Little Light asks:
Physically, I'm fairly early in the transition, even though socially and emotionally I'm way past the point of no return. So I thought: would it be interesting or helpful to those of you reading for me to catalogue some of those basic things?
Because nobody really told them to me when I wasn't experiencing them yet myself, even though I expected it to be hard; here on this bodiless Internet we're always talking about the big-picture, societal, identity-and-rights stuff, and it occurs to me that I had to do a lot of digging, once upon a time, for the nuts and bolts--including the unpleasant, vulgar nuts-and-bolts. And maybe that's why all these arguments about bathrooms don't connect--because one person is talking about who has what abstract claim on what space, and another person is going, look, I really have to go.
The other stuff is important, maybe more important, but somehow I think the point doesn't get across, sometimes. As I said to my partner not long ago: it's funny, knowing the statistics of sexual assault and violence directed at the demographic I'm entering, considering what I know about my basically taking a massive pay cut for every other job I'm ever going to have and practically waiving insurance, knowing about my future health risks and social attitudes, knowing the price I'll have to pay in travel I can't do, places I can't go and be safe, people I'd like to know who'll assume they don't want to know me, knowing I'll be dependent on medical technology and its attendant costs for the rest of my life...
The little, real, blood-and-bones things a person who's never met one of us--or someone who has, but not intimately enough to be told--wouldn't know about, and wouldn't know to account for in their ideas about who we are and what our lives are like.
Would folk want to hear more about these things, or is this enough?
***
Also, for those who were following the discussion developing at brownfemipower's regarding "postcolonial feminism and the impact of colonial history on trans issues and multiracial identities," (or would like to tune in now), little light picks up the thread here.
Showing posts with label blogthropology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogthropology. Show all posts
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Male survivors of sexual violence (link)
Discussion going on over at Alas a Blog. active participants (to the thread, not the blog) limited; check for guidelines.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
"Why Blacks & Whites Don't Dialog"
A couple of postings from about a month and a half ago, not particularly feminist-related, that feel apropos here.
First, the titular post from Michael David Cobb Bowen, writing "from the perspective of a moderate conservative Republican representing the 'Old School' of African American culture and values."
From the black side there is a very powerful disincentive, or taboo against, confiding in whitefolks about the presence of racism.
...There is a perception that people are going to be more white than people, 'when push comes to shove'. I don't think so, but our social intercourse has not matured in the mainstream these 50 years of integration, to the level at which black/other intimacy is generally tight enough to share these revelations. Whitefolks don't ever give up the front and fantasy that they could be 'the man'... Whitefolks don't ever admit their trash backgrounds and humble themselves around blackfolks. Blackfolks don't ever let their guard down and simply trust whitefolks in a carefree and easy way. And of course blacks are constantly reminded of how many people just don't get it. The risk, I think for most blackfolks is too great. I don't excuse it. It's something that we must get over and I know a lot of people are trying...now I'm hearing Mike's voice take over in my head about the kind of civility that we have to show each other,*constantly*. I think it's a little bit more than that on a personal level, it is a refusal to retreat. It's demonstrating somehow that an individual is never going to withdraw into their racial safety zone and ignore the 'others'. Is there too much racial injustice in America for each of us to make that promise? Perhaps. Is the ethos of colorblindness wrecking havoc with this potential intimacy? Absolutely. Is 'diversity & multiculturalism' a sort of retrenchment into the personal politics of difference? I think so.
So there are many barriers to overcome that mitigate against the potential for a sustained interracial conversation which settles terms and can focus political energy. But if I may use a jewish analogy, blackfolks want a divine kingdom on earth. We want the laws and the powers to defeat our enemies. We developed ourselves on our own and we want to be left alone. We don't believe this intimacy and friendship is the way to go. It's tedious, it's slow, and every friend is not a fellow warrior. Who knows that better than blacks who are not 100% African blooded but still disconnected from a certain half of their family? This is why the jewish provocation works, we understand the point of view of a jewish warrior. It's not so much a friendship as an alliance, and we don't have to keep investing in intimacy to know that the battle will still be engaged. I percieve that's where the friendship thing goes between blacks and whites. The whole drama over a racial incident and the black & white person look at each other with their mouths open "I thought you were my friend" says the white person. "I guess all I am to you is a friend" says the black. That's why blackfolks consistently say they'd rather deal with a redneck bigot, because at least he's honest and they always know where he's coming from.
[n.b. i snipped this part,
I think the notable exception to this is when Jews start the conversation in a particular way. If a nominally white person outs himself as a Jew, unprompted to a black person and talks about racism, I think a strong bridge is built.
because, well, curious. as a Jew, I'm intrigued by this; i wonder how many other people see it this way. it seems to me that this particular poster feels a certain affinity with the Jews; i have mixed feelings about this, because on the one hand, i tend to agree that there is, or can be/has been a historical connection there; and yet at the same time, there's often a profound disconnect, ime. at any rate i've certainly been disheartened by racism coming from My People on a number of occasions. That, and, well, i'm not entirely sure how much I relate to
"want a divine kingdom on earth. We want the laws and the powers to defeat our enemies. We developed ourselves on our own and we want to be left alone."
...i tend to suspect that this is perhaps more a certain kind of conservative ethos, possible with religious undertones, than anything else. but...anyway. onward:]
Temple3 responds
(from the bio: I sit at many crossroads today…between the OldSchool and the Nu; between Africa and America; and, between life and death (always). This walk is about Choice as much as it’s about Roots. )
“a very powerful disincentive…”
And what is that “powerful disincentive”? Well, James Baldwin edict still stands…to whom can you reveal your ‘constant state of rage’? Baldwin remarked that to be black and conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage. (I haven’t been able to track down the specific source for the quote. Work for another time and place.)
And what is that constant state of rage about? What is it’s genesis and resolution? When you have no answers and are ill-equipped, you can take the path that Ms. McClain took in Chicago. You can take the path that Tookie Williams chose in LA. You can take the path of despair and hopelessness. Still…these choices are fundamentally the same in that each reflects a SUBMISSION to a dynamic that precedes and supercedes the power of individuals to transform.
Making a different set of choices and stepping out on faith is a two-way street. When black people are willing to confess two things: our constant stage of rage and our collective contingency (ie, relative powerlessness) the dialogue cannot ensue until white folks make a parallel confession - fear of reprisals (Thomas Jefferson said it three centuries ago) and knowledge of culpability (give up the “my ancestors did this” game because it’s as fake as a $3 bill). It’s one thing to dismiss slavery as ancient history…it’s quite another to dismiss your father’s union job in an all-white union which paid for your suburban home and public school and Berkeley/Stanford education. It’s absolutely different to ignore the many intergenerational non-compete agreements authored by white labor from 1865 through 1965. How did you come to have what you have? Do you want to know? Have you ever asked? Somethings may be better left unsaid. The truth shall make you free - or something like that.
These confessions, by the way are not forthcoming on the personal level because human beings would rather skirt the conflict of revelation and relate at a superficial level. If Americans are really honest with themselves, they’ll see this society really doesn’t have that capacity for self-reflection. I don’t know (through experience) of a nation that does - but the US does not.
American institutions (schools, media, government, businesses, etc.) have never dealt with the ugly truths in a systematic way. Compare the US treatment of slavery with the Post WWII treatment of the Nazi era in Germany. There is no comparison. The US continues to harbor, finance and sustain intellectuals, artists, ideologues and others who harbor sentiments directly derived from the outdated racialist doctrines. Many of these people are in influential policy circles and they operate with little scrutiny and tactical immunity.
With respect to our missed conversations, we say that we don’t have time for anything else. And the paradox is that people are spending more and more time having cell phone conversations about absolutely nothing. Real conversation comes with a price…intimacy, vulnerability and choice…after we disclose - we get to choose what new type of relationship we will have. And that won’t be easy either.
First, the titular post from Michael David Cobb Bowen, writing "from the perspective of a moderate conservative Republican representing the 'Old School' of African American culture and values."
From the black side there is a very powerful disincentive, or taboo against, confiding in whitefolks about the presence of racism.
...There is a perception that people are going to be more white than people, 'when push comes to shove'. I don't think so, but our social intercourse has not matured in the mainstream these 50 years of integration, to the level at which black/other intimacy is generally tight enough to share these revelations. Whitefolks don't ever give up the front and fantasy that they could be 'the man'... Whitefolks don't ever admit their trash backgrounds and humble themselves around blackfolks. Blackfolks don't ever let their guard down and simply trust whitefolks in a carefree and easy way. And of course blacks are constantly reminded of how many people just don't get it. The risk, I think for most blackfolks is too great. I don't excuse it. It's something that we must get over and I know a lot of people are trying...now I'm hearing Mike's voice take over in my head about the kind of civility that we have to show each other,*constantly*. I think it's a little bit more than that on a personal level, it is a refusal to retreat. It's demonstrating somehow that an individual is never going to withdraw into their racial safety zone and ignore the 'others'. Is there too much racial injustice in America for each of us to make that promise? Perhaps. Is the ethos of colorblindness wrecking havoc with this potential intimacy? Absolutely. Is 'diversity & multiculturalism' a sort of retrenchment into the personal politics of difference? I think so.
So there are many barriers to overcome that mitigate against the potential for a sustained interracial conversation which settles terms and can focus political energy. But if I may use a jewish analogy, blackfolks want a divine kingdom on earth. We want the laws and the powers to defeat our enemies. We developed ourselves on our own and we want to be left alone. We don't believe this intimacy and friendship is the way to go. It's tedious, it's slow, and every friend is not a fellow warrior. Who knows that better than blacks who are not 100% African blooded but still disconnected from a certain half of their family? This is why the jewish provocation works, we understand the point of view of a jewish warrior. It's not so much a friendship as an alliance, and we don't have to keep investing in intimacy to know that the battle will still be engaged. I percieve that's where the friendship thing goes between blacks and whites. The whole drama over a racial incident and the black & white person look at each other with their mouths open "I thought you were my friend" says the white person. "I guess all I am to you is a friend" says the black. That's why blackfolks consistently say they'd rather deal with a redneck bigot, because at least he's honest and they always know where he's coming from.
[n.b. i snipped this part,
I think the notable exception to this is when Jews start the conversation in a particular way. If a nominally white person outs himself as a Jew, unprompted to a black person and talks about racism, I think a strong bridge is built.
because, well, curious. as a Jew, I'm intrigued by this; i wonder how many other people see it this way. it seems to me that this particular poster feels a certain affinity with the Jews; i have mixed feelings about this, because on the one hand, i tend to agree that there is, or can be/has been a historical connection there; and yet at the same time, there's often a profound disconnect, ime. at any rate i've certainly been disheartened by racism coming from My People on a number of occasions. That, and, well, i'm not entirely sure how much I relate to
"want a divine kingdom on earth. We want the laws and the powers to defeat our enemies. We developed ourselves on our own and we want to be left alone."
...i tend to suspect that this is perhaps more a certain kind of conservative ethos, possible with religious undertones, than anything else. but...anyway. onward:]
Temple3 responds
(from the bio: I sit at many crossroads today…between the OldSchool and the Nu; between Africa and America; and, between life and death (always). This walk is about Choice as much as it’s about Roots. )
“a very powerful disincentive…”
And what is that “powerful disincentive”? Well, James Baldwin edict still stands…to whom can you reveal your ‘constant state of rage’? Baldwin remarked that to be black and conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage. (I haven’t been able to track down the specific source for the quote. Work for another time and place.)
And what is that constant state of rage about? What is it’s genesis and resolution? When you have no answers and are ill-equipped, you can take the path that Ms. McClain took in Chicago. You can take the path that Tookie Williams chose in LA. You can take the path of despair and hopelessness. Still…these choices are fundamentally the same in that each reflects a SUBMISSION to a dynamic that precedes and supercedes the power of individuals to transform.
Making a different set of choices and stepping out on faith is a two-way street. When black people are willing to confess two things: our constant stage of rage and our collective contingency (ie, relative powerlessness) the dialogue cannot ensue until white folks make a parallel confession - fear of reprisals (Thomas Jefferson said it three centuries ago) and knowledge of culpability (give up the “my ancestors did this” game because it’s as fake as a $3 bill). It’s one thing to dismiss slavery as ancient history…it’s quite another to dismiss your father’s union job in an all-white union which paid for your suburban home and public school and Berkeley/Stanford education. It’s absolutely different to ignore the many intergenerational non-compete agreements authored by white labor from 1865 through 1965. How did you come to have what you have? Do you want to know? Have you ever asked? Somethings may be better left unsaid. The truth shall make you free - or something like that.
These confessions, by the way are not forthcoming on the personal level because human beings would rather skirt the conflict of revelation and relate at a superficial level. If Americans are really honest with themselves, they’ll see this society really doesn’t have that capacity for self-reflection. I don’t know (through experience) of a nation that does - but the US does not.
American institutions (schools, media, government, businesses, etc.) have never dealt with the ugly truths in a systematic way. Compare the US treatment of slavery with the Post WWII treatment of the Nazi era in Germany. There is no comparison. The US continues to harbor, finance and sustain intellectuals, artists, ideologues and others who harbor sentiments directly derived from the outdated racialist doctrines. Many of these people are in influential policy circles and they operate with little scrutiny and tactical immunity.
With respect to our missed conversations, we say that we don’t have time for anything else. And the paradox is that people are spending more and more time having cell phone conversations about absolutely nothing. Real conversation comes with a price…intimacy, vulnerability and choice…after we disclose - we get to choose what new type of relationship we will have. And that won’t be easy either.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Of course
...quite a lot of racism (and other bigotries) are not nearly so clear-cut as in the example of the hateful little snots' video (see post below).
I am trying to suss out how it's played out in my own life, well, racism in particular. My parents, as I've said before in this blog, are/were good liberal Democrats who would no more dream of using a racial slur than commit arson. They had at least a couple of non-white friends, including a black colleague who was married to a white woman (and later had absolutely gorgeous children), name of "Xave" (I was fascinated by the fact that his name started with "X.") And I was a funny kid, not terribly influenced (or so I've thought) by peers, except by way of generally fearing and mistrusting them I suppose, at least up till a certain age; off in the world of books and dreams, mostly. And, my very early childhood happened during the mid-late seventies and early eighties, which meant: Sesame Street, Electric Company, Mr. Rogers, "Free to Be You and Me..." (you know, well-meant attempts to show little kids that sharing and learning to be tolerant/celebratory of differences was a good thing, before the ensuing swarm of batshit toxic reactionary media darlings swooped in (or back) and declared it all a Dirty Liberal Anti-Family Communistic Cannibalistic Secular Satanic Plot or whatever the fuck it is they rabbit on about).
So why it was that (as I'm remembering it) I was determined to re-imagine the characters in a favorite book ("Striped Ice Cream!" --which also of course was telling the story of a family from a very different socioeconomic class than the one I knew, the fact of which I'm sure never really got through to me as such till years later) as white? And this was true of a few other books and stories with black characters I'd read, as I recall. I don't think there was anything like what we tend to associate with racism per se fuelling this: anger or disgust or fear or contempt or whatnot. But I was distressed, in a six-year-old way I suppose, that the characters I loved so much did not look like me, much less the imaginary blonde, straight-haired princesses I had already learned to idolize from Andrew Lang fairy tales and "The Brady Bunch."
I grew out of this by the time we'd moved to California, I'm pretty sure (small boy classmate upon my introduction from the teacher as having just moved from Indiana: "You're an Indian! YABABABABABA.."). I had friends (very few and far between, on the whole, through adolescence, in general, but that's another story) who weren't white, mainly Asian-American girls.
On the whole, though...what I'm coming to realize, uncomfortably, is that it's a lot easier to be non-racist in the "I see no color" way when in fact you actually AREN'T seeing any color (other than yours) in your daily life. And while my life circumstances have had me mainly in places that aren't as homogenous as they could be, certainly (the coasts, and since adulthood, big cities), I don't think I'm atypical in observing that it's been far far easier to stick to me 'n' mine, colorwise, at least, than not. Not deliberately. But because the currents from that old, old source nudge us subtly (or not) but inexorably in that direction: apart.
Most vividly, at least from my youth: flash forward to high school. I'm now in the A.P. track, amongst the sheep. Dunno what happened to the goats in the non-college bound track, much less did I give much consideration to whether there were some overall distinctions to be made between the backgrounds, appearances, and/or presentation manner of the kids in the one track versus the kids in the other. Hell, I didn't even know there were tracks. You took AP or you didn't; that was as far as I knew, and, the "stupid" kids took remedial classes or dropped out altogether, and okay, there were courses like shop and home ec, but those were just for fun, weren't they?
Anyway, there was one class in particular, econ or social sciences, where I was clearly aware that there was one (1) African American kid in the entire class. I was aware of this, because the teacher--an affable right-wing self-described libertarian who used to bring articles from the Wall Street Journal for us to discuss--would call on him and/or call attention to him whenever the subject of affirmative action would come up. The kid, you may have intuited by now, was against it, affirmative action, and as far as I could tell at the time he didn't seem to mind being put on the spot in this way. I'm going to call him Robert, not his real name, but he was the sort of person who was most likely to be called Robert rather than Rob or Bob, even by his friends, of which he had many. He was the son of a conservative and well-known professor at one of the local colleges. He was tall, and good-looking, and was always well-dressed, often in proto-corporate wear (shirts buttoned up to the top and so on). He spoke softly and politely, and--not formally, that would have made him a weirdo, we didn't like those--but, you know, in a way that teachers liked a lot. He probably would have passed the "paper bag test," as I recall (not that I know that anyone in his or his family's circles formally conducted such tests, and god knows the rest of us would have been 'buh?' about such matters), and he wore his hair very short, but not brutally so. He was an athlete, at the top of his classes, and generally considered an all-round mensch; very popular. Nice guy.
So one day we were divided into groups to discuss I forget what, but it had something to do with racism, perhaps the apartheid just beginning to be formally dismantled in South Africa. Yes, that was probably it, because the argument had less to do with apartheid per se (Bad) than with the question of whether or not racism still existed here in the U.S. The general consensus among my own little group, in which Robert was not (he was on the other side of the room), was that there was no more racism in America. I think I or someone must have made some argument about opportunities or suchlike; anyway, whatever it was led to some boy's response, "But," (voice dropping to an undertone) "I mean, look at Robert."
I guess we did, then, and then the argument probably ended. I guess Robert probably got looked at quite a bit, then and later. I wonder whatever became of him (as with many of my classmates. not enough to go to a reunion or any such torture, but, you know...I wonder).
--update!!
I've been writing this at work (oh, on lunch break, of course). Go to the bathroom, wash my hands, make critical faces at my reflection, partly against my will (way too fat, of course, and god, is that a pimple? a wrinkle? a pimple on a wrinkle?--no, wait, I love myself, I'm beautiful, I'm sexy--fuck, one really is bigger than the other, isn't it. fuck). Another woman emerges from the stall, and excalims in delight over my hair. Well, this happens fairly often; I do have nice hair (of course I always wanted flowing straight blonde locks as a girl, but...you know the drill). Long and thick and curly, and "Red! So pretty! Lucky you."
Now this is of course SOP among straight women, at least, for one of whom I no doubt pass; and frankly the sapphic of us are not immune. Chirp and coo and praise the other in a decidedly nonerotic fashion, all the while deprecating oneself. What followed next, though:
"...God, I love red hair. I wish I had red hair. And blue eyes. You're so lucky...." (voice drops to an undertone) "...(something) you know, white."
I said something lame about how she, too could have my red if she wanted it, as it came out of a bottle; she went on to animatedly say no no, it would look all wrong with her (dark-chocolate colored) complexion, and, oh, how she loves blue eyes. Have a good afternoon.
Still processing this. On the one hand, while I expect Toni Morrison (say) might have something to say about this, truth is, it did sound to me pretty much like your standard compare-n-contrast that happens in women's bathrooms all over the country. "Oh, I wish I had your such-and-so." Which is probably worth a deconstruction in itself; nonetheless.
What I found far more striking: hers was the first black (if not the only non-white) face I've seen in this rather swank corporate office...and she was wearing a janitor's uniform.
I am trying to suss out how it's played out in my own life, well, racism in particular. My parents, as I've said before in this blog, are/were good liberal Democrats who would no more dream of using a racial slur than commit arson. They had at least a couple of non-white friends, including a black colleague who was married to a white woman (and later had absolutely gorgeous children), name of "Xave" (I was fascinated by the fact that his name started with "X.") And I was a funny kid, not terribly influenced (or so I've thought) by peers, except by way of generally fearing and mistrusting them I suppose, at least up till a certain age; off in the world of books and dreams, mostly. And, my very early childhood happened during the mid-late seventies and early eighties, which meant: Sesame Street, Electric Company, Mr. Rogers, "Free to Be You and Me..." (you know, well-meant attempts to show little kids that sharing and learning to be tolerant/celebratory of differences was a good thing, before the ensuing swarm of batshit toxic reactionary media darlings swooped in (or back) and declared it all a Dirty Liberal Anti-Family Communistic Cannibalistic Secular Satanic Plot or whatever the fuck it is they rabbit on about).
So why it was that (as I'm remembering it) I was determined to re-imagine the characters in a favorite book ("Striped Ice Cream!" --which also of course was telling the story of a family from a very different socioeconomic class than the one I knew, the fact of which I'm sure never really got through to me as such till years later) as white? And this was true of a few other books and stories with black characters I'd read, as I recall. I don't think there was anything like what we tend to associate with racism per se fuelling this: anger or disgust or fear or contempt or whatnot. But I was distressed, in a six-year-old way I suppose, that the characters I loved so much did not look like me, much less the imaginary blonde, straight-haired princesses I had already learned to idolize from Andrew Lang fairy tales and "The Brady Bunch."
I grew out of this by the time we'd moved to California, I'm pretty sure (small boy classmate upon my introduction from the teacher as having just moved from Indiana: "You're an Indian! YABABABABABA.."). I had friends (very few and far between, on the whole, through adolescence, in general, but that's another story) who weren't white, mainly Asian-American girls.
On the whole, though...what I'm coming to realize, uncomfortably, is that it's a lot easier to be non-racist in the "I see no color" way when in fact you actually AREN'T seeing any color (other than yours) in your daily life. And while my life circumstances have had me mainly in places that aren't as homogenous as they could be, certainly (the coasts, and since adulthood, big cities), I don't think I'm atypical in observing that it's been far far easier to stick to me 'n' mine, colorwise, at least, than not. Not deliberately. But because the currents from that old, old source nudge us subtly (or not) but inexorably in that direction: apart.
Most vividly, at least from my youth: flash forward to high school. I'm now in the A.P. track, amongst the sheep. Dunno what happened to the goats in the non-college bound track, much less did I give much consideration to whether there were some overall distinctions to be made between the backgrounds, appearances, and/or presentation manner of the kids in the one track versus the kids in the other. Hell, I didn't even know there were tracks. You took AP or you didn't; that was as far as I knew, and, the "stupid" kids took remedial classes or dropped out altogether, and okay, there were courses like shop and home ec, but those were just for fun, weren't they?
Anyway, there was one class in particular, econ or social sciences, where I was clearly aware that there was one (1) African American kid in the entire class. I was aware of this, because the teacher--an affable right-wing self-described libertarian who used to bring articles from the Wall Street Journal for us to discuss--would call on him and/or call attention to him whenever the subject of affirmative action would come up. The kid, you may have intuited by now, was against it, affirmative action, and as far as I could tell at the time he didn't seem to mind being put on the spot in this way. I'm going to call him Robert, not his real name, but he was the sort of person who was most likely to be called Robert rather than Rob or Bob, even by his friends, of which he had many. He was the son of a conservative and well-known professor at one of the local colleges. He was tall, and good-looking, and was always well-dressed, often in proto-corporate wear (shirts buttoned up to the top and so on). He spoke softly and politely, and--not formally, that would have made him a weirdo, we didn't like those--but, you know, in a way that teachers liked a lot. He probably would have passed the "paper bag test," as I recall (not that I know that anyone in his or his family's circles formally conducted such tests, and god knows the rest of us would have been 'buh?' about such matters), and he wore his hair very short, but not brutally so. He was an athlete, at the top of his classes, and generally considered an all-round mensch; very popular. Nice guy.
So one day we were divided into groups to discuss I forget what, but it had something to do with racism, perhaps the apartheid just beginning to be formally dismantled in South Africa. Yes, that was probably it, because the argument had less to do with apartheid per se (Bad) than with the question of whether or not racism still existed here in the U.S. The general consensus among my own little group, in which Robert was not (he was on the other side of the room), was that there was no more racism in America. I think I or someone must have made some argument about opportunities or suchlike; anyway, whatever it was led to some boy's response, "But," (voice dropping to an undertone) "I mean, look at Robert."
I guess we did, then, and then the argument probably ended. I guess Robert probably got looked at quite a bit, then and later. I wonder whatever became of him (as with many of my classmates. not enough to go to a reunion or any such torture, but, you know...I wonder).
--update!!
I've been writing this at work (oh, on lunch break, of course). Go to the bathroom, wash my hands, make critical faces at my reflection, partly against my will (way too fat, of course, and god, is that a pimple? a wrinkle? a pimple on a wrinkle?--no, wait, I love myself, I'm beautiful, I'm sexy--fuck, one really is bigger than the other, isn't it. fuck). Another woman emerges from the stall, and excalims in delight over my hair. Well, this happens fairly often; I do have nice hair (of course I always wanted flowing straight blonde locks as a girl, but...you know the drill). Long and thick and curly, and "Red! So pretty! Lucky you."
Now this is of course SOP among straight women, at least, for one of whom I no doubt pass; and frankly the sapphic of us are not immune. Chirp and coo and praise the other in a decidedly nonerotic fashion, all the while deprecating oneself. What followed next, though:
"...God, I love red hair. I wish I had red hair. And blue eyes. You're so lucky...." (voice drops to an undertone) "...(something) you know, white."
I said something lame about how she, too could have my red if she wanted it, as it came out of a bottle; she went on to animatedly say no no, it would look all wrong with her (dark-chocolate colored) complexion, and, oh, how she loves blue eyes. Have a good afternoon.
Still processing this. On the one hand, while I expect Toni Morrison (say) might have something to say about this, truth is, it did sound to me pretty much like your standard compare-n-contrast that happens in women's bathrooms all over the country. "Oh, I wish I had your such-and-so." Which is probably worth a deconstruction in itself; nonetheless.
What I found far more striking: hers was the first black (if not the only non-white) face I've seen in this rather swank corporate office...and she was wearing a janitor's uniform.
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