What letter would you wear?

I’m in a Friday funk. Who says that? These days, I do. My dog Bob died a few Fridays ago, and last Friday, the woman who’s been like my second mom suffered a stroke. Her daughter was out of town, so I flew with her on a Life Flight plane to the University of Utah Medical Center. In the midst of that Friday frenzy, we had just enough time for my girlfriend to stop by my house and grab my fat jeans and a phone charger. I had a Visa, my ID and an inhaler, so I was as prepared as I could be for the rest of that Friday to unfold. I like to be prepared.

The latest contributor to my Friday funk was kicking off Friday the 13th with Representative Ken Andrus’s editorial “LGBT and Add the Words”.  While I disagree with some of what he says, I am grateful for the compassion and empathy that was laced throughout. We’ve been without both on both sides of this topic. His words, however, still sting. I’m by no means the voice for the LGBT community, but I am one voice who feels compelled to respond.

For argument’s sake, let’s say I’m a sinner. In my 42 years of earthly existence, some of my sins are easier to admit than others. Some of my sins I’ll shamelessly joke about like eating donuts or swearing at the new puppy. Some of my sins fill me with so much shame, I continue to sin in not forgiving myself. 

There's a house currently for sale two blocks from mine. I covet it completely. Perhaps I should start wearing a scarlet "C" so that every Christian knows I openly covet. Perhaps some Christians are okay serving me in spite of my sexual orientation, but would rather not engage in business with me because I covet. For those that view elements of being LGBT to be sinful, I suppose I should wear an “L” because I’m a lesbian, but I’ve always disliked the word. Could I please have a “G”?

I personally don’t give a rat’s rear end about wedding cakes and photographers. Regarding the themes expressed in Representative Andrus’ editorial, it’s the services I needed throughout my recent Friday experiences that concern me.

When I first meet people, let’s face it. I look gay. I don’t really need a letter. The veterinarian who would pronounce my dog dead was new in town. Would she be a “Christian”? Would the business slated to cremate Bob assert their religious freedoms and ask me to take him somewhere else? While standing amidst a dozen buzzing doctors and nurses trying to save the 85 year old woman I adore, would the attendant decline to bring me a desperately needed tampon because he couldn’t serve someone who engages in their definition of “immoral behavior” ?  When the doctors had her stabilized and I felt I could step away to the 24-hour Starbucks, would the barista decline my latte request because of my short hair and masculine gait? This runs through my mind constantly. Constantly.

It's these circumstances when I need people that I most fear the far reaches of a nebulous “religious freedom”.  It’s these moments when I experience the worst part of being LGBT. There’s the fear of being judged, but worse for me, it’s when I feel myself judging others. I don’t judge (I hope) in way that will lead me to treat people differently, but rather I judge out of that fear and an instinctive need for emotional and perhaps physical protection.  I judge to brace myself. I judge to be prepared.

The LDS church’s public statement supporting LGBT protections for housing and employment while ensuring their religious freedoms remain intact will continue to have me reflexively look for CTR rings on female nurses or search for a mid-thigh garment line of male doctors. My eyes are open for cross pendants and bumper stickers. I sigh in relief when a male nurse shows up with a pony tail or facial hair or when I see tattoos or smell smoke on the physical therapist because chances are higher that I can withhold my full suit of emotional armor.

While adjusting my armor through judgments and assumptions, I become exactly what I don’t want and exactly what hurts people in the first place. One who judges. Can I get a “J”?

Perhaps labels for sinners isn’t all that’s needed. Maybe those of the LDS or Lutheran faith who wish not to serve LGBT people could identify themselves with an “L” so we could just avoid each other altogether. But then how would we tell the “L”s for LDS, Lutheran and lesbian apart? If we followed a sinner/Christian labeling, we’d start looking the same. Perhaps we are the same. 

Still my favorite letter!

Love and Light in January

Love and Light in January

 “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”  Martin Luther King Jr.

Within a day of writing my last column, my dog Bob died in a horrific accident. I had just lamented January’s dark days and the anniversary of my mom’s death. Really, January? Way to step up your dreary game of darkness.

Bob was a three-year-old, 75-pound bundle of love and light. He had a play date with a black lab pal named Alli, and when I let them out of the kennel at noon to potty and play, they played with all their might. While fixing lunch, I heard Bob’s something-is-wrong cry. The dogs collided and Bob’s neck was broken. He was paralyzed instantly and died on the way to the vet.

Bob would get into the trash, usually after four days of coffee grounds could coat my kitchen floor. He’d take breakfast waffles out of little boys’ hands, and he’d snatch entire loaves of bread off the counter.  He was naughty and full of mischief, but his soulful gaze, goofy gate and steadfast friendship lit up my days. 

Two days after Bob died, I received the City of Pocatello’s Human and Civil Rights award. The chair of Pocatello’s Human Relations Advisory Committee (HRAC) asked me via email if I wanted to say a few words during the Portneuf Valley Interfaith Alliance’s MLK service. I bawled over my email.

I would love to say a few words. I would love to thank the HRAC for sponsoring the award and the man who nominated me.  I am humbled and grateful, but I couldn’t imagine talking to a crowd. A few words would turn into tears or a clumsy silence and apologies, so I asked a friend to read remarks and explain why I was uncharacteristically quiet.

I almost missed moments of light that night because I was in such a state of darkness over losing Bob. The Methodist church was full of people of different faiths. They stood and clapped as I received the award. I recognized Mormons and Jews and Episcopalians. Some of my coworkers as well as some of my mom’s former coworkers were there with hugs and handshakes. My old rugby coach who is now the Coordinator of Diversity Resource Center Programs at ISU was there. The church pews held straights and gays and any other number of labels we give ourselves.

During the fellowship reception, an LDS man shook my hand and offered condolences on Bob’s passing. He kindly talked of him and his wife losing their golden retriever. He was lucky there was a table between us because I wanted to hurl myself at him for a hug in hopes one of us would feel comfort. Grief breeds awkward, but add grief to an engineer who runs around in a cow suit and the conditions for awkward are at maximum capacity. His kindness brought light.

After that, another gentleman shook my hand to congratulate me and tell me he enjoys my columns. He added, “You’re much taller than I imagined.”  I almost hugged him, too!  I get that often, but the last time someone said my size surprised them, it came out, “Wow. You’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”  I can’t speak for all women, but since I quit playing rugby “big” isn’t my favorite adjective to describe myself. His complement and choice of “taller” brought light.

Since that evening, more light shined in my January. I got to recognize Pocatello High School senior Robert Perkel with School District 25’s character, attitude, kindness and encouragement (CAKE) award.  District officials knew about Bob, so they offered to make the presentation for me. No way. I have been surrounded by the light of kindness and was starting to feel the darkness lift. I wanted that to sustain. Besides, his name is Robert. That’s what I called Bob when he was regal and handsome after a haircut and bath. 

I’d met Robert years ago through MATHCOUNTS. He was smiley, kind and excitable then, and he’s all of those now. When I asked if he’d consider wearing my bull hat and making this month’s picture more silly, he didn’t hesitate. He knew it’d bring smiles and with that Robert brought light.

The joy that left my life when Bob died was replaced by a cutting and empty darkness. Over 300 people sent me notes on Facebook, texted or called with messages of support, and I have been surrounded by more love and light than I ever thought could be in January. I am sad and will be for a while, but I know MLK was on to something. Love and light.

Why, hello February. Welcome. Maybe you can lighten up a touch.