My Origin Story-“Hate”

“I don’t understand hate.”
“I will never understand hate.”
“Yeah me either.”
“Just don’t get how people can hurt other people”.

I found this deadly conversation on Facebook by artists authors thought leaders the ones who are entrusted to know better. Sadly our short collective memory blanks out how very close to yesterday back in our church days if you were one of many of the popular American religions you were taught to believe homosexuality led to Sodom and Gomorrah being destroyed. A whole two cities devoured by holy flalmes for tolerating that abomination.

It’s all interpreted right there in both Christina and Muslim religion’s holy writings. So, it’s something way different from the catch-all phrase “hate” that is causing so much pain and death discrimination and hurt.

For a minister at least one in this case the one in California to stand up and celebrate someone finally doing God’s will is pretty natural. It’s part of being “right”.
I’m reminding myself that my ancestors and my culture up till now have been violent. We wage justified wars that are still going on. We lynched black folks and have disrespected and rejected “sodomites” for centuries now.

Not long ago it was legit to kill Catholics then in turn Protestants for being Catholic or being Protestant then both killing Muslims. I’m pretty sure my ancestors being faithful and devout men and woman participated in all the holy killings back then because they continued right up to very close to the present being devout and holy killers. Being faithful and devout myself, I thought the “right” half of that crap was all good.

Holy killings. Fighting for whats right. Soldiers for freedom. We still do it. At least we can do is admit we do understand “hate”. That we are it. Whatever that word has come to mean. We do it. We have been doing it together.

I have. I understand “hate”. I have lived and continue to live hate.

Now I just wonder what I can do about it.

Wonder with me.







It stings so I tug at it to get it off. Wailing and whimpering I reach down grab hold of it. It feels like a cat clinging to my butt so I’m trying to shove it down and off, but something feels ominous about doing this. When I do this, meanness happens.

I look up and No is open. I wonder through distracted from the ouch.

It feels good out here. I get to shake the heavy naughty thing off here since no one will stop me or be mad at me anymore. Sucking in and taking small wiggle steps works. It falls to my feet and trips me. The ground comes at me. Wiggling it off my ankles feels better than crying. I get back up. My hands and knees don’t hurt. I don’t cry. No one will come stop me and the ground feels good.

Softness tickles my feet. To wiggle my toes here feels good. I’m feeling relief all over. Then I look around. I’ve never been here before. I don’t know the word for freedom. It just tastes good.

I look far away over the soft and see the hard place. Then across it to a place where nice people will be. The place over there where they will be nice to me. They will be nice to me. I’m going there and never coming back.

When I come to the hard knee hurting place my hands and knees tingle recalling the last time I tried to get away and fell on hard bumpy rocks tripped by holes. This one is smooth dark and shiny.

It won’t trip me. I stand there stareing at it wondering. I won’t fall on the rocks and step in holes burned into my body’s mind from last time I tryed this. I decide. This time I’ll run quick careful without getting hurt.  Like when I fell just now and it didn’t hurt. This won’t hurt again. Just cross to over there and and never come back.

I wait for a big noise thing that’s coming to go away.  I’m waiting for it. This big noise thing is a light for some reason. It’s taking longer than these take to come and go. It’s not going. The light is here.

It stops. It’s not supposed to stop. This is confusing but I’m going ahead.

Now people are here. But I’m still on my way to the nice people. They talk to me but I tell them I know where I’m going. Then a lady holds out a yummy sounding bag to me. I take some of wht’s in it. It’s good. I try to get more. She moves back so I follow her.

She seems like a nice one. So, I don’t have to go over that hard thing after all. The nice people are here.

I try to tell them they are nice people so I’m coming with them. I know they are nice because they have food they don’t make me do stuff and they are not cross.

Just as I start eating, the mean ones come. They snatch the bag away and give it back to the nice ones.

I protest with all my might. Screams struggles kicks don’t help. I grab for the bag, then when  it’s out of reach make a  break for the real nice people.

The mean people catch me and hold me against my will. Then they carry me off back to the mean place.

I’m doomed.

Then, suddenly the mean ones talk nice to me and snuggle me.

So I fall asleep hungry, and content.


Chance Encounter

I entered the world at the butthole end of a saga conceived in Ensenada Jail despised and feared before I was born, while not being a boy was a letdown to my parents. I remember coming home from the hospital though for some reason. I wasn’t all bad even being a girl and my father in jail. Being a girl when good men were so desperately needed in our world was unblessed. Men were needed like my father for what in my mother’s mind was the future, survival the greater good her purpose. But Fluffy didn’t care.

Fluffy, he must have been waiting for me cuz I don’t actually remember coming home from the hospital I just remember being welcomed home. A sudden fast excited warm wet smoochy welcome. Someone was ecstatic to see me. Happy. Happy. Happy. With every lick You’re here! You’re here! You’re here! Lick lick lick. I couldn’t breath so I cried and couldn’t cry with no air, but the warm breath and wet wet warm sticky licks all over my face in my face filled my chest with joy. I was filled with the feeling of welcome welcome! Woof woof! while not being able to breath and lots of bounciness.
That’s all I remember vividly and nothing else till I’m two or so with a saggy diaper.

My sister Tosh remembers though. She remembers. We used to have a dog. Then you came along and ruined everything.