I once heard some of my classmates arguing about
discrimination in hiring practices. One of them, John, stated: "If a
business doesn't hire women or minorities, people are going to hear
about it and it's going to go out of business. But the government
doesn't have to step in."
It took me a day or so before I figured
out what exactly bothered me about that statement. It was this: That
tactic does not work. If it did, then why are we even having this
discussion?
The free (often black) market can do some good things (other than create drug addicts and give guns to gangsters), including provide power to those in countries where it is unavailable or prohibitively expensive.
But there are some things that it cannot do, and one of these is
punishing those who take advantage of or discriminate against others.
I have been reading a lot lately about the many battles of same-sex couples seeking wedding cakes from bakers
who turn out to be against their marriages. In some of the comments on
these articles, I have seen the occasional appeal to the Free Market as
the righter of wrongs. In an ideal world, perhaps it would be. Yet the
fact that discrimination is an issue at all is enough to convince me
that it cannot do it alone.
The Free Market:
The free market alone is not going to put bigots out of business. Otherwise, why didn't the Greensboro Woolworth's
go out of business as soon as it was rumored that they refused to serve
racial minorities at their lunch counter? If the Free Market and
word-of-mouth was enough to put Woolworth's out of business, there would
have been no need for sit-ins and protests, and it would not have taken
six months of such protests for the lunch counter to finally serve non-whites.
It's
not a billy club of government to make people be basically decent to
others. Would those who think the Free Market is a moral agent have
people who are discriminated against just wait around for their rights,
until others stop discriminating against them?
The Law:
In practical terms, I actually believe that any proposed
anti-discrimination laws will only change things for bakers and other
providers of products, who have a storefront. A provider of a service or
someone who fills orders from home or by mail can always hide behind
the excuse of being too busy.
I still am in favor of these laws
100%, however, because no one should have to be preached to, and by, of
all people, someone they were ready give hard-earned money to. Like with
sexist or discriminatory hiring policies, the providers of these
products and services will have to find a legal, credible excuse.
It might be uncomfortable for some people to cater, plan or
photograph a gay wedding, just as it was uncomfortable for some white
people, at one time, to have minority families move to their
neighborhoods. They were then forced to see them and treat them as
people, as equals to their white friends. They did not have a "safe
space" in their neighborhoods to voice racist or segregationist opinions
and assumptions. Yes, there are still problems for people of color even
today, sometimes significant ones, but it was a huge step in the right
direction.
I hope that the day comes, in my lifetime, that a similar thing happens for LGBTQ people.
When
an anti-gay wedding photographer understands that she is merely doing a
job, and that her work does not necessarily mean that she approves of
the couple for any reason (she may not approve of a younger woman
marrying an older man, or a mixed-faith couple being "unequally yoked," for example, yet probably would still take the photographs),
that would be a huge step in the right direction. When an anti-gay
wedding planner understands that it is unprofessional and illegal for
him to comment on the nature of the couple's (or even polyamorous
group's) relationship, that will be a huge step in the right direction.
And when an anti-gay landlord or hiring business owner understands that
she must at least provide a plausible excuse, and that her real reasons
are hideously unprofessional and oppressive (or, in her mind, at least
seen as such), that is not ideal, no, but at least it would spare
someone a self-righteous sermon from a stranger who knows nothing about
them or what kind of person they really are.
The Bigots:
What bothers me most of all about those who wish to discriminate is not that they hold such (most often religious) views about others' lives, but that they don't seem to want LGBTQ people near them. The Christian business owner doesn't want to interact with a lesbian employee. The Muslim landlord doesn't want to interact with a gay couple as tenants. The anti-gay photographer doesn't want to take pictures of a same-sex couple, or look through her lens at two women or men kissing.
They don't want to look at these people, they don't want to see these people, and that is a very dehumanizing thing.
What they want is a form of segregation. They want LGBTQ people to live in the other part of town, or at least in another apartment building. They want them to find work in other companies (with which many of these bigots would not do business because of their owners or welcoming attitude towards gay employees), not theirs.
They don't want to "reward" or "support" any "lifestyle" with which they disagree (and instead of minding their own business, they often want everyone else to share their values, too). They don't want to deal with differences among people. Some of these discriminatory people (those who oppose gay marriage rights) even want being gay to be penalized by society. Being gay in America can be very difficult, in many ways, and they want to keep it difficult. They want people to lose privileges or have to jump through extra hoops to be able to "sin." They believe LGBTQ people are bound for hell, and yet they still try to make their lives hell on earth.
This is what breaks my heart about the issue of gay rights. This is why we cannot allow these bigots to make others' lives more difficult than they probably already are. Even if it would cause anti-gay people momentary discomfort, no one should have to be told that they are not good enough, morally, for one of "God's people" to make them a generic wedding cake.
When these same people try to hide behind the excuse, "Let the Free Market decide," it is really just code for "Let's maintain
the status quo." I cannot honestly see the proponents of unbridled
capitalism shopping according to social values of tolerance, acceptance,
taking care of the environment, or human and animal rights, at least
not when they can save money otherwise. (Anyone who feels differently, or
is one these conscious shoppers, feel free to prove me wrong in the
comment section.)
And why do they want to maintain the
status quo? It is usually because they benefit in some way already,
probably at the expense of others, and stand to lose their benefits or
privileges, such as the "right" to discriminate against homosexual
clients.
Or they are simply tired of hearing about
other people's (very real and significant) problems, or they think that
others are ridiculous for talking about their own experiences, because
these Free Market cheerleaders cannot see discrimination if it does not
apply to them. (Many will say that they are not homophobic, sexist,
racist, ablist, etc, but their unwillingness to listen to or take action
on other people's problems speaks volumes.)
The Cakes:
Yes, some people might be uncomfortable "participating" in a same-sex marriage, but we are talking about a job;
a wedding planner or photographer is not involved in the wedding in the
same way that the family or bridesmaids are. If someone would not quit
their job over having a gay boss, then they have no right to refuse a
job for this reason. It is not "glorifying" something one disagrees
with, to do one's job.
I remember reading once, in a book I have long forgotten the title of, about a Christian woman who once got up early and worked for hours to help her Muslim neighbor prepare a special dish for a Ramadan celebration. I imagine that the Christian woman herself partook in this special meal, as inviting her would naturally be the neighborly thing to do. I recall wondering at the time whether a Christian could help support the observance of a Muslim feast, and thinking that I "should" disagree with her actions. I knew, however, that they were motivated by love for her neighbors.
Cannot Christians follow the example of the apostle Peter, who partook in a religiously "unclean" meal with Gentiles, something forbidden by his own Jewish religion? Can they not pray over their cakes and food, that those who eat of it will find God? If it is, in fact, all right, according to the New Testament, for Christians, at least if their faith is strong, to eat food that has been sacrificed to idols, why is it not all right for food that has been dedicated to the Lord to take part in a ceremony with which Christians disagree?
In other words, if Christians, who do not worship Satan or idols, can eat the devil's food, why can't "sinners" eat Jesus' cake?
What do you think of this? Leave a comment below, or send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Friday, January 23, 2015
Mouthy
A woman in one of my classes this last school year mentioned that she
always seemed to say what was on her mind, before she even thought
about it, and that that sometimes offended people or got her in trouble.
I remember thinking that I would have killed for that problem.
I remember an acting workshop I attended last semester. The guest teacher had us warm up our voices and bodies by bouncing up and down while carrying a loud, open-mouthed hum, like a child being patted on the back.
"Since there are only women here," she said, "I want you to focus deep in your lungs and find your Strong Voice, which we as women often are forbidden to do by society. For example, if you say 'I just really don't like you,' in a higher-pitched voice, it's fine, but when you say, 'I REALLY DON'T LIKE YOU,' in a deeper voice, they're like, 'Whoa! She's so mean!'" she explained, jerking her head back realistically in "shock."
That got me to wondering if it was really okay to tell someone that you didn't like them, rather than just not saying anything at all. Maybe it wasn't always wrong to be mean to someone, or it was acceptable when stating your own opinion?
It had never actually occurred to me to tell someone that I didn't like them. I had always thought that one should simply not say anything to them, just cut them out of one's life as much as possible, and anything beyond that was "unnecessary" and going too far.
Maybe I was wrong about that, though. Maybe I could be mean and still be a good, mostly-nice person. Maybe trying to be nice (almost) always was not the indicator of whether I was right or wrong.
When I first got my Twitter account as Atheist Journeys, and started talking to theists as an atheist, I thought that being nice was what I should always do, because then I would not be sinking to some of their levels. I would be better than them, and take the high ground.
But I felt extremely limited by "niceness" when I was a Christian, and I don't want to do that to myself anymore. There are times to be nice, and there are times to be mean, and I'm not even sure that I should focus on being "nice" most of the time. I wanted to be a "loving atheist," but I'm not sure now that that is who I am.
I had seen people who were always angry, who were offended at the slightest inconvenience or deviation from their standards, and I thought that not being nice would lead to my becoming like them. I had read plenty of feminist books, but I was still afraid of becoming a perpetually-angry bitch (or seeming like one).
I don't know where exactly I got this notion that I had to always be nice, no matter how others treated me. I think I was always afraid of what would happen if I was not nice. I remember, as a child, feeling that adults could hurt me and that I could not do anything about it, even that my parents couldn't do anything about it.
Once when I was seven, I called the (adult) relative who always picked on my cousins and me the devil. As I later heard the story (I only remember what happened next clearly), he threatened that next time I called him that, he would "beat your ass" in front of my mother.
"Don't talk to my kid that way!" my mom said.
"Stay out of this! This is not your concern," he retorted.
"She's my kid," she answered, and then I remember the shouting match. They got in each other's faces, and I was terrified. I thought that he would hurt my mother, and I wanted to stay and try to prevent it, but my aunt forcefully herded me and my cousins out to the front porch. No blows were exchanged, I guess, but I think they came close.
My father wasn't there at the time. I was told to keep it a secret from him. He found out years later, and as it was fresh in his mind, he said that he could hardly control himself enough to keep himself out of prison. That was probably why my mother advised me not to say anything about it.
I think I blamed myself for that incident. If I had held my tongue, he wouldn't have blown up at my mom. I wouldn't have been terrified, and it wouldn't have disrupted the family "harmony." (Though is it really harmony when he made me scream in terror and cry in frustration?)
I remember saying I was sorry later, because I thought my safety depended on it, and I thought everyone would make me anyway. I wasn't sorry, though, and I felt like I was betraying myself. I still remember the smug, condescending way he said, "Apology accepted."
I hated him for that remark. I didn't want him to accept my apology. I didn't want to feel like I had to offer an apology to save my life. I wanted him to move out of state again. I wanted him out of my life.
It's not safe to be mean to adults when you are a small child, even if they make your life miserable. I am just now learning that I won't get killed for making nasty remarks.
The cousin who tried to intimidate me with implied threats and physical size (whom I was fortunate enough to be able to call out and shut up, though I had no idea my mouth would work that way, in that instant), ironically, had my relative very involved in his upbringing, and I wonder if those were the older man's values rubbing off. I do remember this older relative once making a point of letting me pick out a candy first, because I was the oldest among the children. He explicitly stated that that was his reasoning, and though I benefited from it, I thought it was strange at the time. The arbitrary, unearned privilege of the oldest seems, to me, related to the arbitrary, unearned privilege of the biggest (as well as that of the husband in some Christian teachings, of which our relative was a fan at one time).
To the best of my knowledge, no one ever told me that I was not wrong to call him the devil. He was like the devil, in my mind, as he hurt me emotionally and physically, terrified me, and seemed to enjoy it. No one had ever told me that it was not wrong to tell someone flat-out that I didn't like them, until that workshop. No one had ever told me that it was okay to hurt somebody's feelings, or make them mad. Though my mother praised me for verbally putting my cousin down at Christmas (because I thought that he was dissing his brother), my childhood conditioning had been hard to break.
And most of all, no one ever thought to tell me that it was safe to say those things. That I would be safe, protected, regardless of what I had said. Even if I was wrong.
Maybe being mean (or honest) does not mean that you wish somebody harm, that you are petty, or that you are wrong to do it.
Maybe being mean isn't wrong, and maybe I won't be harmed or punished for it. That is a lesson that I am still learning, and it takes a lot of practice and thinking about what to say in certain situations, but someday I hope to be as mouthy as the woman in my class.
Someday I hope to tell someone, "I REALLY DON'T LIKE YOU!"
What do you think of this? Leave a comment below, or send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
I remember an acting workshop I attended last semester. The guest teacher had us warm up our voices and bodies by bouncing up and down while carrying a loud, open-mouthed hum, like a child being patted on the back.
"Since there are only women here," she said, "I want you to focus deep in your lungs and find your Strong Voice, which we as women often are forbidden to do by society. For example, if you say 'I just really don't like you,' in a higher-pitched voice, it's fine, but when you say, 'I REALLY DON'T LIKE YOU,' in a deeper voice, they're like, 'Whoa! She's so mean!'" she explained, jerking her head back realistically in "shock."
That got me to wondering if it was really okay to tell someone that you didn't like them, rather than just not saying anything at all. Maybe it wasn't always wrong to be mean to someone, or it was acceptable when stating your own opinion?
It had never actually occurred to me to tell someone that I didn't like them. I had always thought that one should simply not say anything to them, just cut them out of one's life as much as possible, and anything beyond that was "unnecessary" and going too far.
Maybe I was wrong about that, though. Maybe I could be mean and still be a good, mostly-nice person. Maybe trying to be nice (almost) always was not the indicator of whether I was right or wrong.
When I first got my Twitter account as Atheist Journeys, and started talking to theists as an atheist, I thought that being nice was what I should always do, because then I would not be sinking to some of their levels. I would be better than them, and take the high ground.
But I felt extremely limited by "niceness" when I was a Christian, and I don't want to do that to myself anymore. There are times to be nice, and there are times to be mean, and I'm not even sure that I should focus on being "nice" most of the time. I wanted to be a "loving atheist," but I'm not sure now that that is who I am.
I had seen people who were always angry, who were offended at the slightest inconvenience or deviation from their standards, and I thought that not being nice would lead to my becoming like them. I had read plenty of feminist books, but I was still afraid of becoming a perpetually-angry bitch (or seeming like one).
I don't know where exactly I got this notion that I had to always be nice, no matter how others treated me. I think I was always afraid of what would happen if I was not nice. I remember, as a child, feeling that adults could hurt me and that I could not do anything about it, even that my parents couldn't do anything about it.
Once when I was seven, I called the (adult) relative who always picked on my cousins and me the devil. As I later heard the story (I only remember what happened next clearly), he threatened that next time I called him that, he would "beat your ass" in front of my mother.
"Don't talk to my kid that way!" my mom said.
"Stay out of this! This is not your concern," he retorted.
"She's my kid," she answered, and then I remember the shouting match. They got in each other's faces, and I was terrified. I thought that he would hurt my mother, and I wanted to stay and try to prevent it, but my aunt forcefully herded me and my cousins out to the front porch. No blows were exchanged, I guess, but I think they came close.
My father wasn't there at the time. I was told to keep it a secret from him. He found out years later, and as it was fresh in his mind, he said that he could hardly control himself enough to keep himself out of prison. That was probably why my mother advised me not to say anything about it.
I think I blamed myself for that incident. If I had held my tongue, he wouldn't have blown up at my mom. I wouldn't have been terrified, and it wouldn't have disrupted the family "harmony." (Though is it really harmony when he made me scream in terror and cry in frustration?)
I remember saying I was sorry later, because I thought my safety depended on it, and I thought everyone would make me anyway. I wasn't sorry, though, and I felt like I was betraying myself. I still remember the smug, condescending way he said, "Apology accepted."
I hated him for that remark. I didn't want him to accept my apology. I didn't want to feel like I had to offer an apology to save my life. I wanted him to move out of state again. I wanted him out of my life.
It's not safe to be mean to adults when you are a small child, even if they make your life miserable. I am just now learning that I won't get killed for making nasty remarks.
The cousin who tried to intimidate me with implied threats and physical size (whom I was fortunate enough to be able to call out and shut up, though I had no idea my mouth would work that way, in that instant), ironically, had my relative very involved in his upbringing, and I wonder if those were the older man's values rubbing off. I do remember this older relative once making a point of letting me pick out a candy first, because I was the oldest among the children. He explicitly stated that that was his reasoning, and though I benefited from it, I thought it was strange at the time. The arbitrary, unearned privilege of the oldest seems, to me, related to the arbitrary, unearned privilege of the biggest (as well as that of the husband in some Christian teachings, of which our relative was a fan at one time).
To the best of my knowledge, no one ever told me that I was not wrong to call him the devil. He was like the devil, in my mind, as he hurt me emotionally and physically, terrified me, and seemed to enjoy it. No one had ever told me that it was not wrong to tell someone flat-out that I didn't like them, until that workshop. No one had ever told me that it was okay to hurt somebody's feelings, or make them mad. Though my mother praised me for verbally putting my cousin down at Christmas (because I thought that he was dissing his brother), my childhood conditioning had been hard to break.
And most of all, no one ever thought to tell me that it was safe to say those things. That I would be safe, protected, regardless of what I had said. Even if I was wrong.
Maybe being mean (or honest) does not mean that you wish somebody harm, that you are petty, or that you are wrong to do it.
Maybe being mean isn't wrong, and maybe I won't be harmed or punished for it. That is a lesson that I am still learning, and it takes a lot of practice and thinking about what to say in certain situations, but someday I hope to be as mouthy as the woman in my class.
Someday I hope to tell someone, "I REALLY DON'T LIKE YOU!"
What do you think of this? Leave a comment below, or send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
Sunday, January 11, 2015
If I Am Eating My Own Vomit: Christians And Absolute Certainty
Anyone who has seen the debate between Bill Nye and Ken Ham regarding creationism as a viable scientific model might recall the point towards the end where both men were asked what, if anything, would change their minds. Nye replied that any good, scientifically sound evidence would change his mind, while Ham said that absolutely nothing would ever change his mind about (his interpretation of) the bible or (his interpretation of) creationism.
I saw many atheists proclaiming that this was what was wrong with creationism, creationists, or Christianity. I also understand that Dr. Ham most likely was trying to display his devotion, to "acknowledge Christ" in front of men, as the New Testament verse says to. There was a time that I would have replied along similar lines, and I think I understand his reasons for saying what he did.
But by his statement about not ever changing his mind, Ken Ham was not only saying, "The Bible cannot possibly be wrong," but also, "I cannot possibly be wrong about the Bible." Not only is God never wrong, but Dr. Ham is never wrong about God. He may claim to be more flexible than this, but I would be interested to know whether he would ever reconsider his views on abortion, homosexuality, whether unbelievers could go to heaven, or any of the other "big" topics.
Would he ever conceive of the possibility that he could be mistaken, even about a small thing? How can one admit that he might be wrong, and yet say that he will never, ever change his mind? Based upon his unwillingness to admit even the possibility that he might be wrong, I believe that on some level Dr. Ham sees not only his God as infallible, but himself as well.
And in a situation where someone were to disagree upon an important issue, this arrogant attitude becomes very condescending.How can his views of unbelievers (and other Christians who disagree with him) not be affected by the belief that he literally cannot be wrong?
If Dr. Ham or another Christian of the "100% certain" persuasion (which are not all Christians, of course) is reading this, I would like to appeal to their humility as fallible human beings. Isn't being so certain the same thing as "leaning on your own understanding" (about God, salvation, the Bible, etc) which the biblical God commands us not to do? What if you are wrong or mistaken about a key doctrinal issue, one that might even affect your salvation? (Ham did say that the "models" of the biblical accounts might change, however he did not say that he would ever change his mind on doctrinal issues, which I believe is a bit risky if one believes in eternal salvation and hell.) And even if you are right, why is pride in your own intelligence or certainty acceptable, just because one is right?
Would God not want humility from His own children? Would He not want even believers to admit that they could be wrong, even (or especially) about the important questions of salvation, the Bible, belief in Jesus, etc?
It makes me wonder, also, if God would ever sanction name-calling of the sort that atheists are subjected to much of the time. Psalm 14:1 is often used as a weapon against atheists (in a typically Christian display of loving one's enemies), based upon the idea that atheists are as certain of their unbelief as some believers claim to be certain of their beliefs.
We are mocked and called fools based upon the idea that we say in our hearts, "There is no god." And yet, looking at the rest of this psalm, it clearly goes on to talk about unrighteousness, oppression of the poor, and about all people being wicked. (The third verse, even, is the one, often used in gospel tracts, that says "All have turned away, all have become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one.")
The very first verse, in fact, as used against atheists, is incomplete:
"The fool has said in his heart, 'There is no god.' They are corrupt, their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good."
Why are some Christians taking not only the verse out of context, but a fragment of a verse? Perhaps because using the entire verse weakens their argument? Perhaps because the very next sentence makes it clear that God or the psalmist is really talking about wickedness, not unbelief? Notice also that the wicked "fool" is saying this in his heart, not with his mouth. He could have been proclaiming God all the time, and yet still be doing wicked deeds.
I have never been so arrogant as to think that I can say with absolute certainty, "There is no god." I do not know of any atheist who has done so (though there are probably a few). And yet, is it not arrogant also to go the opposite way, to proclaim with certainty that there IS a god, and that nothing will ever change your mind about it?
And most importantly, do you think God is impressed with such arrogance, just because it's used for Him? Would the person who allegedly sees into people's hearts not know that beneath all of the proclaiming, there is the basic assumption that you cannot possibly be wrong? The assumption that you could not have misunderstood God's message, even in the tiniest way?
Do you think God would be impressed that you are "leaning on your own understanding," that you are taking pride in your own wisdom, that you see yourself as closer to God than your fellow human beings who disagree with you? Does He like it somehow that you assume that you know more about Him than anyone else?
And what if He has chosen to reveal different aspects of Himself to different people, or give different people different beliefs or commands, or even not to reveal Himself to some, in order to test us, in order to see how we treat each other when we have disagreements? (And if you say that you know He does not, then I daresay that you have just proven my point.) Jesus' teachings about salvation actually do not mention belief, but they do say a lot about how one treats other people.
I am an atheist, and quite possibly a mere fool, but I do know one thing: According to Christians' own Bible, there is more hope for a fool than for one who is wise in his own eyes. (This comes after a number of verses about how useless, harmful, or hopeless fools are, including mentions of dogs and vomit.)
So it makes me wonder: If I am eating my own vomit, then what are these prideful Christians eating?
What do you think of this? Leave a comment below, or send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
I saw many atheists proclaiming that this was what was wrong with creationism, creationists, or Christianity. I also understand that Dr. Ham most likely was trying to display his devotion, to "acknowledge Christ" in front of men, as the New Testament verse says to. There was a time that I would have replied along similar lines, and I think I understand his reasons for saying what he did.
But by his statement about not ever changing his mind, Ken Ham was not only saying, "The Bible cannot possibly be wrong," but also, "I cannot possibly be wrong about the Bible." Not only is God never wrong, but Dr. Ham is never wrong about God. He may claim to be more flexible than this, but I would be interested to know whether he would ever reconsider his views on abortion, homosexuality, whether unbelievers could go to heaven, or any of the other "big" topics.
Would he ever conceive of the possibility that he could be mistaken, even about a small thing? How can one admit that he might be wrong, and yet say that he will never, ever change his mind? Based upon his unwillingness to admit even the possibility that he might be wrong, I believe that on some level Dr. Ham sees not only his God as infallible, but himself as well.
And in a situation where someone were to disagree upon an important issue, this arrogant attitude becomes very condescending.How can his views of unbelievers (and other Christians who disagree with him) not be affected by the belief that he literally cannot be wrong?
If Dr. Ham or another Christian of the "100% certain" persuasion (which are not all Christians, of course) is reading this, I would like to appeal to their humility as fallible human beings. Isn't being so certain the same thing as "leaning on your own understanding" (about God, salvation, the Bible, etc) which the biblical God commands us not to do? What if you are wrong or mistaken about a key doctrinal issue, one that might even affect your salvation? (Ham did say that the "models" of the biblical accounts might change, however he did not say that he would ever change his mind on doctrinal issues, which I believe is a bit risky if one believes in eternal salvation and hell.) And even if you are right, why is pride in your own intelligence or certainty acceptable, just because one is right?
Would God not want humility from His own children? Would He not want even believers to admit that they could be wrong, even (or especially) about the important questions of salvation, the Bible, belief in Jesus, etc?
It makes me wonder, also, if God would ever sanction name-calling of the sort that atheists are subjected to much of the time. Psalm 14:1 is often used as a weapon against atheists (in a typically Christian display of loving one's enemies), based upon the idea that atheists are as certain of their unbelief as some believers claim to be certain of their beliefs.
We are mocked and called fools based upon the idea that we say in our hearts, "There is no god." And yet, looking at the rest of this psalm, it clearly goes on to talk about unrighteousness, oppression of the poor, and about all people being wicked. (The third verse, even, is the one, often used in gospel tracts, that says "All have turned away, all have become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one.")
The very first verse, in fact, as used against atheists, is incomplete:
"The fool has said in his heart, 'There is no god.' They are corrupt, their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good."
Why are some Christians taking not only the verse out of context, but a fragment of a verse? Perhaps because using the entire verse weakens their argument? Perhaps because the very next sentence makes it clear that God or the psalmist is really talking about wickedness, not unbelief? Notice also that the wicked "fool" is saying this in his heart, not with his mouth. He could have been proclaiming God all the time, and yet still be doing wicked deeds.
I have never been so arrogant as to think that I can say with absolute certainty, "There is no god." I do not know of any atheist who has done so (though there are probably a few). And yet, is it not arrogant also to go the opposite way, to proclaim with certainty that there IS a god, and that nothing will ever change your mind about it?
And most importantly, do you think God is impressed with such arrogance, just because it's used for Him? Would the person who allegedly sees into people's hearts not know that beneath all of the proclaiming, there is the basic assumption that you cannot possibly be wrong? The assumption that you could not have misunderstood God's message, even in the tiniest way?
Do you think God would be impressed that you are "leaning on your own understanding," that you are taking pride in your own wisdom, that you see yourself as closer to God than your fellow human beings who disagree with you? Does He like it somehow that you assume that you know more about Him than anyone else?
And what if He has chosen to reveal different aspects of Himself to different people, or give different people different beliefs or commands, or even not to reveal Himself to some, in order to test us, in order to see how we treat each other when we have disagreements? (And if you say that you know He does not, then I daresay that you have just proven my point.) Jesus' teachings about salvation actually do not mention belief, but they do say a lot about how one treats other people.
I am an atheist, and quite possibly a mere fool, but I do know one thing: According to Christians' own Bible, there is more hope for a fool than for one who is wise in his own eyes. (This comes after a number of verses about how useless, harmful, or hopeless fools are, including mentions of dogs and vomit.)
So it makes me wonder: If I am eating my own vomit, then what are these prideful Christians eating?
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Wednesday, December 31, 2014
"I Am Twice Your Size:" Casual Physical Intimidation
Trigger warning, obviously, for physical intimidation, implied threats, an adult terrorizing children, being "tickled" too hard (non-consensually) so that it hurts, not being listened to about very strong feelings, inappropriate (non-consensual) touching by other children, and general, all-around shittiness. It's also about an empowering experience, too, so it's not all dark, and it ends on a good note. If you wish to proceed, enjoy.
Christmas with the Christian side of the family, I anticipated, would be extremely unpleasant. The year before a couple of uncles had been delighted with Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson and had eagerly expressed their glee to one another. "Even if you don't agree, you've got to admire him for standing up for his beliefs," one of them had smiled.
I had not said anything that year, being shocked at what they had said (since it was relatively old news even then), and not knowing what to say.
This time, for weeks beforehand, I had practiced saying that I actually don't admire the publicity stunts of reality stars, that I didn't think a loving god would tell someone that an act of love was an abomination, even that no one can judge another's salvation (because, once again, my grandfather was asking us to come to his church, even though he thinks that we are believers like him).
Surprisingly, though, it was not an unpleasant Christmas; my great stand was not about religion or politics at all, and I stood up to someone that I wasn't expecting to.
My cousin was asking an uncle about a gun he was thinking of buying.
"Why do you want it?" his older brother (whom I think of as Blue-Butt because of a Smurf rape joke that I got in trouble for years ago) asked.
"Because it has more firepower," answered my youngest cousin. (I will call him Red-Butt, because when he was very little, after his bath he used to run through the house naked. We older kids would grab towels and try to capture him and cover him up, everyone laughing all the while, and my mother would yell, "There goes the Red-Butted Boobie!" (not an actual bird))
"He wants to make a bigger hole," his dad commented.
Blue shook his head. "Poor child," he said sarcastically.
The words flew out of my mouth and I was pointing deliberately at him before I realized what was going on. "That's how I feel about you!" I retorted.
"I am twice your size," he said, contemptuously emphasizing every word.
"So?" I asked, spreading my hands and giving him a purposefully confused look. I was thankful that my mouth had responded so quickly.
He rolled his eyes, gave a little scoff and looked away, ignoring me. He had not answered my question, which made me think that I had won somehow.
After a few seconds, I mumbled, "I'm just teasing you, Blue. I'm just kidding... sort of," but I don't think he heard me, and my heart wasn't in it. It felt bad to say, and so I stopped saying it.
I couldn't get this little exchange out of my mind for hours afterwards. I cannot imagine how physical size would have anything to do with being nice to people, or even with acting childish. Did he think physical size made him more adult than me? Or that he could subtly put people down because of his size? Or even that I couldn't feel a certain way about him? (Red is as big as he is, so he can't really put Red down as being child-sized compared to him.)
There are at least three things I believe happened here: 1) I probably have made an enemy, whether I was right or wrong to say it, 2) I told him that I was not intimidated by his physical size or strength, and, 3) I was more of a loudmouth than I ever remember. I told him what I thought of him, and I love that that happened.
I am surprised that he would resort to physical intimidation to shut me up, that that was apparently okay with him, and equally surprised at my response. I have always thought of myself as timid and scared, and I once told my mom that on some level I was physically afraid of all men. That is still true somewhat, but here I was, unafraid of him.
As a child I had been terrified of an uncle who physically bullied me (and my cousins), "tickling" us until it hurt, grabbing us against our wills and hanging us upside down in spite of our terrified screams (the other adults did not take our protests seriously, and did not want to make waves).
As an adult, I had bought a can of mace and decided that even in my family, there would also be legal repercussions if someone tried to physically intimidate me. "Get out of my face!" I would say, and if they persisted, I would mace them and later say, truthfully, that I was afraid for my physical safety. They would know not to mess with me, and that I did not take implied threats lightly. If they were to invade my physical space, after all, what's to stop them from hitting me? Perhaps I was being paranoid, but it made me feel a lot better.
That attitude, about an uncle, now applied to my cousin as well. Worst case scenario, if I ate my own teeth, didn't get a chance to mace him, and he beat the crap out of me, he would still be a felon. He would either be in prison or on the lam, and it would ruin his life. I didn't care how many people I pissed off, I would have gladly sent a bully to prison.
His threat was deflated; obviously, he would not have gone through with it. I was surrounded by my father, other male relatives, and my mother, who brawled quite a bit in high school, when other girls picked on her, and was strong enough to have had several very physical jobs. I also have taken two years of taekwondo, and apparently I was less cowed and intimidated by him than he expected (maybe even than I have been before). He was also sitting across the room from me; if he had been invading my personal space, looking down on me, I might have reacted differently; I really don't know.
I can either assume that he wouldn't have gone through with it, and thus was making idle threats (I don't know why else he would refer to physical size), or that he would have gone ahead and beaten up a person half his size for calling him childish.
He is three years younger than me, and this is not the first time that he made a point of boasting that he could take me on. When he was going through puberty and the subsequent growth spurts, he once told me, very arrogantly, "I'm stronger than you." (I forget the context of this situation; I was probably disagreeing with him.)
So what? I thought. You're still an asshole. I had not said it at the time, but I think I might if it happened now.
And I have punched him before. When I was twelve and he was nine, I often played male characters in our games, such as Woody and Robin. He started finding excuses to push me or touch me in the chest, all in the context of "play." It got to be such a problem, and bothered me so much, that (at my mother's suggestion, no less), I punched him when we were playing in my grandparents' pool one day with some of his friends. I thought that his touching me was in this case an accident, and I didn't feel very good about doing it in front of his friends, explaining what he did in front of them. But I was so desperate to have it stop that I did it anyway.
The blow had landed on his throat. I had thought that I would have a weak punch, but he was in tears, his voice hoarse. He was mad at me because he said it was an accident, and it abruptly put a stop to our game, but I was relieved. I had finally done it! I had finally physically hurt him, for using me as a sex object--not even taking my feelings into consideration when using my body to satisfy his sexual urges or curiosity. I hoped he would never do it again.
I was right; he never touched me again. He may have remembered it, and was looking for an opportunity to "put me in my place" or get back at me ever since.
Whatever the case, it doesn't look like he can or will make such threats anymore, and I don't have to let him put his brother down (as I saw it) in my presence.
It feels good to be mean.
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Christmas with the Christian side of the family, I anticipated, would be extremely unpleasant. The year before a couple of uncles had been delighted with Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson and had eagerly expressed their glee to one another. "Even if you don't agree, you've got to admire him for standing up for his beliefs," one of them had smiled.
I had not said anything that year, being shocked at what they had said (since it was relatively old news even then), and not knowing what to say.
This time, for weeks beforehand, I had practiced saying that I actually don't admire the publicity stunts of reality stars, that I didn't think a loving god would tell someone that an act of love was an abomination, even that no one can judge another's salvation (because, once again, my grandfather was asking us to come to his church, even though he thinks that we are believers like him).
Surprisingly, though, it was not an unpleasant Christmas; my great stand was not about religion or politics at all, and I stood up to someone that I wasn't expecting to.
My cousin was asking an uncle about a gun he was thinking of buying.
"Why do you want it?" his older brother (whom I think of as Blue-Butt because of a Smurf rape joke that I got in trouble for years ago) asked.
"Because it has more firepower," answered my youngest cousin. (I will call him Red-Butt, because when he was very little, after his bath he used to run through the house naked. We older kids would grab towels and try to capture him and cover him up, everyone laughing all the while, and my mother would yell, "There goes the Red-Butted Boobie!" (not an actual bird))
"He wants to make a bigger hole," his dad commented.
Blue shook his head. "Poor child," he said sarcastically.
The words flew out of my mouth and I was pointing deliberately at him before I realized what was going on. "That's how I feel about you!" I retorted.
"I am twice your size," he said, contemptuously emphasizing every word.
"So?" I asked, spreading my hands and giving him a purposefully confused look. I was thankful that my mouth had responded so quickly.
He rolled his eyes, gave a little scoff and looked away, ignoring me. He had not answered my question, which made me think that I had won somehow.
After a few seconds, I mumbled, "I'm just teasing you, Blue. I'm just kidding... sort of," but I don't think he heard me, and my heart wasn't in it. It felt bad to say, and so I stopped saying it.
I couldn't get this little exchange out of my mind for hours afterwards. I cannot imagine how physical size would have anything to do with being nice to people, or even with acting childish. Did he think physical size made him more adult than me? Or that he could subtly put people down because of his size? Or even that I couldn't feel a certain way about him? (Red is as big as he is, so he can't really put Red down as being child-sized compared to him.)
There are at least three things I believe happened here: 1) I probably have made an enemy, whether I was right or wrong to say it, 2) I told him that I was not intimidated by his physical size or strength, and, 3) I was more of a loudmouth than I ever remember. I told him what I thought of him, and I love that that happened.
I am surprised that he would resort to physical intimidation to shut me up, that that was apparently okay with him, and equally surprised at my response. I have always thought of myself as timid and scared, and I once told my mom that on some level I was physically afraid of all men. That is still true somewhat, but here I was, unafraid of him.
As a child I had been terrified of an uncle who physically bullied me (and my cousins), "tickling" us until it hurt, grabbing us against our wills and hanging us upside down in spite of our terrified screams (the other adults did not take our protests seriously, and did not want to make waves).
As an adult, I had bought a can of mace and decided that even in my family, there would also be legal repercussions if someone tried to physically intimidate me. "Get out of my face!" I would say, and if they persisted, I would mace them and later say, truthfully, that I was afraid for my physical safety. They would know not to mess with me, and that I did not take implied threats lightly. If they were to invade my physical space, after all, what's to stop them from hitting me? Perhaps I was being paranoid, but it made me feel a lot better.
That attitude, about an uncle, now applied to my cousin as well. Worst case scenario, if I ate my own teeth, didn't get a chance to mace him, and he beat the crap out of me, he would still be a felon. He would either be in prison or on the lam, and it would ruin his life. I didn't care how many people I pissed off, I would have gladly sent a bully to prison.
His threat was deflated; obviously, he would not have gone through with it. I was surrounded by my father, other male relatives, and my mother, who brawled quite a bit in high school, when other girls picked on her, and was strong enough to have had several very physical jobs. I also have taken two years of taekwondo, and apparently I was less cowed and intimidated by him than he expected (maybe even than I have been before). He was also sitting across the room from me; if he had been invading my personal space, looking down on me, I might have reacted differently; I really don't know.
I can either assume that he wouldn't have gone through with it, and thus was making idle threats (I don't know why else he would refer to physical size), or that he would have gone ahead and beaten up a person half his size for calling him childish.
He is three years younger than me, and this is not the first time that he made a point of boasting that he could take me on. When he was going through puberty and the subsequent growth spurts, he once told me, very arrogantly, "I'm stronger than you." (I forget the context of this situation; I was probably disagreeing with him.)
So what? I thought. You're still an asshole. I had not said it at the time, but I think I might if it happened now.
And I have punched him before. When I was twelve and he was nine, I often played male characters in our games, such as Woody and Robin. He started finding excuses to push me or touch me in the chest, all in the context of "play." It got to be such a problem, and bothered me so much, that (at my mother's suggestion, no less), I punched him when we were playing in my grandparents' pool one day with some of his friends. I thought that his touching me was in this case an accident, and I didn't feel very good about doing it in front of his friends, explaining what he did in front of them. But I was so desperate to have it stop that I did it anyway.
The blow had landed on his throat. I had thought that I would have a weak punch, but he was in tears, his voice hoarse. He was mad at me because he said it was an accident, and it abruptly put a stop to our game, but I was relieved. I had finally done it! I had finally physically hurt him, for using me as a sex object--not even taking my feelings into consideration when using my body to satisfy his sexual urges or curiosity. I hoped he would never do it again.
I was right; he never touched me again. He may have remembered it, and was looking for an opportunity to "put me in my place" or get back at me ever since.
Whatever the case, it doesn't look like he can or will make such threats anymore, and I don't have to let him put his brother down (as I saw it) in my presence.
It feels good to be mean.
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Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Kitten, Part Two: He Wanted To Live
Basically, his body was broken, his pelvis shattered, and the vet encouraged us to have him euthanized. He was presumably in a lot of pain, but we couldn't do it. The pain would be temporary, if he lived, and if he didn't, then we felt he at least deserved a fighting chance, a slightly longer life.
I still don't know to this day whether his swollen belly was FIP (a fatal feline disease), internal bleeding, or the air from a punctured lung, but we fed him full of herbs and supplements, and he lived. I get emotional daily over the simple fact that he lived!
I truly believe that he chose to live. He seemed determined, I was determined, and my mother was determined. He was going to live, if at all possible. We would not accept defeat until he was dead, cold and stiff. And now it appears that he won't be that way for a very long time yet.
This is, more or less, my mother's philosophy on living, and mine. "I just wonder, if people thought that there would be no afterlife, if they would fight harder," she said to me once.
She recalls often the time that she called a cousin of hers, offering to send supplements for her dying father. "These might help him and prolong his life," she reasoned.
"Oh, no, he said he just wants to go home," was the answer she got. "He's ready to go to heaven."
My mother does not call herself an atheist. I don't think she really calls herself anything, anymore. But she and I think the same way on a lot of matters, especially important ones like this. We both went through years of trying desperately to get close to God, shared our struggles with each other, tried very hard to be good Christians, to serve everyone around us.
And we both came to the conclusion that we just wanted to know the truth, even if it was painful. We don't want to believe anything that may not be true, and I believe that trusting the wrong people or ideologies is a good way to get hurt, be taken advantage of, or make the wrong choices.
My dad often teases us about our dedication to animal health. "He's going to be loved, dammit!" he laughed one day, when my mom wouldn't let Marshmallow out of the house because it was cold.
"That's right!" she agreed, animated.
"Good thing I'm not on my deathbed," he rolled his eyes, grinning. He turned to me. "Don't let her do that to me, Little One," he instructed.
"No, I will," she said, adamantly, "because guess what? When you're gone, you're gone!"
"Make them pull the plug," he informed me.
"Not me! You keep me alive as long as they'll let you!"
This fight was good-natured, but she was loud, passionate. I was happy to know that I would have my mother with me for as long as humanly possible.
I am very proud of her, and of my kitten.
We had determined to do everything we possibly could for him, that would not run the risk of hurting him. Though I could not truly bring myself to pray for his condition, at least not "properly," I remember holding him and trying to send "healing love vibes," from my heart, to him. I whispered things to him, like, "Let my love heal you." I tried to make my love give him strength. I sang the "I Love You Forever" song to him over and over again. I had the bluegrass song, "Carry Me Across The Mountain," about a mother who refuses to accept her sick child's death as inevitable, constantly in my head.
I believe that love can heal, and can strengthen. I have no idea whether the New Age, hippie-type stuff mentioned above actually works or not, but I would have tried anything, and I would do it all over again. I would try anything, and it at least is something to try. One benefit of these things, that I know to be true, is that it made me less negative and discouraged around him. Negativity was replaced with a grim, desperate determination.
I tell him often, "You'll get as much care as you need, Baby," though he hardly needs any care at all now, and I tell my other animals the same thing when they get sick or injured. I don't know how much animals understand, but I tell them anyway, just in case they do.
During Thanksgiving, I told Marshmallow's story to some relatives of mine. They seemed impressed.
"Yeah, but what kind of life does he have?" an uncle asked me.
If I had answered honestly, I would have told him, "The life of a little shit, that's what kind."
He climbs onto our roof with the other cats, in spite of our wishes. He occasionally jumps from heights much too high for a cat with a once-broken pelvis, as much as seven feet (again, in spite of our wishes), and doesn't seem hurt by the landing. He is an aggressive wrestler, attacking his siblings. He has caught (or probably stolen) several mice. When I have tried to rescue the mice (because life is precious), he grabs them and runs away to hide.
He was rebellious to the laws of nature, and now he is rebellious to us. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Still, what my uncle had said bothered me. I hoped it was not a cover for the sentiment that animals don't count. (There is nothing that makes me more murderous than hearing the phrase, "It's just an animal!" Imagine God or an alien life form saying that about us!)
I believe that life is precious, all life, except perhaps some humans. If some people don't care about their fellow creatures, or fellow humans, I would actually prefer that those people did not live. My one consolation is that I am not alone in my sentiments towards animals (and most of our species), and that at least the laws of nature don't apply at my house.
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Saturday, December 6, 2014
Left For A Loaf, Or Waiting For The "Next" Man
When I was in third grade, the cutest boy in my class left my Christian school to start homeschooling. I had liked him, or so I thought, and now he was leaving, so I picked the second-cutest boy in my class to like. My reasoning was, "Well, Aidan is leaving, so I guess I'll like Billy now."
The thing is, Billy was not my first choice, or even should have been a choice at all. He teased my best friend, drawing pictures of her desk as a pigsty (she was not very organized, but I thought she was nice). He was full of himself, and claimed to have a popular toy line named after him. He made it obvious that he didn't like me back (or at least, it's obvious to me now).
But I saw this boy as filling a role in my life, the role of latest crush, one that I apparently thought needed to be filled at all times. I didn't really like him, I realize now; I didn't really like anybody. He was just what I saw as the most desirable pick from among the boys I knew, which I guess wasn't saying much. He wasn't Mr. Right; he was Mr. Right Now, as the cliche goes.
When the guy I liked most recently, Mark, acted as if he enjoyed my company, but failed to call me, it certainly affected my feelings for him, but something else bothered me about him. I couldn't place it at first, but then I realized what it was: Why was he the most "desirable" young man I knew? Why was there no one "better" than him (that I knew of, assuming I might have misjudged someone else)?
What truly bothered me was the question of why there were such slim pickings.
I have read The Rules, the best-selling dating book of the '90s, and its suggestion for when a man does not call is to say, "Next!" and look for someone else. But what if there is no one else? What if you are too lazy, or too busy with your life, to sign up for online dating or go to singles mixers? If for some reason these aren't an option for you (for example, you're an introvert, don't have time, or you're eight), do you then "pick" the "second-best" guy in your social group? Or for that matter, do you just "pick" someone online, who doesn't quite measure up to your standards, just because he comes the closest?
Of course, I think that getting to know someone better, that you may not know that well or may have previously misjudged, is a very healthy thing. But in third grade, I wasn't "getting to know him better." I was "picking" him to like, no matter what he did, not deciding whether or not I liked him. And I have seen grown women who apparently have the same kind of attitude towards men.
A couple weeks after I gave Mark my phone number, another student was playing a video with guitar music on his phone, before class. Mark bragged that he had found a loaf of bread for sale in the cafeteria, explained how much he loved bread, then started happily doing the fox-trot with the half-eaten loaf of bread, to the tune of the guitar music.
Well, I thought, that's either very weird or very adorable. I was leaning towards the former.
He spun around in circles. "I feel very twirly today," he smiled.
Perhaps that was why he didn't call me, I thought smugly, because he's "twirly." I never had a chance with him anyway.
I have to admit, when I saw him dancing with a loaf of bread, I felt a little bit better about myself. Apparently I had dodged a very bizarre bullet. I wasn't unlikeable; he was the weird guy who dances with bread, instead of making a connection with another human being (a little cruel, perhaps, but sometimes I guess I just don't care). What a wonderful gift from the universe this was.
So now, I am not in third grade anymore. I don't have a slot to fill in my life (not a dirty joke). I had thought that a worthwhile man had presented himself, but apparently he proved a dud. And I don't think I'll look around for the "Next" one, either, or pick my second choice. I think I would rather focus more on loving myself.
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The thing is, Billy was not my first choice, or even should have been a choice at all. He teased my best friend, drawing pictures of her desk as a pigsty (she was not very organized, but I thought she was nice). He was full of himself, and claimed to have a popular toy line named after him. He made it obvious that he didn't like me back (or at least, it's obvious to me now).
But I saw this boy as filling a role in my life, the role of latest crush, one that I apparently thought needed to be filled at all times. I didn't really like him, I realize now; I didn't really like anybody. He was just what I saw as the most desirable pick from among the boys I knew, which I guess wasn't saying much. He wasn't Mr. Right; he was Mr. Right Now, as the cliche goes.
When the guy I liked most recently, Mark, acted as if he enjoyed my company, but failed to call me, it certainly affected my feelings for him, but something else bothered me about him. I couldn't place it at first, but then I realized what it was: Why was he the most "desirable" young man I knew? Why was there no one "better" than him (that I knew of, assuming I might have misjudged someone else)?
What truly bothered me was the question of why there were such slim pickings.
I have read The Rules, the best-selling dating book of the '90s, and its suggestion for when a man does not call is to say, "Next!" and look for someone else. But what if there is no one else? What if you are too lazy, or too busy with your life, to sign up for online dating or go to singles mixers? If for some reason these aren't an option for you (for example, you're an introvert, don't have time, or you're eight), do you then "pick" the "second-best" guy in your social group? Or for that matter, do you just "pick" someone online, who doesn't quite measure up to your standards, just because he comes the closest?
Of course, I think that getting to know someone better, that you may not know that well or may have previously misjudged, is a very healthy thing. But in third grade, I wasn't "getting to know him better." I was "picking" him to like, no matter what he did, not deciding whether or not I liked him. And I have seen grown women who apparently have the same kind of attitude towards men.
A couple weeks after I gave Mark my phone number, another student was playing a video with guitar music on his phone, before class. Mark bragged that he had found a loaf of bread for sale in the cafeteria, explained how much he loved bread, then started happily doing the fox-trot with the half-eaten loaf of bread, to the tune of the guitar music.
Well, I thought, that's either very weird or very adorable. I was leaning towards the former.
He spun around in circles. "I feel very twirly today," he smiled.
Perhaps that was why he didn't call me, I thought smugly, because he's "twirly." I never had a chance with him anyway.
I have to admit, when I saw him dancing with a loaf of bread, I felt a little bit better about myself. Apparently I had dodged a very bizarre bullet. I wasn't unlikeable; he was the weird guy who dances with bread, instead of making a connection with another human being (a little cruel, perhaps, but sometimes I guess I just don't care). What a wonderful gift from the universe this was.
So now, I am not in third grade anymore. I don't have a slot to fill in my life (not a dirty joke). I had thought that a worthwhile man had presented himself, but apparently he proved a dud. And I don't think I'll look around for the "Next" one, either, or pick my second choice. I think I would rather focus more on loving myself.
What do you think of this? Leave a comment below, or send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
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Friday, December 5, 2014
"You're Acting Like A Dillweed:" Shit Gay People Say, Part Two
(Click here for Part One)
My first day of acting class, we were all told to introduce ourselves, then tell two truths and a lie about ourselves. My lie was that I was one of seven sisters. A young man whom I will call John informed me, "When you're making up a number of siblings, you don't say seven!"
Another guy, Harrison, said that he loved movies. Every single one of us fell for that lie, though for the most part the class was very good at spotting the lies. Here is the reason we fell for it, if others' reasoning is anything like mine:
Harrison spoke in a softer, higher-pitched voice than is normally typical for a man.
I reasoned that a straight man would probably speak in a lower-pitched voice, even if he had to artificially deepen his voice, because of the fear of being mistaken for a gay man, especially by the opposite sex.
Since Harrison was probably an openly gay man, in theater, it would make sense that he would love old movies, since so many are musicals, and theater people sometimes love musicals. Also, some plays are based on old movies, and vice-versa.
I really wasn't sure whether my reasoning was offensive or inaccurate stereotyping, or not, but I was taken by surprise when he shook his head, saying, "I actually don't really like movies."
He's a genius, I thought. Did he do that on purpose? He had played the entire room, based on stereotypes and the ability to keep a straight face. I wondered if he had had any other experience keeping a "straight" face to the world. (In the next class, he would manage to play one half of a straight married couple in a barely-rehearsed skit, and with a Russian accent.)
A few weeks later, one night after class, a girl named Debbi mentioned in passing that she was bisexual, in a conversation in which I confided that I was an atheist. The next day, we struck up a conversation before class about foreign languages and genealogy. Apparently she had had a great-uncle who refused to speak anything but German, unless talking to authorities. I had a great-grandfather who fled his home state and changed his name, the reason of which my family has no idea.
After the class, as I stood talking to some other students, I felt someone standing close behind me, whispering in a creepy voice. I thought I knew what the voice was saying, but wasn't precisely sure. About one second later, Debbi joined our little group, an overly innocent look on her face.
"I think I just heard a ghost," I said.
Debbi shrugged. "No, that was just me, whispering, 'I will eat you.'"
"Oh, no!" I melodramatically acted horrified, offering her food. I imitated my little brother, Cody's, wide-eyed, shocked facial expression, from the time that he was three and trying to convince me that he had cut his leg off with a pair of scissors ("Ow! I cut my weg off!").
I wondered then if she had thought I was talking to her expressively because she was bi. I had to admit that I was a relatively safe bet on her part, since she knew I was an atheist and unlikely to be morally opposed to a mutual lesbian feast.
Last week, as my mom was picking me up from class, I apologized for taking so long. "Sorry I'm late. Harrison and John were arguing over whether 'Why' or 'How' was a better question, philosophically."
"Oh, you think he likes John?" she grinned mischievously.
"He called him a dillweed," I answered. She started laughing as I imitated him. "Why are we having this discussion? Maybe it's because you're acting like a dillweed right now..."
"That John is good-looking," she said. "You should talk to him."
"He said he could manipulate conversations and make people smell walls," I pleaded.
"Walls?"
"Yes, walls. 'You smell that? That smells so weird. Sniff that...And they do!' he said. He does it just for fun!"
Later, as I recounted this bit of fascinating information to my father, Mom added, "But I don't think he said 'walls.'"
"He said 'balls?'" my dad grinned.
"I think it was 'balls!'" she declared.
I had to admit that John was looking at me at the time. I really had thought he had said "walls."
"He wants you to sniff his balls," she laughed.
If this is true, I thought, then maybe he really is a dillweed.
For some reason, though, that didn't stop my mother from wanting me to go out with him...
Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
My first day of acting class, we were all told to introduce ourselves, then tell two truths and a lie about ourselves. My lie was that I was one of seven sisters. A young man whom I will call John informed me, "When you're making up a number of siblings, you don't say seven!"
Another guy, Harrison, said that he loved movies. Every single one of us fell for that lie, though for the most part the class was very good at spotting the lies. Here is the reason we fell for it, if others' reasoning is anything like mine:
Harrison spoke in a softer, higher-pitched voice than is normally typical for a man.
I reasoned that a straight man would probably speak in a lower-pitched voice, even if he had to artificially deepen his voice, because of the fear of being mistaken for a gay man, especially by the opposite sex.
Since Harrison was probably an openly gay man, in theater, it would make sense that he would love old movies, since so many are musicals, and theater people sometimes love musicals. Also, some plays are based on old movies, and vice-versa.
I really wasn't sure whether my reasoning was offensive or inaccurate stereotyping, or not, but I was taken by surprise when he shook his head, saying, "I actually don't really like movies."
He's a genius, I thought. Did he do that on purpose? He had played the entire room, based on stereotypes and the ability to keep a straight face. I wondered if he had had any other experience keeping a "straight" face to the world. (In the next class, he would manage to play one half of a straight married couple in a barely-rehearsed skit, and with a Russian accent.)
A few weeks later, one night after class, a girl named Debbi mentioned in passing that she was bisexual, in a conversation in which I confided that I was an atheist. The next day, we struck up a conversation before class about foreign languages and genealogy. Apparently she had had a great-uncle who refused to speak anything but German, unless talking to authorities. I had a great-grandfather who fled his home state and changed his name, the reason of which my family has no idea.
After the class, as I stood talking to some other students, I felt someone standing close behind me, whispering in a creepy voice. I thought I knew what the voice was saying, but wasn't precisely sure. About one second later, Debbi joined our little group, an overly innocent look on her face.
"I think I just heard a ghost," I said.
Debbi shrugged. "No, that was just me, whispering, 'I will eat you.'"
"Oh, no!" I melodramatically acted horrified, offering her food. I imitated my little brother, Cody's, wide-eyed, shocked facial expression, from the time that he was three and trying to convince me that he had cut his leg off with a pair of scissors ("Ow! I cut my weg off!").
I wondered then if she had thought I was talking to her expressively because she was bi. I had to admit that I was a relatively safe bet on her part, since she knew I was an atheist and unlikely to be morally opposed to a mutual lesbian feast.
Last week, as my mom was picking me up from class, I apologized for taking so long. "Sorry I'm late. Harrison and John were arguing over whether 'Why' or 'How' was a better question, philosophically."
"Oh, you think he likes John?" she grinned mischievously.
"He called him a dillweed," I answered. She started laughing as I imitated him. "Why are we having this discussion? Maybe it's because you're acting like a dillweed right now..."
"That John is good-looking," she said. "You should talk to him."
"He said he could manipulate conversations and make people smell walls," I pleaded.
"Walls?"
"Yes, walls. 'You smell that? That smells so weird. Sniff that...And they do!' he said. He does it just for fun!"
Later, as I recounted this bit of fascinating information to my father, Mom added, "But I don't think he said 'walls.'"
"He said 'balls?'" my dad grinned.
"I think it was 'balls!'" she declared.
I had to admit that John was looking at me at the time. I really had thought he had said "walls."
"He wants you to sniff his balls," she laughed.
If this is true, I thought, then maybe he really is a dillweed.
For some reason, though, that didn't stop my mother from wanting me to go out with him...
Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
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