Friday, October 12, 2018

On Matthew Shepard, and National Coming Out Day

Today is National Coming Out Day, something I only learned from reading the online morning papers.  I belong to no social media groups or advocacy organizations alerting me to the fact.  And I'm "out" for all intents and purposes, though I don't announce it everywhere I go to just anyone I meet. 

I'm old enough to have been on the receiving end of prejudice, including almost not being able to rent a house in my twenties - until I mentioned a lawyer.  Anything that's happened to me is minor in the big picture - being called derogatory names, etc.  But twice I have feared for my life, and I'm grateful that's now years in my rearview mirror.

When Harvey Milk began calling for LGBTQ people everywhere to come out it was the beginning of liberation.  And as with all liberation movements, it was a beginning that is still in search of an end.  We've made wonderful progress and I'm grateful for every ounce of it, but there's a long way to go.  

In 2018, it is still legal in 29 states to be fired for being LGBTQ; to be denied housing for being LGBTQ; to be denied a hotel reservation for being LGBTQ.  Anyone who wonders why people still march, or seek legal redress, or advocate for political action, need only think about this fact.  29 states.

It was also announced today that Matthew Shepard will be laid to rest at the Washington National Cathedral in Washington D.C.  It's been 20 years since he was beaten, pistol whipped, tied to a fence and left to die on a Wyoming plain.  By the time he was discovered 18 hours later - a cyclist passing by initially mistook his body for that of a scarecrow - it was too late and his suffering ended a few days later in a hospital bed.

His parents never interred his ashes, fearful of creating a place for potential vandalism or anti-gay protests.  

I can only imagine the joy they must feel today.  That in honor of his memory and the forward progress his death has engendered, his remains will now rest in this national hallowed space.

And as for his souI, I firmly believe that it's been resting for the past 20 years within the embrace of the Beloved.







Sunday, September 16, 2018

My Father's Heart

Written January 7, 2016

Yesterday, once again we were blessed with snow. 

I've taken a week off work for respite, and was fortunate enough to spend a long time watching the birds. Around the feeders there was a happy community of goldfinch, sparrows, purple finch, towhees, juncos, wrens, doves, quail and the occasional bluejay. 


I was struck by how easily they shared the bounty of seed, darting in and out, taking turns jumping on and off the feeders and scurrying around each other to scoop up what fell to the ground. Then, in an urgent instant, all scattered to the four directions and the yard went strangely still. 


I knew a predator, likely a hawk, had entered the tableau; it took several minutes to locate him.


When I finally spotted him, I was suddenly reminded of my father telling me about the first - only - time he went hunting. 


He shot a deer but it didn't die instantly.  And when he tracked it down, it lay mortally wounded. 


He said the deer maintained eye contact with him until it took its last breath, and he knew in that moment he would never again pick up a gun. 


I'm grateful for my father's tender heart.










On My Sister's Birthday

Written January 29, 2016

Tomorrow is my big sister’s birthday and though it’s a little early, I’ve been thinking of her all morning. 
When I was small, she was part sister, part second mother. As the first born, she was our reliable rock, and often guided Cecily and me through turbulent waters. Since we don’t get to choose our birth order, I’m sure it wasn’t always fun being the responsible, conscientious role model. But if she was ever troubled or burdened by it, she never let on. 
She did, however, give me a fair amount of feedback about how spoiled the baby in the family was! And rightly so.
On Sundays, she braided my hair and helped me dress for church. Sometimes the dresses I wore were those she had sewn for me. I have no doubt she helped me learn to read, though I have no memory of it. I have no doubt she helped me learn a million little things. And though I don’t recall the details, I just know she was always there, and the world was a safer place because she was in it.
Thanks for helping me blow out the candles on my cake. Thanks for being that rock. Thanks for living a life of great faith and good works. “Thanks” is too meager a word for how great a gift you’ve been to me and to our family. 
Happy Birthday from your little toughie. Love you!