Coming In at Number Ten
The most visited posts of all are
Revenge and Fashion advice for the lesbian professional,
The latter is the most commented ever and the comments are rich!
Number ten on my personal hit parade is the most controversial post I ever wrote.
Of all the heretical things I have ever said, this plain truth, ruffled the most feathers.
And I do enjoy me a little ruffling.
From May 2008
Santa Fe Madonna
So there I was ...
walking down a back street in Santa Fe. The sidewalk was minimal, the adobe wall on my right hand was solid, my left hand could have touched any passing car. It was a one-lane sidewalk.
I heard the slow rumbling approach behind me. Then I heard the young men in the car. They were speaking Spanish, but their intent required no interpretation. They leaned out the open windows. I took a deep breath, blew it out and ignored them. They matched my pace, rolling along directly behind me, providing color commentary.
Then I noticed the old Hispanic man walking towards me. He looked at me, he took in the boys. He could see what they could not – I was visibly pregnant – and it just popped his top.
He jumped off the curb in front of the car. He stood there screaming at the boys, in Spanish of course. He waved his arms wildly in my direction. The only word I caught, multiple times, was “Madonna.” I turned. The boys got the message. The old man continued to yell and pound his fist on their hood. The chastised put it in reverse, backing away from the avenger.
I slipped around the corner, unnoticed.
And that, was in fact, the problem. Nobody on that street had seen ME. The ones in the car saw the biological usefulness of my backside. The one in front of me saw the biological usefulness of my womb. All had opinions about my status as a woman. Their opinions were in severe conflict.
None of them saw the young woman who was neither flattered nor frightened by the unasked for attention. No one saw the young woman who needed no protection or vengeance. What I thought, or felt, or wished for, mattered not at all to them. Presumptions were made, but no one spoke to me at all. No one asked what I wanted.
But hear me now.
I am not my biology.
I enjoy all the things that my body can do.
But I am not my body.
I treasure my body, giving it respect without worship. It is my friend and my servant.
But it is temporary and I am not.
My gender is temporary.
I, created in the image of God, cannot be truly defined by gender.
When my blood and sinews, hormones and neurotransmitters are all rot,
I will remain.
Some of what walked that street will remain.
But those blind men on that street that day would not recognize me,
they never saw me.