bloody marty mix
90/365: 1971-1972
Sunday, 24 August 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 4: 1971-1972
Somewhere around this time, my mom and I left San Jose and moved to Los Angeles. I don't know much about the circumstances of this move, but I know my mom met a guy named Dave, and we stayed with him for awhile. I remember absolutely nothing about this guy but his name.
My mom told me she used to have to clear the black widows out from between my bed and the walls at his house. Thank God, I don't actually remember this. It still gives me the creeps to think about it. All I remember is a small house with a big lawn and large shade trees at the corner of an intersection. In it was a small bedroom, with bright sunshine streaming in through the windows. I remember describing this scene to my mom once, and apparently the description doesn't fit. Perhaps they're real memories misplaced in time or place.
I don't think we stayed with Mystery Dave for very long. My mom met a bunch of amiable and welcoming people, who took us in and helped support us. With no more than a high school education, and a young child to support, we needed all the friendly faces we could find. It was here that my mom met my stepfather, the person I would come to consider my dad, and the person who would someday give the toast at my wedding.
And thus began our hippie period. Peace.
Who am I?
I am a fire-breathing liberal.
One of the things for which I will always be grateful to my parents is the lesson that, in many cases, silence is an injustice as sure as any physical brutality. The vigilance of people of good conscience is the surest weapon the forces of social justice have in their arsenal, and we have an obligation as human beings not only to keep a sharp eye out for the needs of our neighbors, but to keep a sharp tongue at the ready to ensure that injustice is checked before it spreads.
My stepdad is a Vietnam veteran. When he came back from Vietnam he did two things that reverberate through every facet of my life: he fell in love with my mom, and he got involved with Vietnam Veterans Against the War. I spent the early years of my life learning exactly what it meant to love our country enough to ask it to fulfill its great promise. I am who I am today largely because I was surrounded by men and women who had the tremendous courage to speak out at a time when it seemed they had no emotional home in a country they no longer recognized. I am forever in awe of the courage of VVAW. The fact that my parents and the other men and women who cared for me as a child had the guts to stand up and say, "No. Something is wrong here, and I'm not going to be silent about it," is an undeniable example of the strength and greatness human beings are capable of when pressed to their physical and moral limits.
I recognize that there are people who don't believe this, people whose last nerves will be grated by these statements (my husband and in-laws, included), but with genuine affection and respect, I say to these people, I am not sorry. I believe these things to be true to the very foundation of my being, and they are the light that guides me.
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90/365: 1971-1972
Sunday, 24 August 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 4: 1971-1972
Somewhere around this time, my mom and I left San Jose and moved to Los Angeles. I don't know much about the circumstances of this move, but I know my mom met a guy named Dave, and we stayed with him for awhile. I remember absolutely nothing about this guy but his name.
My mom told me she used to have to clear the black widows out from between my bed and the walls at his house. Thank God, I don't actually remember this. It still gives me the creeps to think about it. All I remember is a small house with a big lawn and large shade trees at the corner of an intersection. In it was a small bedroom, with bright sunshine streaming in through the windows. I remember describing this scene to my mom once, and apparently the description doesn't fit. Perhaps they're real memories misplaced in time or place.
I don't think we stayed with Mystery Dave for very long. My mom met a bunch of amiable and welcoming people, who took us in and helped support us. With no more than a high school education, and a young child to support, we needed all the friendly faces we could find. It was here that my mom met my stepfather, the person I would come to consider my dad, and the person who would someday give the toast at my wedding.
And thus began our hippie period. Peace.
Who am I?
I am a fire-breathing liberal.
One of the things for which I will always be grateful to my parents is the lesson that, in many cases, silence is an injustice as sure as any physical brutality. The vigilance of people of good conscience is the surest weapon the forces of social justice have in their arsenal, and we have an obligation as human beings not only to keep a sharp eye out for the needs of our neighbors, but to keep a sharp tongue at the ready to ensure that injustice is checked before it spreads.
My stepdad is a Vietnam veteran. When he came back from Vietnam he did two things that reverberate through every facet of my life: he fell in love with my mom, and he got involved with Vietnam Veterans Against the War. I spent the early years of my life learning exactly what it meant to love our country enough to ask it to fulfill its great promise. I am who I am today largely because I was surrounded by men and women who had the tremendous courage to speak out at a time when it seemed they had no emotional home in a country they no longer recognized. I am forever in awe of the courage of VVAW. The fact that my parents and the other men and women who cared for me as a child had the guts to stand up and say, "No. Something is wrong here, and I'm not going to be silent about it," is an undeniable example of the strength and greatness human beings are capable of when pressed to their physical and moral limits.
I recognize that there are people who don't believe this, people whose last nerves will be grated by these statements (my husband and in-laws, included), but with genuine affection and respect, I say to these people, I am not sorry. I believe these things to be true to the very foundation of my being, and they are the light that guides me.
[ view previous | view next ]