Sticks and Stones
Bend when you must, but look up. Look up with dignity, burn bright, and sparkle because if we’re very lucky, there will always be another season waiting for us to wobble in.
I took off my teaching hat for my Sunday morning walk, and my Apple music shuffled to Keith Urban’s “Shame.” I was actually weaving a bit as I walked. I looked a little drunk, but I don’t drink; it’s just a season of my illness. As I weaved in sunshine, it felt like it was made just for me.
“Everyone hurts the same / I’m not trying to be special / cause I ain’t no angel / everyone hurts the same.” – Keith Urban fills my headspace.
For anyone who follows my Instagram, https://www.instagram.com/catdadinthecity/, you know I was recently called a “fu***ng faggot” by folks I trusted. As I walked, I contemplated my next blog entry and returned to my “All Good Things” origin story: All good things don’t necessarily end; they change like the seasons.
A mild Chicago winter with significantly less snow transitions almost effortlessly into spring. With sunshine that has been here for as long as time. I think of the word, faggot. If you’ve followed my story, you know I’m gay, but I never considered myself a faggot.
The word faggot has complex origins, originating from the French “fagot,” or bundle of sticks bound together for fuel. I didn’t know that until a friend told me, and I dug a bit deeper. But the word began to change to a cruel meaning sometime in the 14th century.
CIDP treatment has been cruel. The effects on my body have been cruel. I often bent but didn’t break. I keep my wheelchair close at hand, and my cane sits beside me today just in case I need it to make it to the movies, but this word hurled at me has me scratching my head. Why was it used? Did my existence hurt someone enough to make them want to wound me? Do I break?
We recently read A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry as part of the class curriculum, and the “N” word was present. I explained how the word was used in context and why we don’t use it. The word “faggot” also came up in the text, and there was a giggle. I forgot the word was coming up that day. How do I explain it?
“The “F” word is to gays, as the “N” word is to African Americans” is the best way I could explain things at the moment. A student looked at me and said they never knew it was a bad word, but now they knew they wouldn’t use it.
“You never know who’s sitting next to you who might be gay or love someone who is.” One boy nodded at me, and I knew he was grateful. I’m proud of how my kids reacted to this as they listened. Unfortunately, someone, somewhere else, didn’t get this message. Someone wasn’t taught how to act right or how to love others the right way.
Do I break? I can’t. I have a student looking to me for a sign that gay is ok. That he is ok. Regardless of your beliefs, it’s my job, our job, to let someone know we are all flawed and perfectly imperfect, just as we are, but not broken; only bendable.
IVIg, Chemo, wheelchairs, walkers, canes, surgeries–none of these broke me. These things helped me stay on this Earth. So no, faggot won’t break me. Look at its origin–it sounds like a strength to me. We all have a heart, and like Keith Urban said, “We all hurt the same.” So, as someone who experiments with language, yes, I am a fabulous faggot that provides fuel to my family, my students, my cat daughter, my niece and nephews, my friends, my coworkers, and my CIDP community.
Bend when you must, but look up. Look up with dignity, burn bright, and sparkle because if we’re very lucky, there will always be another season waiting for us to wobble in.
“The Pride" Flight” can be found in “Selected Writing” in this porfolio and https://www.instagram.com/catdadinthecity/
