fulfilled" shelf. I do not understand the logic behind my sudden increase in hope and desire. It does not make sense given the factors I face to "overcome" in order to have a family.

Maybe I have to spell out the situation for you. If I meet someone today, one could safely assume that we would not start a family for at least a year and half. If you don't even factor in the fact that we could not be married and have a legal binding relationship, here are the things at play in my mind. Okay, add my age, 41. Then tack on the fact that I have been diagnosed with a mental illness. This is significant for two reasons. One, I take drugs that would poison a fetus, so I would have to go off the drugs in order to get pregnant if that were the route we took. However, I can't go off my medications because not only would I have raging hormonal changes, I would likely be triggered into an episode that would be far worse than the last. Not an option. Second, if we chose adoption we would face the possibility of my "mental Illness" showing up. Bipolar is not a light diagnosis. Then you add into this proof that we both are gay and that limits the adoption agencies and countries.

+ no current relationship
+ age 41
+ mental illness diagnosis
+ "alternative" family label
= dismal possibility for a family

Surprisingly, I have a sense of hope and commitment for a family in my future than I EVER did before. Strange that so many obstacles would INCREASE my desire. I don't know if that says more about me or God. I'm assuming the latter. My heart is very tender towards this possibility. Very open and yet I don't think I'll be victim to disappointment, hurt, and hopelessness. All those things we are attempting to avoid when we don't open our hearts to desires that are risky just by sheer impossibility of them. Hope is a funny and risky thing.

So, I HAD to talk with this family! I had to ask them "Are you guys a family?" because so many other alternative questions would have likely come straight out of my little booklet of "oppressive" language. A book I've learned to use over the years and which is not only obsolete and unnecessary, but self-deprecating as well. I wanted to assume they were a family regardless if they actually were just friends. I've been out with my girl friends and their kids, and you are sometimes aware that people are looking at you with one of those bubbles over their head, "I wonder if they are lesbians". I've gotten over the mild fear I had about that. I didn't care if these two weren't actually a couple. If they weren't and they were offended by my presumption, I, ultimately, would be the only one with the right to be more offended. I would say, "I'm sorry you are offended by my assumption that you are a family. If you had been I would have presumed that you were both courageous and strong." Then I would take out my rainbow flag, turn on the heels of my sensible shoes, and yell, "gay pride baby!!"

Okay, maybe I wouldn't do that. I hate the rainbow thing, but I think I have to get used to it in the same way you have to get used to your son/daughter-in-law's irritating family. My language is changing. That isn't a bad thing. Everywhere I've gone in this life, my language changes. They call it colloquialism. Language that is specific to an area, group, or culture. I moved from England to America and my daily language use changed. I moved from America to China and my daily language use changed. It was interspersed with simple Mandarin phrases such as, "I'm not fat, I'm an American." My handling of the English language was also affected by the need to simplify my dialog and vocabulary for my students. I'm very determined and purposeful about my language. I'm like my own watch dog now because I am becoming aware of how my beliefs about homosexuality, cultural beliefs that I have understudied, are inherent in my language.

I have a new friend Rick who works with Catholic Community Services and on the side runs the regional extension of a Lutheran group that helps in all aspects of gay issues and faith. Rick was meeting with me every week for a while when I was first coming out of my closet. He is fun to be with. His story is that his wife finally told him that he was gay. I find that completely funny in that most of us think of really messy and painful things happening in relationships in which one person is gay. Anyway, when we would talk he would catch me when I said something that was unnecessary, self-deprecating, obsolete, or judgemental. I remember one evening in particular when I said, "Blah, blah, blah, people like us." Before I took a breath he asked me, "What do you mean by 'people like us?'" I was embarrassed! I determined from that moment on to be aware of my language. Not only be aware, but police it like the DMZ!

There is enough going around. Enough language, enough intolerance, enough ignorance, enough unloving language, that I don't have to add to it. I am aware of when I say things, think things, do things that promote even the slightest message that homosexuality is bad, wrong, unforgivable, weird. Sometimes it's just laziness. Sometimes it is easier to use the old language and believe that it does not real harm. Sometimes it is just difficult to find new language. Especially when you are like me. Compelled to form my own language. I am not a parrot. I always am compelled to rephrase everything into my own wording so that it makes more sense to me. I'm arrogant in that way. This becomes a real problem in counseling in that a good counselor uses the language of her client rather than rephrasing everything they say.

I am still the same girl. I'm hearing things differently, but it's the same set of ears. When I listen to anyone who speaks of social justice, I think about how Jesus looks at "people like me". Jesus is the champion of the marginalized and oppressed.

I hope you aren't thinking that it is an exaggeration to say that homosexuals are oppressed. If you are thinking this I want you to try a simple exercise. Please. For 5 minutes, even 10 if you can, sincerely pretend that homosexuality is okay with God. Spend the first 20 seconds saying to yourself, "I will be fine and my theology will not be harmed in any way. I do not need to think of the myriad reasons I believe homosexuality is wrong." Then spend the rest of the time thinking about what being a homosexual in this society (since this is the one you are in) is like. All I ask is that you take that 10 minutes for what it is. I don't expect any drastic changes in what you believe. After all, it took me 17 years to believe that it wasn't wrong of me to live this life. I can't blame anyone, especially if they never have to face that life head on themselves. However, maybe you will see that homosexuals are an oppressed people. We are okay. We are even stronger for it. At least I am. But it is my goal not to let myself promote oppression. Part of that job is to say the same things to the people around me as I say to myself.

**I'd always assumed that 1) God would leave me to my own devises as I might be stubbornly seeking my own desires by living a queer life, and, 2) I would throw the baby out with the bathwater. The bathwater being the "choice" to live a queer life, and the baby being all the tenets of my faith, including and not limited to the belief that Jesus is my Lord who came to show me the way to God my Father.