Here's my warning- I'm not actually going to swear, but this is not a kid-friendly piece of work. It's stronger than my usual ramblings. Be warned. It's another piece I wrote back in April, and after some editing, I guess I will share this version of it. Some members of my writing class heard a slightly stronger version, but I really haven't toned it down much. I just deleted a few of the details.
"Stories I do not want to tell"
I do not want to talk about when I was arrested, or the time my mother fell down a flight of stairs. I do not want my daughter to hear about the time I was given a ride in a police car to the edge of town and told never to come back. I do not feel the need to share about being raped by a man who I lived with. I do not need to write about the scar on my arm and how it got there.
I know how hard it is to escape from an abusive boyfriend, but I do not need to write about this. I have no need to share about the speech I gave in a college classroom in 1992 advocating that same sex couples should be allowed to marry. I do not think anyone cares about the paper I wrote for my psychology class that same year. After all I married a man, and I am happy. I do not want to write about leaving a love, and coming back and then leaving again even though I knew it was wrong, and eventually had to leave again. I do not want you all to listen about how I held my breath for days when my period was late, and how much I rejoiced when it finally came and I knew I was not pregnant.
My mother is or was an alcoholic, and all the crazy stuff that comes with that. My father hit me. Once. I was fifteen, just beginning 10th grade, and I left. Before the age of 16 I drank, I smoked you-can-guess-what, and I had sex. I went to church and was born again, and then laughed at myself for that too. The summer when I was 21 was one of my homeless summers, and there is a lot I could say about that, but I won't.
I have lived, I have cried, I have nearly died. I do not need to write about all of that. If that is where the energy is, then I need to find it somewhere else. That is the past, and I am here now. When I hear the stories though, I feel it again even though I believe I am cured. My heart goes out to the world over and over. Maybe that is why I don't watch much television. I may not always show it, but I care. I haven't lived the wildest life, and others have suffered far worse than me. I am just a grain of sand on the beach, just one grain among the masses.
Family, politics, writing, and books, plus my own rantings of course. Lately lots of Lego and ham radio.
Friday, May 15, 2009
more old homework
I'm going through my writing class folder, and sorting through it a little bit. Here's another piece I wrote as homework. This one is about "privilege". I wrote it back in April.
I do not like the word "privilege". I am not sure what it means, or how to spell it,
or even how to pronounce it. It is not a word I am comfortable with. I do not feel
as though I have lived a privileged life or had many privileges in my life, although
I suppose I have. Dictionary.net defines the word as "1. A peculiar benefit,
advantage, or favor; a right or immunity not enjoyed by others or by all; special
enjoyment of a good, or exemption from an evil or burden; a prerogative; advantage;
franchise." So I have the privilege of having a job, of having a desk job, of
having a desk job where I can use the internet, and do personal things like
write this assignment on my lunch break. I have the privilege of having a car,
that I share with my husband. I have the privilege of having debt, a car payment,
a mortgage, two credit cards, a tuition bill for my daughter every month. I have
the privilege of having food in my house, food that will not be eaten this week
or even next week. I can afford to stock up on things when they are on sale,
and buy food that I'm not even sure if everyone will like.
I have not always had these privileges. I have been homeless, lived without a car,
and carefully purchased my groceries for exactly the number of meals that I felt
I needed to eat that week. I have had an empty refrigerator, and empty shelves,
and an empty stomach. I have been to the "Survival Center" for groceries.
I have been jobless, friendless, and alone.
I have the privilege of a husband, a daughter, good friends, and a loving family now.
For those I am most grateful.
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