When I came out to myself almost a full decade ago, I had resigned myself to the notion that there were some things in life which were never going to happen for me. There were things which I would never have and dreams I had to quell because of who I was, and what that legally meant here in the United States, let alone also serving in the military. It was a part of me I had parted with, which I saw as necessary in order to move forward with my life. It was my rearranging of the reality I constructed. Because of who I was, my religious identity changed because my being queer was seen as an abomination and a sin. I could not get married because that was something hetero folk did. Marriage was something which, looking back on now, I had subconsciously discarded. It was not something I was ever going to do.
I loosely followed the debate on the "Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA)", as well as "Don't Ask Don't Tell (DADT)". I felt the acute sting of betrayal when the first repeal of DADT failed, and elated when it finally was repealed. I knew that the Supreme Court was going to rule on DOMA this year after the knockout drag-out fight over California's discriminatory "Proposition 8 (Prop 8)". I knew that equal rights were something which was happening in small but important steps across the nation. That every year, and every election, there were small victories. Iowa was kind of surprising. Then eventually Washington State. But there was the challenge taken up to the Supreme Court. They ruled this morning that portions of DOMA were unconstitutional. There was in that ruling happiness that they did something which gave more rights to people who did not have them. There is irony in that they took some voting rights away just the day prior. But here was a federal path forward toward equality. Like Loving v Virginia, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964, here was another landmark ruling. I celebrated along with the hundreds of friends too elated by the ruling. And then it hit me. There is the possibility of if I fall in love with someone, and want to spend my life with him I can in the future get married. I was so overcome with emotion, it was like reuniting with a someone who I had thought dead, mourned, and missed brought back from the dead. I was paralyzed, weeping, and contrary to my countenance so overcome with happiness psychologically, and biologically, I had no clue how to react. I'm still grappling with the notion. A door I thought closed, and bricked over was all of a sudden open once again.
There is still a great deal of work to do. There are several states for which the ruling changes nothing for same-sex couples who wish to marry the one they love. There is still a tremendous and arduous fight for transgender rights both nationally, and for the military. In Illinois because there is no recognition of same-sex marriage, the ruling on DOMA is essentially meaningless. But the fact that it happened, is a monumental step in the right direction.
Showing posts with label Awesome. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Awesome. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Adventures in Teaching or Biting off more than I can chew.
I successfully completed my first week of teaching and have been busily coordinating and concocting some plans for the school year. I have no clue how I will be able to balance out working at Oak Forest High School while sponsoring Art Club, Teaching the Community Arts Sustaining Academics Program, and Co-leading and continuing programing for the Vet Art Project. Where there is a will, there is a way. I still have a month in which to set down as much of the groundwork for the Vet Art Project and balance out my schedule of staff, department, and programing meetings as all of this will play a part in how I am able to do my jobs.
At OFHS, taking full advantage of the fact that I am only teaching one section of art, I have compared notes on all my students and touched base with as many of the Social Studies and English teachers to basically get the gears turning on cooperative lessons bridging art and historical context in academics. I already have one teacher who would like to co-plan a lesson on the Reconstruction in post Civil War America, and the Fox Sisters basically purporting to be supernatural mediums, and pairing it with a black & white drawing lesson.
In my concerted efforts to go out and do things and not be such a hermit, Thursday, I had gone to a speaking event at the National Veterans Art Museum. There I met two very cool veterans, Brock & Jake and reconnected with other cool veterans I had met before (Barry & Sabrina). Brock & Jake have been traveling cross country talking about their visits back to Afghanistan and have so many striking, shocking, and beautiful stories about their experiences. I had dinner with all of them afterwards were we chatted and met up with another veteran who had recently come back from Afghanistan the evening before. After this encounter and dropping Brock off at Midway to catch his flight, I stopped by Atomic Sketch afterwards to check out the art and acquired some artwork for my personal collection as well as talking with some of the artists at Atomic Sketch about the possibility of having them come speak to either my class, or for Art Club. Altogether it was a rather busy evening.
This got my gears turning, in which in the most grandiose delusions, I could have a panel of veterans speaking about their experiences and discussing how a decade's worth of war has shaped our culture as is, as well as what is going on as well as giving a first person perspective on what military veterans have had to go through. At its most humble, having a few guest speakers either for my own classroom, or for art club to do demonstrations and share a little bit of their experiences. With everything I will have to do over the course of the school year, it is exciting and new, and at the same time I ask myself: Am I biting off more than I can chew?
At OFHS, taking full advantage of the fact that I am only teaching one section of art, I have compared notes on all my students and touched base with as many of the Social Studies and English teachers to basically get the gears turning on cooperative lessons bridging art and historical context in academics. I already have one teacher who would like to co-plan a lesson on the Reconstruction in post Civil War America, and the Fox Sisters basically purporting to be supernatural mediums, and pairing it with a black & white drawing lesson.
In my concerted efforts to go out and do things and not be such a hermit, Thursday, I had gone to a speaking event at the National Veterans Art Museum. There I met two very cool veterans, Brock & Jake and reconnected with other cool veterans I had met before (Barry & Sabrina). Brock & Jake have been traveling cross country talking about their visits back to Afghanistan and have so many striking, shocking, and beautiful stories about their experiences. I had dinner with all of them afterwards were we chatted and met up with another veteran who had recently come back from Afghanistan the evening before. After this encounter and dropping Brock off at Midway to catch his flight, I stopped by Atomic Sketch afterwards to check out the art and acquired some artwork for my personal collection as well as talking with some of the artists at Atomic Sketch about the possibility of having them come speak to either my class, or for Art Club. Altogether it was a rather busy evening.
This got my gears turning, in which in the most grandiose delusions, I could have a panel of veterans speaking about their experiences and discussing how a decade's worth of war has shaped our culture as is, as well as what is going on as well as giving a first person perspective on what military veterans have had to go through. At its most humble, having a few guest speakers either for my own classroom, or for art club to do demonstrations and share a little bit of their experiences. With everything I will have to do over the course of the school year, it is exciting and new, and at the same time I ask myself: Am I biting off more than I can chew?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Impersonating Penguins
I had a most interesting experience today longboarding with some friends. There is a 9.5 mile trail/loop in a forest preserve not far from my house. My friends and I decided to go at it since it is a nice trail for biking, walking, skating, or whatever means of efficient ambulation you have. About 8 miles in there was a fork in the road which led to an offshoot, or you could keep going on the trail loop. My friends, being more avid and experienced longboarders than I had gone right and were turning around after a pair of cyclists directed them to the left as the route to continue the loop. This turn, I made with a gliding graceful effortlessness which made the subsequent events all the more contrasting. The turn was immediately followed by a downward incline which allowed me to pick up prodigious speed. I think I might have gotten a good 15-20 MPH on this downhill, which made the physics of what happened next all the more extraordinary and possibly, had someone had the fortuitous foresight, viral video fodder for the internet.
I must pause for a moment to discuss the downhill first and foremost. I live near Chicago, where everything is predictably flat. For the most part. There are softly rolling hills, if they could even be called that! Just understand that when I say hill, or downhill, this is referring to a segment of trail in which one must put forth minimal effort beyond leaning weight forward, if at all on a longboard, or a bike to increase speed to an equivalent of pedaling, or kick-pushing at maximum effort. That note/reference made clear, continuing....
I am barreling down this incline at an accelerated pace. A cyclist is at the base of a concrete and metal bridge over one of the many streams and brooks which dot the forest preserve. My lane is open, and I feel confident in my neophyte experience I can clear through. My eyes rapidly scan in that seemingly super-human speed in which your mind races and takes in all environmental information which permits, what at times seems to be automatic responses by more experienced individuals. As the distance between the bridge and I closes my eye catches the difference in tone of the concrete on the bridge. I can say I was maybe about 50+ feet away.
At 40 or so feet away I see a difference in the level between the concrete of the bridge and the trail. I calculate this to be between 1 and 1.5 inches. My body tenses in anticipation.
At 30ft, I have the infallible certainty that my 68mm wheels will not roll over that 1"-1.5" offset. I am wholly aware that my longboard has transformed from a leisurely ambulatory mechanism to a catapult/slingshot which is engaged with me as the human ammunition. There are two 8 inch steel supporting struts on either side. The one that concerns me most is the one on the left side of the bridge as that is the lane I am traveling in.
20ft. I lean slightly right, placing myself just left of the center dividing line of the trail.
10ft. My hands reflexively come up a bit to protect my face. I am eternally grateful I decided to invest in a helmet for longboarding, and doubly so that I am wearing it.
5ft. I square my shoulders and as my feet come free of my longboard. I do not scream or shout. I had no time. I am merely scanning the ground in front of me hoping I do not spear myself on one of the many twigs which last weeks storms littered on the concrete bridge. I fly for some indeterminate distance before having the wind knocked out of me. I slide gracefully like a penguin, Edward Norton's power animal in the movie adaptation of Palahniuk's "Fight Club" every nano-second, and planck time wistfully wishing it had been ice or snow as that would probably not have hurt as much. My hands bore most of the brunt of the graceful, and apparently gymnastically professional fall. My shirt had a few holes poked in it from my midsection dragging across the concrete. My pants to gained a "distressed" look fashionistas will pay 500 dollars for at some classy designer boutique. Even my Chuck Taylor lowtops got a scraping.
I got up to assess the damage, my hands looking bloody with drag marks on my palms. I noticed my left pinky finger opened up like a cherry cordial candy with a bite taken off revealing the cheery within, blood emerging like syrup, and Was that a pebble or a woodchip embedded in my finger? Was that a pebble or woodchip embedded deep in my finger where I need tweezers which I do not have to get it out?! My board rolls by me as I get up, and my first instinct is to get back on it and keep riding. The cyclist offered me his first aid kit, which I felt sure I did not need. It was all superficial wounds anyway. The cyclist and my friends remarked on how fortunate I was that I was wearing a helmet, that I did not impact the strut of the bridge, and how I fell like a pro and took the fall like a champ!
A little bit down the trail... like maybe 30ft, My vision blurred as whatever adrenaline high I was on which gave me the sense of well being rapidly faded. I took a seat on my board just off the side of the trail, fighting off waves of nausea and a strobe effect which my vision seemed to come and go like a looney tunes cartoon, and everything was dotted with grey blue and black motes. After a few minutes of swatting at mosquitoes which proved to be painful since my hand were scrapped, and made me look like I was in worse shape than I actually was because I was leaving blood stains where ever I squished a mosquito, my friends and I got back on our boards, finished the trail, and made our way back to my place where my friend used his medical expertise to dig the pebble which had become engulfed by my pinky. Apparently I clot very quickly and he had to reopen the wound to dig the debris out... quite possibly the least brave I have ever been while having someone tend to some injury or draw blood or what have you....
I must pause for a moment to discuss the downhill first and foremost. I live near Chicago, where everything is predictably flat. For the most part. There are softly rolling hills, if they could even be called that! Just understand that when I say hill, or downhill, this is referring to a segment of trail in which one must put forth minimal effort beyond leaning weight forward, if at all on a longboard, or a bike to increase speed to an equivalent of pedaling, or kick-pushing at maximum effort. That note/reference made clear, continuing....
I am barreling down this incline at an accelerated pace. A cyclist is at the base of a concrete and metal bridge over one of the many streams and brooks which dot the forest preserve. My lane is open, and I feel confident in my neophyte experience I can clear through. My eyes rapidly scan in that seemingly super-human speed in which your mind races and takes in all environmental information which permits, what at times seems to be automatic responses by more experienced individuals. As the distance between the bridge and I closes my eye catches the difference in tone of the concrete on the bridge. I can say I was maybe about 50+ feet away.
At 40 or so feet away I see a difference in the level between the concrete of the bridge and the trail. I calculate this to be between 1 and 1.5 inches. My body tenses in anticipation.
At 30ft, I have the infallible certainty that my 68mm wheels will not roll over that 1"-1.5" offset. I am wholly aware that my longboard has transformed from a leisurely ambulatory mechanism to a catapult/slingshot which is engaged with me as the human ammunition. There are two 8 inch steel supporting struts on either side. The one that concerns me most is the one on the left side of the bridge as that is the lane I am traveling in.
20ft. I lean slightly right, placing myself just left of the center dividing line of the trail.
10ft. My hands reflexively come up a bit to protect my face. I am eternally grateful I decided to invest in a helmet for longboarding, and doubly so that I am wearing it.
5ft. I square my shoulders and as my feet come free of my longboard. I do not scream or shout. I had no time. I am merely scanning the ground in front of me hoping I do not spear myself on one of the many twigs which last weeks storms littered on the concrete bridge. I fly for some indeterminate distance before having the wind knocked out of me. I slide gracefully like a penguin, Edward Norton's power animal in the movie adaptation of Palahniuk's "Fight Club" every nano-second, and planck time wistfully wishing it had been ice or snow as that would probably not have hurt as much. My hands bore most of the brunt of the graceful, and apparently gymnastically professional fall. My shirt had a few holes poked in it from my midsection dragging across the concrete. My pants to gained a "distressed" look fashionistas will pay 500 dollars for at some classy designer boutique. Even my Chuck Taylor lowtops got a scraping.
I got up to assess the damage, my hands looking bloody with drag marks on my palms. I noticed my left pinky finger opened up like a cherry cordial candy with a bite taken off revealing the cheery within, blood emerging like syrup, and Was that a pebble or a woodchip embedded in my finger? Was that a pebble or woodchip embedded deep in my finger where I need tweezers which I do not have to get it out?! My board rolls by me as I get up, and my first instinct is to get back on it and keep riding. The cyclist offered me his first aid kit, which I felt sure I did not need. It was all superficial wounds anyway. The cyclist and my friends remarked on how fortunate I was that I was wearing a helmet, that I did not impact the strut of the bridge, and how I fell like a pro and took the fall like a champ!
A little bit down the trail... like maybe 30ft, My vision blurred as whatever adrenaline high I was on which gave me the sense of well being rapidly faded. I took a seat on my board just off the side of the trail, fighting off waves of nausea and a strobe effect which my vision seemed to come and go like a looney tunes cartoon, and everything was dotted with grey blue and black motes. After a few minutes of swatting at mosquitoes which proved to be painful since my hand were scrapped, and made me look like I was in worse shape than I actually was because I was leaving blood stains where ever I squished a mosquito, my friends and I got back on our boards, finished the trail, and made our way back to my place where my friend used his medical expertise to dig the pebble which had become engulfed by my pinky. Apparently I clot very quickly and he had to reopen the wound to dig the debris out... quite possibly the least brave I have ever been while having someone tend to some injury or draw blood or what have you....
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
This is important
I have been following the story for a while now, and have made this a topic of discussion for my students. SSG Salvatore Giunta will be awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest military award one can earn, ever. They had an interview with him and some of his platoon members on 60 Minutes. I think what SSG Giunta did is beyond admirable. It is beyond words. He charged through and into enemy fire to prevent a friend and fellow soldier from being taken by enemy forces. There is a moment near the end of the interview where he learns a little more about the details of the night where he gets emotional. At that point in time I got emotional. While I am by no means anything worthy of consideration for any medal, having served, gone overseas and come back, I too feel uncomfortable when people thank me for my service. I don't want to diminish their gratitude, and know that there are many people far more talented and worthy of gratitude than me (Like SSG Giunta). I am struck by his humility. I think it is a rare and often un-admired virtue. This will not stop me from treating him to lunch if I ever run into Sal somewhere/anywhere in the world.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Gallery Opening & Show
This past Friday, I had a gallery opening in Crystal Lake at the Lakeside Legacy Arts Park. Veterans Views: Stories & Images, opened at the Dole Gallery at historic Dole Mansion. The opening went beyond any expectation I had fathomed.
I have lagged behind on posting my reaction to this event because I was a little tired, and also I had to take some time to just process. There is a span of artwork that spans technical skill and content. The older artists have more traditional representational, and far more skilled naturalistic artwork. The more contemporary works emerged from the artists who started working a little more recently. At least that is my observation. But it is all cool.
I would love the opportunity to possibly curate this show annually as a series. I think it definitely has some potential.
I also think that I really need to step up my studio production.
I have lagged behind on posting my reaction to this event because I was a little tired, and also I had to take some time to just process. There is a span of artwork that spans technical skill and content. The older artists have more traditional representational, and far more skilled naturalistic artwork. The more contemporary works emerged from the artists who started working a little more recently. At least that is my observation. But it is all cool.
I would love the opportunity to possibly curate this show annually as a series. I think it definitely has some potential.
I also think that I really need to step up my studio production.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Better late than never, or I am feeling really honored and really humbled
I needed to get a little bit more grounded and centered before I wrote on this....
Friday I had lunch with an old friend of mine from my Army days. He was one of the people I deployed with back in 2005/06. Back in November he had sent out a mass message via facebook requesting school supplies which his psychological operations teams would be passing out to struggling schools in Baghdad and the surrounding areas. Seeing an opportunity to help out, mainly because I could and I had the means to help, I forwarded the message to my friends. I asked permission to send out a similar bulletin at the elementary school where I was teaching an art class after school. The Principal gave me the green light, and asked for a message which would be published in the next school bulletin, going out to the parents. By December, I had a drop box in my classroom and little did I know that I was mobilizing a great deal of people to help out with this request. In mid-December I picked up all the supplies from everyone. I made three stops across the city, and basically filled up my car. Some of my friends who did not live near me asked for a mailing address where to send the supplies. Some people mailed me money to help cover shipping costs. When everything was collected and inventoried, I had way more school supplies than I could afford to ship all at once. I was floored. I also felt like I had maybe taken on something which was significantly bigger than myself. I figured out what I could send and slowly mailed off several boxes at a time until everything was in Baghdad.
Skip forward a few months, and we get to this past Friday. My friend wanted to take me out to eat as a "thank you" for sending so many school supplies. I told him that he did the bigger job, I would to eat with him if I could buy him a few beers. So at lunch, his girlfriend was there, and she was overseas as the Operations Sergeant for the company. At lunch as we caught up as to how much the Camp Liberty had changed and how much it hadn't. We caught up on what we were up to in our respective lives. They told me they had something else for me as a token of appreciation for having sent so many school supplies. They presented me with a certificate, and the American Flag that flew outside of the Psychological Operations Task Force-Iraq Command building. I immediately felt the corners of my eyes burn ever so slightly. I thanked them for their appreciation, for the appreciation of the 16th PSYOP Battalion. A frikkin' Battalion!!! I was fighting tooth and nail not cry all out right then and there. There is no feeling so humbling, so grand as knowing that a Battalion appreciates what you have done. I think back on it, I didn't do anything really grandiose... not on my own. I mailed needed school supplies which I stored in my workspace for months. School supplies that a large group of friends and strangers helped contribute. I didn't do it all on my own. They deserve my gratitude as well.
Friday I had lunch with an old friend of mine from my Army days. He was one of the people I deployed with back in 2005/06. Back in November he had sent out a mass message via facebook requesting school supplies which his psychological operations teams would be passing out to struggling schools in Baghdad and the surrounding areas. Seeing an opportunity to help out, mainly because I could and I had the means to help, I forwarded the message to my friends. I asked permission to send out a similar bulletin at the elementary school where I was teaching an art class after school. The Principal gave me the green light, and asked for a message which would be published in the next school bulletin, going out to the parents. By December, I had a drop box in my classroom and little did I know that I was mobilizing a great deal of people to help out with this request. In mid-December I picked up all the supplies from everyone. I made three stops across the city, and basically filled up my car. Some of my friends who did not live near me asked for a mailing address where to send the supplies. Some people mailed me money to help cover shipping costs. When everything was collected and inventoried, I had way more school supplies than I could afford to ship all at once. I was floored. I also felt like I had maybe taken on something which was significantly bigger than myself. I figured out what I could send and slowly mailed off several boxes at a time until everything was in Baghdad.
Skip forward a few months, and we get to this past Friday. My friend wanted to take me out to eat as a "thank you" for sending so many school supplies. I told him that he did the bigger job, I would to eat with him if I could buy him a few beers. So at lunch, his girlfriend was there, and she was overseas as the Operations Sergeant for the company. At lunch as we caught up as to how much the Camp Liberty had changed and how much it hadn't. We caught up on what we were up to in our respective lives. They told me they had something else for me as a token of appreciation for having sent so many school supplies. They presented me with a certificate, and the American Flag that flew outside of the Psychological Operations Task Force-Iraq Command building. I immediately felt the corners of my eyes burn ever so slightly. I thanked them for their appreciation, for the appreciation of the 16th PSYOP Battalion. A frikkin' Battalion!!! I was fighting tooth and nail not cry all out right then and there. There is no feeling so humbling, so grand as knowing that a Battalion appreciates what you have done. I think back on it, I didn't do anything really grandiose... not on my own. I mailed needed school supplies which I stored in my workspace for months. School supplies that a large group of friends and strangers helped contribute. I didn't do it all on my own. They deserve my gratitude as well.
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