Hallway to Nowhere

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  • Trump and Tears: My Own Personal “Trump Effect”

    When Trump (#NotMyPresident) was elected, I cried. They were NOT tears of joy, believe you me. Little did I know that those tears were merely a bitter, bitter presage of the many tears to follow. From having a President who never reduced me to crying or incoherency, save for a tear here and there of pride in him as he represented us so well on the world stage or lit the WH in rainbow colors when Marriage Equality finally became law of the land, I now have a POTUS who with depressing regularity brings me to fits of actual crying. (And I STILL can’t listen to Le Tigre’s “I’m With Her” w/o breaking down.) His tweets can make me gnash my teeth, to the point that my dentist is concerned. And don’t even get me started on what my psychiatrist thinks, lol. I pointed out that NO-ONE makes meds strong enough to deal with a Trump presidency. He laughed and suggested perhaps I should start a support group. He was joking. But I’m seriously considering it. People (like me) who are now marginalized by Spanky and his gang can use all the help they can get.

    When I heard Trump’s latest, the “shithole countries” remark, I cried yet again. Let me say that before Trump, that last time I had cried was when my last beloved guinea pig died…over TEN years ago. I don’t cry easily. I deal with things and go on. But this man….Here’s why I cried at the “shithole countries” remark:

    First, from just the continuing SHOCK that a sitting PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA would make such a remark. Two, the contrast was immediate to his predecessor. Obama had great empathy and compassion. I highly doubt Trump  ever even tweeted the word “empathy,” let alone experienced it. And I won’t even go into the matters of style and class. Utterly no comparision possible there. Three, I felt such despair at the complete callousness that this displayed towards those from these countries.

    I really endeavor not to hate anyone. I think it a waste of time and energy. But Trump is making me rethink this policy. I’m begining to hate him personally, viscerally, and with vituperation. I dislike what he’s doing to the country but I dislike what he’s doing to me as a person. I’m now: angry; anxious; fearful; tearful; and depressed. MAGA, indeed! Snort!

  • Report on Doug Jones’ Win In Alabama

    A Democrat won in Alabama. Freakin’ ALABAMA! But before we go getting all warm and fuzzy toward the denizens of that benighted state, let me point out WHO exactly  elected Doug Jones: the African American residents, most specifically THE WOMEN! They turned out to vote for him in greater numbers than even for Barack Obama. Now, younger white voters did vote for Jones,esp. in the urban counties, but most of the older white males in Alabama voted for Moore and the majority of white women, even those who were college grads, STILL voted for Moore!

    It’s time for another Transit Report. My ever-faithful Trump-supporting transit driver had this to say: he won’t last (referring to Jones). He went on to explain himself, asking those of us captive, You DO know who voted for him, right? It was the blacks and the  women! When they settle down, everything will go back to normal.

    Alrighty, then. Let’s examine this. Implicit in this is the unstated belief that the white residents of Alabama, most particularly the MEN, are the true citizens and the ones that really matter. And that what is the natural state of affairs is for African Americans and women to KNOW THEIR PLACE and let the white folks-the white MEN- decide things.

    He is a white older evangelical, btw. So not unlike those who turned in support of Roy Moore in Alabama. Like them, he is willing to embrace anyone who claims to speak for (white) Christian values wrapped in a red, white, and blue flag. No matter their character, actions, or words. If they use the right symbols and code words, basically give the correct “not-so-secret handshake and password,” then they are IN. And this seems to be a club that you join for for life. I don’t think you get thrown out. Maybe if you do something like, Idk, become an EXTREME apostate and reject Jesus in a public manner, convert to another religion or something. But there’s ALWAYS the possibility of forgiveness, b/c these people like nothing better than a repentant sinner. After all, Roy Moore came back to the Alabama Supreme Court after being removed once. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Moore. He turns up like a bad penny.

    But good for the people of Alabama. And regardless of what my transit driver believes, the African Americans ARE residents of Alabama; the younger voters ARE residents of Alabama; and angry women EVERYWHERE who are voting, running for office, and WINNING are legitimate citizens of the United States. No-one is going anywhere.

  • Bullying-My Story

    I read heart-breaking stories about young children who have killed themselves because of bullying. The First Lady has (supposedly) taken up cyber-bullying and other forms of bullying as her personal cause. Friends have reported that their children are being subjected to various degrees of bullying for being different, i.e. they are not white/straight/gender-conforming. This has led me to reflect on the instances of bullying in my past, when I was in secondary school. (Yes, I was bullied. Big surprise.)

    The first instance that really comes to mind was during the first day of elementary school. Let me first say that elementary school itself was a HUGE shock to me. This was the first time I had been around other CHILDREN and indeed it was the first time I was treated as a child. Hithertofore I had spent my time around adults and pretty much been treated like a very small intelligent being. Here I was handed CHILDREN’S books, which I regarded as an insult, and I found children to be totally alien.

    Getting back to recess and the topic at hand. We went out for recess and the teacher instructed us to skip. I looked at her blankly and inquired,”Skip what?” She had to show me how to skip, which I found most humiliating, and the other children laughed at me. That set the tone for the rest of the my life in elementary school, vis a vis the other children. My glasses were regularly knocked off my head or stolen; my books were shoved out of my arms; recess was just a nightmare. The teachers didn’t make this any better by their obvious preference for me, once they had discovered my academic prowess. Praising a child in class to the detriment of their peers does not endear them to their classmates.

    Gym class was its own special brand of torture. IT was taught by a misogynistic coach who allowed us divide up into teams that pitted the boys against the girls. The girls got battered, and some girls got battered more than others. Finally I had had enough. I brought a book to class one day, sat myself under a tree in the yard, and announced that I wasn’t playing with the others. The coach yelled at  me to get back in the game (kick ball, an esp. hated game for me.) I refused. He sent me to the principal’s office. I went and explained to the principal that I was tired of getting: shoved, hit, knocked to ground, trampled on, etc. So I was opting out. He said that I couldn’t do that. I replied that I was. He said that I would get an F. I said, “Fine.” He then said, “I think I’m going to have to call your parents….” I said, “Fine.” So my parents came, heard what was ensuing, and backed me up! They told the principal that if I chose not to participate in activity that was causing me to get knocked about, that was totally acceptable and reasonable behavior and that they supported me. The principal reiterated his threat of an F for the semester. My parents told him, “Fine.” So I sat out of gym the rest of that semester with my book. And incidently I never had to take another gym class the rest of my elementary school career. I was excused for “health” reasons by order of the principal. (More likely by reason of my parents theatened to make an issue of the coach.)

    The other bullying that took place didn’t have such a good resolution. It was during Junior High. I was a Band Geek and played trombone. I rode the bus and was always burdened down with a trombone and a heavy knapsack of books. Being a small nerdy girl with glasses with a reputation for being smart can make you a target. There were some really BIG (or so they seemed to me at the time) girls who rode the same bus as I did who decided that I was the perfect prey. Day after day they assaulted me: they pushed me to the ground, knocked over my trombone case, threw my books around, called me names….I couldn’t fight back physically; I was outnumbered, plus I didn’t know how to fight AND we were on school property and I didn’t want to get caught fighting. So I fought back using the only method at my means: my vocabulary. I called those girls names I’m sure they would have surely beaten me up for, had they known what I was saying. But they simply had no idea that they were being maligned. I even cursed them out in Latin…and Latin has some truly amazing curses. (Perite and vacca stulta were two favorites.)

    Looking back on this I find myself wondering where the bus driver or a teacher or SOMEBODY, some adult, was. But back then bullying wasn’t really on anyone’s radar. I certainly didn’t tell anyone about it. It just didn’t occur to me. You didn’t talk to adults about stuff like this. I pretty sure that if I had thought about it, I would have concluded that talking to a teacher would have only made matters WORSE, not better. This was not like elementary school, where your parents could intervene and make a difference. This was Junior High, and your peers ruled. For a teacher or other adult to be seen trying step in your behalf would be infinitely a terrible mistake. Whatever was going on would increase full force. Shudder.

    And this is part of the reason why I left for college at age 16.