Disclaimers out of the way first. This is a "response blog" to a column that Jincey Lumpkin wrote for the Huffington Post. It will be filled with opinion, some facts, and much conjecture. My apologies in advance. You can go here read the article that she wrote that put all this in my head. I encourage you to read it, because, frankly none of the blather that I will put below will make too much sense. (or maybe, the writing fairy will bless me, and this will stand on its own. Time Will Tell.) Now, go read Jincey's article. Please, understand before you go there, that the topic is ADULT. The subject matter is ADULT. You have been warned.
So, let's get the explanation that goes with the title of this blog. Labels. It seems that we are a nation of labels. Everyone has one, or wants one, and where one doesn't exist, we make them up. I have a few labels that can be attached to myself. Not that I "do" attach them, but, they could be.
Man, white, middle-aged (heck, I qualify for AARP now, so, that one is on the border), motorcycle rider, fan of NASCAR, High school graduate, messaging engineer, christian, republican, heterosexual.
And while I could go on and on, with this list, I believe that you get my point.
And now, onto the second part of that title above "Or, what I learned from Melvin." Who is Melvin you ask. Good Question. Melvin was one of my first "grown up" friends. By that I mean he was the first person that I befriended after leaving school. He was, when I first met him, 53, and I was 20. We worked in the same warehouse, had the same silly title "warehouseman", he was strong, he was smart, and he was black. As we worked together, he would tell his stories about things he had done, and places he had been, and, his family, his wife, and all the things people share about themselves. I, being a very wet behind the ears, with no life experiences of my own, could only listen, and offer the things that I would like to do. During those conversations, a few times, he told me about racism, and how he experienced it, how it affected him personally. Better than any book I had read, or story I had heard. I realized that he had been there, and done that.
Now, me. Hmm, well, I was the Son of a career Army man. My Dad was Sergeant Flowers all my childhood that I have any memory of. But, what I didn't realize until my early teens, was that my family, both sides, were horrible racists, and bigots. The racial slurs that were an every day part of their lives, were heartfelt. Think Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino (and not the "cleaned up for television" version) There were names for every ethnic group, religious group, you name it. But, I never heard my Dad, or Mom for that matter ever repeat or say any of those things. Dad told me when I asked that he chose not to be that way, and raised me and my siblings to not be that way at all. The military is/was a melting pot. They take individuals, and turn them in team members. Names, backgrounds, skin color, religious preferences, all beaten out of you so that you identified with the uniform, the mission, the flag.
So, back to my extended family, and here I will tell two stories, I hope to keep this blog short, so I won't do this too much:
First Story: When I was seven, and we were living on base, in San Antonio, TX. Fort Sam Houston, and my next door neighbor, Kevin, was my best friend. We hung out every day. We road bikes, and climbed trees, threw rocks at beehives, and all the other stuff that kids back then did. My Grandmother (Dad's side), came to visit, and like all grandparents, brought me a gift. It was a machine gun. The barrel moved back and forth, it had a light that flashed, and best of all, it made the sounds that a machine gun is supposed to make. Mom and Dad were horrified, not because it was a gun, but because of the noise that it made (as a parent now, I understand the looks that they gave Grandma.) So, they sent me outside with it. First thing I did, was knock on Kevin's door, and out he came. We immediately took turns shooting it, and watching the light flash and the barrel move, and then, we graduated to playing war. I mean, you knew that was coming, right? Sometime later, as I am crouched behind a box, with the barrel of my machine gun sticking out a hole, and Kevin running by shooting at me with his gun, and throwing tennis balls, and whatnot, Here come Grandma, out the back door. She took one look at the scene in front of her, and loudly called back into the house, "Jim, there is a little _____ boy playing in your yard with J. Lee" (never forgot that, never will). which stopped me and Kevin. Dad comes to the door, and says something to his Mom, quietly, and they return to the house. We kind of shrugged, and went back to "war" until I had completely used up four "D" cell batteries. A few days later I asked Dad about it, when I thought of it again, and he told me I was to NEVER use that word, and made it clear that the beatings would be long, and hard if I ever did.
Second Story: Once, while riding to the local Piggly-Wiggly with my Aunt, after shopping, and whatever, we left the store, loaded the bags, loaded all the kids, and out the parking lot we started. Or so I thought. I heard my aunt say to an older cousin "we need to turn around, there is a _______ talking to a white girl". We pulled up right next to them, and my Aunt gets out of the car, walk right over to the girl and says that she needs to get away from that boy (except she didn't use that word to describe him!), and did she need a ride, and would not take no for an answer. We actually put her in the station wagon, and carried her to her home, where my Aunt proceeded to tell the girls mother what she (the girl we rescued) was doing. The mother grabbed the daughter by the arm, and off into the house they went, but, not before she turned to my Aunt and thanked her, because "God only knows what that _____ would have done to her!" To This day, All I saw them doing was standing and talking, and do not understand what the concern was.
So, Back to Melvin. One day I did something, that I had never been able to do before. I do not remember the act anymore at all. Some kind of physical thing that I had never been strong enough to do previously, What I do remember is that I said "Not bad for a white guy." (I was feeling very full of myself).
Melvin then looked at me, and his face was pained, and he said "Not bad for a guy". I went huh? He said, again, Not bad for a guy. He said, leave the "white" part out. We are all people. It doesn't matter what color you are. And suddenly, the light turned on. I had, without thinking about it, been a little racist. From that day forward, I never thought of white anymore. I was just a person. It was, and is, one of the great learned lessons in my life.
WE DON'T NEED LABELS TO IDENTIFY OURSELVES. WE'RE HUMANS.
So, still with me? Remember that story I told you to read above, that Jincey wrote? Did You? Make sure you do before you go on.
Her article is called "Why I hate being called a 'Lipstick Lesbian'". And in it, she talks about why she hates the "label" that heterosexuals have given to her. And then goes on and gives herself another label "angry lesbian".
As I read the article, I remembered Melvin, and the lesson that I learned that day, probably 25 years ago.
And here is my response: Why agree to any label, and why of all things must we label people by the kind of sex (SEX!) that they participate it.
To me, sex is a private thing. In fact you hear all the time in the media. "what I do in the privacy of my own bedroom is MY business!" And I believe that to be true. Sex is something that is the most intimate thing folks can do. it is where you are your most bare (clothing, and mentally), where you are the most raw, and it is where you let all walls, and barriers down.
I have never understood why people that are gay, lead with that. I have never, and I have never heard anyone say, "Hi, my name is ____ and I'm heterosexual." But, folks that are gay seem to lead with it. They all have their own label, Gay-Lesbian-Bi-Transgendered, (and then, as if that wasn't enough, that turned that into another label by creating an acronym LGBT).
Why do we feel the need to put these labels on ourselves, so that others can judge us? Why can't I be Lee, and my choice of sexual relations not be part of who I am? Even Jincey, who bemoans labels, uses them. You see that ESQ at the end of her name, well, she is telling you that she is a lawyer.
And My point is that we let our actions speak for who we are. If there is a preference (I like steak, so, there is no way I can be vegan), then allow those topics to come up on their own. But, let's stop wearing all the labels right up front.
Jincey, in your article, you gave three examples of being a pretty girl, and having guys hit on you. You know why guys hit on you? Your Pretty! and that makes guys go a little nuts. That's the way humans are wired. We see pretty, and we pursue. It is a very basic instinct. And you know what, Pretty "straight" girls experience this all the time. You know they do? They giggle, or they get mad, or whatever, and they tell the dude, if they are not interested, to take a hike. But, you didn't, you told them that you were a lesbian. (As an aside, do you know how many straight girls use that same line to tell a dude to get lost? Its almost a punch line to a very bad joke.) Isn't it enough to have said to those guys, "I'm not interested"?
But, as I told my friend recently, if a guy doesn't hear "NO", then its still game on.
Now before you go and think that I am naive, and do not know the issues, and why it is important to be identified with all these labels. let me assure you that I am aware. I even wrote a little blog about being married, which seems to be one of the main banners that the gay community carries of late. You can read it here.
But I guess my point is still the same as when I started this. Do we need labels at all? Especially, labels that talks about the sexual partners that I am attracted to? Personally Jincey, there is so much more to you than that. At least for me.
Sure, you are pretty, and you are smart, and you have that great long dark hair that I like, and, apparently, your a lawyer, and a spouse, and friend, and you are, or were, someone's daughter. Oh, and you are a "femme" lesbian. Of all the things I named about you that last thing, has no bearing on why I read your articles, listen to your interviews, or follow you on Twitter. I am intrigued by smart people. Because maybe they can impart to me some little wisdom that will change my life, or allow me to pass it on to someone else.
I will end this, where it started: "Labels, Do we need them?"
I think not. I think this, because it works to divide us as a people, as a nation, and as Humans.
This was mostly a sit down in one spot, and not get up until I was done, and that started a little over two hours ago. I have re-read it twice, and fixed grammar, and weird sentence structure, but, this is the way that it poured out of my head. To me, it all makes sense, but, if you think its gibberish, well, it just might be.
Shalom.
Namaste, My Friends.
See You On The Other Side.
Deo Non Fortuna