Dear Friends,
When gays and lesbians started coming out in the 60s, with enough numbers to gain a political voice, they were referred to as the gay community. Many within this community felt the phrase did not accurately describe or reflect the diversity of its constituents.
For a long time, the gays and lesbians in the movement did not want to include bisexuals. They considered bisexuals to be fence-sitters, and dabblers.
During the 80s, after much internal wrangling, the community coined the initials GLB for gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. By the 90s, the T for transgenders was added, and the ladies given first position, and we now recognize the community as LGBT.
In recent years, more letters have been added, as our understanding of human sexuality and behavior has evolved.
Even though I was living a hetero lifestyle, it was no secret to my family and friends that I have always been a B. When my wife (of over twenty years now) and I got married, we discussed it at length, and I was a consenting adult when I said "I Do." The judge did not say, forsake half of all others.
Do I have regrets? Sure, who doesn't? But I would not have missed my life with my wife for all the world. We have a beautiful, late 1800s home, a house full of holiday collectibles, and three amazing grandchildren, who love their grandpa with the cats.
But since I became paralyzed ten years ago (my God, has it been that long already?), I've had my hands full of time for quiet reflection. I took up my pen again, after a long absence due to working and raising a family.
I started on Facebook as a way to keep from going crazy. It was fun to connect with old friends. I began posting some of my political thoughts, but was told that FB was not the place for that, that people only wanted to see pictures of their kids and cute kittens.
Then Facebook itself was driving me crazy. I started my blog. I was able to unleash my considerable creativity and writing skills. I edited a book for a friend from my writing class which went on to become an Amazon new women's author best-seller. I published a massive two-volume compendium of my work.
My blog has received over 20,000 page views from almost every country on the planet, and I have recently been notified by FB that my friends have liked my posts 23,000 times. I think that's pretty good considering I have 93 friends, and not 2093, as I've seen on other people's FB home pages.
Let's get back to the LGBT thing. Obviously I fell somewhere in that spectrum, and I was comfortable with my being a (non-practicing) B.
But recent news stories have made it imperative that I speak out openly. A few days ago, I wrote about a seventeen-year-old transgender who was attacked by a group of three men, and one womam, who CASTRATED her with a knife, GOUGED OUT HER EYES, and murdered her). "There but for the grace of God go I," I thought.
I was comfortable with my B designation because it was SAFE! I could live a "normal" hetero life before the world, and still be a little flirty. But again, it comes as no surprise to my family and close friends, especially my beloved sister, that I am actually a T.
If I was 20 today and not 60, I think I would transition.
The signs were always there. As a child, I would rather play with my sisters' toys than go out and play baseball. When I was nine, and my baby sister was born, my nurturing instincts surfaced, and I would get up before my mom to change her diaper.
My interests have always been things like cooking and decorating - not that men cannot and do not excel in such activities.
As an adult I loved to shop. I could spend hours in a grocery store, and I loved taking my wife clothes shopping. At least I could pick out clothes for HER. And she had to physically drag me out of fabric shops.
My heart still goes pitter-patter when I receive my copy of Martha Stewart Living each month - especially the October, November, and December issues.
All that being said, it is my intention to become more radical in my approach. I intend to push Facebook to the limit. I will not hold back on my blogs. In fact, I intend to become more active in Antifa, which merely stands for anti-fascist.
Why isn't everyone in the TWO-THIRDS of our populace who oppose Drumpf and everything he stands for, anti-fascist? Do you want to live in Hitler's Germany? Are you fucking crazy!?
We are being killed. After Heather Heyer was murdered in Charlottesville, one of the nazi organizers (and no, I will not capitalize the word nazi) bragged that we lost one, and they didn't, so it was a WIN for their side.
Drumpf is trying to get Antifa designated as a TERRORIST group, just like ISIS. I believe Antifa is already designated as such in New Jersey. The point is, if the current regime succeeds in this attempt, and the men in black appear on my doorstep, the first thing they're going to do is open my computer and look at my Facebook friends list.
I intend to be a lean, mean fighting machine. If you do not want to read my political, sexual, or personal posts, I suggest you unfriend me. If you are uncomfortable about my openness, unfriend me. If you do not want to support me, unfriend me. If you're afraid of becoming embroiled in my affairs, unfriend me.
My son tells me to regard my friends list, as a contact list, like a phone book. That's not good enough. There's about twenty or twenty-five people who regularly read and like my posts. Quite frankly, the rest can go take a flying fuck. It would make not one iota of difference to my life.
Let's talk about my life. I have nothing to fear, and nothing to lose. I am already imprisoned in a broken body, and my time is limited. I live with debilitating pain, that some of the most powerful opiod pain relievers known to medicine cannot alleviate. The pain is 24/7, and I will feel it until the moment of my death. What can they do to me?
I guess my final point here is that I have no idea if I will even have a Facebook account after posting this. So if you go to my Home Page, and it's not there, you'll know why.
In case I don't see you again, my email address is holidayman58@yahoo.com.
Thank you, and if appropriate, good-bye.
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