You may want to read this and then also this, after, before you continue on today, cool? These might help make sense of things.
Or, maybe not. I had lost my innocence. This was in no cense.
Censeless, so to speak...
“There is only so much that shit thou canst take.” ---Shakespeare, ca. 1609, The Folios
This lamb for the slaughter would not be the scapegoat to this party of laughter.
Here's a find from my son Gabe.
I stood up and looked around at everyone, and they stopped what they were saying to each other and looked back at me. I hadn’t known it, but they’d been only ribbing me earlier, and then turned back to their own topics of discussion or amusement when I sat down.
I should have remained cool, shrugged it off, and then after I finished my plate and had a belly full of ribs I would probably have been introduced by Glinda to them one at a time and found more ribbing, but a gentle sort, as large, gregarious sorts of families often do to each other.
I could have told them about my own tribe, about growing up witnessing the oppression of my own people, that sort of stuff. We had some things in common.
But I didn’t wait until later to do this.
You know that it is human behavior to be self conscious when you regard yourself as “the other,” or, “the outsider.” Just as when folks speaking a language that you do not speak begin to laugh, you always think they are laughing at you. Correct as that may be, this curious trait of human behavior also occurs when you can not quite make out what others nearby are saying to each other.
Especially after they have, in fact, been laughing at you.
So I sat there, trying to enjoy the wonderful flavors each cook had put into their own dish for the family feast, but all I had going on in my head were three things, which were these:
1. They were staring at me, laughing and whispering behind my back.
2. They were bad people.
3. They were going to get me.
Of course, I was wrong on all three accounts, except for two folks. Two of Glinda’s cousins were going full steam ahead with number one up there above. They were nine and eleven years old and they thought I was cute.
I stood up and I heard folks whisper things like the following:
(Shhh, white boy gonna say something. Hold on, hold on, listen…)
(Check it out, Homeboy gonna give his oral presentation....)
(Hey, what he doing now? Ohh, he going after a second helping, but look like he gonna be sick...)
(Yeah, he making room for more chitlins first, that’s all. It’s understandable...)
I was not all that understandable. I was done being under those who were standing on top of me.
It was my turn to stand up.
It had been a weird fucking day, you know. Glinty McFlintlock seemed like the strangest person on Earth when Glinda and I’d first encountered him, but at this point in the day, he now seemed like a kindly old gent who might sit down and share a beer with me and reminisce about an old stable that hid a hearse under a rotten tarp for the last half century.
I coulda hugged ole Glinty, toothless as he was.
I was alone.
“I think I’ve had about enough of this, thank you very much.”
Glinda looked up at me and her jaw dropped. She just stared at me.
(Well, if he full, he don’t need to be telling everybody, just go lie down and take a nap…)
“I can see you staring at the white boy, and that’s cool. I kinda stick out here.”
(Well, you do now all standing up and shouting at folks…)
“But you should know something about me. I am not just a white boy.”
(Oh no. He also a white girl trapped in a white boy body…)
(I told you he the fuzz! Put that shit out!)
“My friends, I am also an Indian. Yup, I am a half breed: half white, and half red.”
(Wait, that make him pink, don’t it?)
(Oh, he about to sing “Cherokee Nation” now…)
“You missed out on getting to know me because you can’t see past your own troubles.”
(He starting to trouble me now…)
(Wilfred, sit back down. He just scared…)
“It’s time for me to go now.”
(You got that right)
“Don’t try to follow me.”
(Did he say “Don’t follow me?”)
“I don’t have any money.”
(OK, that does it. That’s enough now)
“White boy. You done talking. Get the fuck out.”
Yup, I had just insulted a whole group of people with one sentence. A group of people who had shared their delicious feast with me no questions asked. They had no idea I was diddling their pretty daughter/niece/cousin/grand daughter in her twenties.
I was her good friend who had driven her to her first professional photo shoot for her port folio, in my car, and that was pretty cool. They had a congratulatory feast in her honor, which was also just an excuse to cook up an awesome dish and bring it to a cookout, like anyone ever needs an excuse to do such a thing…
But then I’d gone and stood up, acting a fool, talking about being an Indian half breed and them missing their chance getting to know a Real Indian, and don’t follow me or try to steal from me.
Yeah, it was indeed time for me to get the fuck out.
I was still scared.
So I flipped over the buffet table to distract them.
I know. That was fucked.
It also had the opposite effect. They were suddenly focused on the asshole who ruined all the good food which flew out of the containers and platters and splattered on the ground.
Glinda dragged me out to the front of the house while folks were getting up out of their seats.
“What is wrong with you?! Why did you say all those mean things and then do that to the food?!”
I was busy trying to open my locked car door. Don’t look at me that way. I lock my doors at night, and I am surrounded by my tribe, my family, up here in the woods of Maine. I’m just an asshole.
I had no response for her. Well, none that was adequate for her, that was. I jumped in and cranked my little bitch awake, and gunned the engine.
All those pissed-off people, (well, those who weren’t gently lifting the containers off the cement patio to try to save their loving creations, that was,) were too full to move all that fast, and so sadly, there is no exciting car chase and gunfire in this part of the tale I have been telling you all these years, my friend.
No, there was simply a mentally exhausted, angry, scared, lost young asshole, who had a lot to learn about other people. Measly.
I needed to learn some true manners.
That would be the next time. You will see.
Your actions will always have repercussions. You make waves in the world. Here’s an example.
Some folks will see through your intentions. They may swear against it, quite a bit, but it might be quite honest.
But you may find yourself a good captain, as I did, long ago. She may even be capable on the water, and be able to catch fish for dinnah.
This should not make you feel small in any way.
Or you will fail. (Please turn down your sound for this very short fail. Don’t want to hurt your ears, my friend.)
So, what do you do next? You try to win. But fail again?
How about having a brewskie while you are in Space? That would be cool.
Perhaps you may need a new perspective.
Well, not like this.
This might be cool.
What is meant here, at the Mighty TDC, is to be cool like this, for something that means quite a lot.
Thank you for coming to our fine site all this time, my friend. Owned, operated and perpetrated by the excellent bossman Richie Fowler each day, assisted by the Humongously Engorged Hoot each Thursday with his own throbbing column.
Tomorrow, there will be a another Sunday Interview by the shexxy SMCASEY for your wondrous perusal.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
OK, two more for ya.
A musical find from my dotta, a gold heart whom me and my lady Lisa have taught to steer clear of liars and cheaters.
This next find is from my son and his own wonderful Stash, who rock this planet. They true, as well.
Be true my friend, always.