I was born in 1947 when there were no gays, lesbians, blacks, browns, tattoos (to speak of), uglies, fats, dumb bigots, wags, dagos, abos, spicks and rednecks. At least I wasn’t aware of them at the time. Being in the condition of new born I didn’t really need to know or be any of the above. Even the very act of attraction to a woman’s titty was considered kosher.
then things changed. As I learned the lingo of my local carers I discovered some peculiarities that didn’t fit my persona. Some had willies (like me), some didn’t. That was a shock. Even my own mother didn’t have one. In fact, it turned out it was me and the big bloke with the hairy face that could compare size. The rest, I assume, lost theirs in an accident or something. I learned quickly that hating people without a willy was expected of me. At least for now.
When I was 6 some strange people who spoke funny moved into my street. “Lebo thieves” my father called them.
“Don’t leave your bike out,” my dad told me. “They’ll nick it”. And they did. From that point on, I trusted no-one who spoke funny.
My experiences at primary school led me to believe many things. Religious people didn’t really know what they were talking about. I even tried praying. No answer was the comforting reply. I didn’t really like the idea that someone was watching me. It was bad enough I had a mother and two older sisters.
High school was enlightening to say the least. I met my first poofter (that’s gay for those who weren’t brought up with rednecks). He did science with me. He seemed nice enough and dressed well for a 14 year old. He certainly wasn’t ugly, contagious, predatory or evil as was indicated by my mates and relatives. I took him home to show my father. Dad didn’t seem to want him in the house. I thought maybe it was the smell. Our house always smelled of overcooked food and unwashed clothes.
In my final year of school I discovered black. Actually, he discovered me. Kamahl was from India. Man, was he black. Shiny long hair, smooth skin, pure white teeth, bright eyes, almost deep,purple in the sunlight, spoke funny sometimes when with his family and same as me when we were together. He even wore jewellery. I thought he might have been a girl, so I asked. He showed me his willy. He certainly wasn’t a girl. He frequented my house often, usually when my parent were out. I thought it was because of their dislike for people who didn’t look like them. I turned out he liked my sisters who, in return, seemed to like him. “When are you inviting Kamahl around again,” they’d ask often. I liked the guy but not that much.
attending university seemed like a good idea at the time. There were many groups who either wanted to be liked or wanted me to hate the other groups. I jointed the water polo team since I liked swimming and left soon after, realising members of any other team hated me so much they would persistently kick my testicles and push me under the water. The only sport I could find comfort in was loan distance running. Alone. Then I could only blame myself for the pain I suffered.
And there, out in the countryside, pounding my bare feet against the terrain, sweat running in my eyes, body aching incessantly, I found some peace. when alone there was no one to blame, to impose on, be a threat, to dislike or like, to need or be needed by. I had all I needed (although a decent set of runners would be nice). I didn’t need a god, love, possessions, guidance, company, identity, purpose, knowledge or money. Just whatever I had to get me to where I was going and I didn’t even know where that was.
The trouble is, I realised later, I couldn’t be a Forrest Gump and do that forever. So each day, when returned to ‘the other world’ called Reality, I brought with me less and less,of the bigotry and biases I had learned and more and more of the understanding of who I was and who the other people were.
turns out they were just like me: finding a place where they could be at peace. Not everyone runs. Some swim, surf, fly, read, play music, paint, draw, grow plants, tattoo themselves, seek cultural connection, walk their country, eat, drink and just be merry. Those who don’t still hate those who do.
Knowing each of us is looking for peace is comforting. Knowing not everyone can find it and blame others is discomforting. Being different and accepting difference because we each are (different) is enough to start with.
so go for a run. Or a cold shower the next time you join a hate group. It might do you the world of good.
