Sooooo, its about 1985 and I'm about to graduate from high school. I realize now that many if not most of my co-workers were either born around or after that year. But, I'm just graduating from a predominanty caucasian (and somewhat race conscious) high school seminary where I had experiences like pointing out the black girls in the crowd every time one appeared. I had trouble realizing at the time that many had trouble with my non-racial attitude. I was even asked once what color putty I liked: pink or brown(black). My answer should have been: well if that concerns you then you should ask what color putty I spent 9 months in, that's the more pertinent question. Well, when around mostly country time race conscious caucasians the question of racial pedigree like farm animals is important to them. Their tactic is trite and overused and as racist as hell. But, that's the topic for the other blog (www.forgivenessbydave.blogspot.com).
This blog, however, is about that phenomenon which is just as ignorant to me. As I was saying, I found myself graduating from high school in 1985 and being expressedly forbidden to pursue sports, music, or art by my dear old dad. He'd had a severe nervous breakdown, he was a paranoid schizophrenic, and when he started screaming and yelling, which he did more frequently than I'd like, he would allude to his mighty strap and roll his eyes. Getting right to the point, he was more than a little semidetached mentally and was adamant about me getting my studies. I had no problem with that, but he was sooooo far behind in his mental depression and self hatred that he actually gave me his nickname (I've explained this before). He often spoke about me and himself as though we were the same person. He endowed me with his life parameters, his history, and spoke of not letting me make the same mistakes he made in life. He hated the term Jr., but treated me like his daughter instead.
This revelation gave me a clue as to the mentality of the people in his age group. He openly spoke of his hatred of his siblings and even spent time ranting and raving calling them in their various locations around the country. He did this even when I was in graduate school when my mother finally left him for the last time. But, getting back to the point, he was a living cartoon. Smart people were little and small and prim and prissy, and stupid people were big, ATHLETIC AND STUPID LOOKING. He was very uncomfortable with the idea of me growing up getting hairy and muscular. But, he could never make up his mind as to whether he liked or hated intellectuals. He hated the new math and the new psychology (Spock in particular), but he forbade me to the extent that he could, from pursuing athletics although he was my first coach buying me athletic equipment and taking me to the park during the divorce years. He often though I was cheating at Scrabble when I started to win, and that's where he distracted me by utilizing his famous conversations about 'progress', the mighty white man, and of course ... the niggas who held up progress. Looking back, I would never let my child around this man at all. He was a self hating schizophrenic more 'side of the street to walk on' and 'waterfountain to drink out of' than anything else.
Thus, there I was abruptly in 1985 plunged into the intellectual world of physics/engineering which I ended up doing after difficulty. But, there was a growing trend toward crime in a city of New Orleans with very real victims. These victims were growing at the hand of their victimizers, and to make a long story short the list of witnesses grew and grew. Dancing in and out of populations of victims I thought to be my friend I somehow experienced hostilities from people that I couldn't explain (this started in high school actually). Little did I realize that victims on patrol started to incompetently keep watch on, guess who: everyone who matched the now famous OJ type description: heterosexual, male, dark skinned, athletic, i.e. >> ME! Gee, that's what I look like! So, what do I do? I've been getting on all too many people's nerves all these years lugging around the frame of 'a stinking athlete' (as I've been called) in clusters of rape victims on patrol identifying me as a criminal. And, here I've been, all these year unaware of that except the times I've gotten YELLED AT by those people who have PAINFULLY brought it to my attention each time.
The only thing I could do for these people to prove my intellectual status is the thing I won't do in the 'gay best friend' environment. When Hollywood when in the "Big Bang Theory" direction with the portrayal of intellectuals that finished the crucifixion of my image that started with "The Crying Game". There's nothing I can do for my own safety except stay away from gay racist environments trying to detect them as I go; and go on trying to find environments that treat straight men with dignity. This is a world, mind you, that girls can run around after the game in their bras having a kegger while men are barred from beer and chicken in their club houses. I refuse to play the feminine intellectual male just to get into fights with the likes of the superstars of feminine fighting, bickering like a bunch of fools to make their points. I'm NOT one of the girls. As I've said BEWARE of those freaks you trust, you hairdressers, you makeup artists, those who somehow by their feminine LOOK rank as INTELLECTUAL. IT'S YOUR CHOICE! Amen. Anon.
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