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Our church band recently had a meeting about whether or not we would continue to play Hillsong written/arranged songs. Here is a letter I wrote to our director about the issue:

For what it’s worth, I understand that for someone that is used to playing songs written by this group, it seems a daunting task to choose other bands. But I also understand what it’s like to be in a church where you do not see anyone that resembles you in a position of leadership. I grew up in the Catholic church, where the leaders were almost exclusively white men (I mean, in Catholic school there were nuns, but that’s not really the same thing). Women, and more specifically minority women, were relegated to the cleaning and upkeep of the church. They were not equal, they were valued for providing two things: service to the church, and children as more congregants. If you could do neither, you were not valued.

The UMC currently has a stance that is frighteningly close to that of Hillsong. And if the Traditional Plan passes, it will be even more so. Sometimes showing true love is a difficulty. Sometimes it means giving up delicious chicken nuggets. Sometimes it means not supporting businesses that in turn support people that stand for horrible things. And sometimes that means not singing some nice songs because they were written by people that don’t understand that you can’t love the sinner and hate the sin… you can only hate.

One of my favorite stories in the Tao of Pooh has to do with a game called “poohsticks.” Poohsticks is now such a famous game, there are world championships (now in it’s 35th year)… but in it’s simplicity, it is “a simple sport which may be played on any bridge over running water; each player drops a stick on the upstream side of a bridge and the one whose stick first appears on the downstream side is the winner” (Wikipedia entry on Poohsticks). But Benjamin Hoff sees it as more, he sees it as the embodiment of taoist scientific exploration…

In that Poohishly humble incident, one can see all the elements of pure science as practiced by the Taoists: the chance occurrence, the observant and inquisitive mind, deduction of the principles involved, application of those principles, modification of materials, and a new practice or way of doing things. Not bad. But after all, Pooh is That sort of Bear…… If we were asked to condense Taoist teachings regarding everyday life to their irreducible essentials, we would say: Observe, Deduce, and Apply. Watch what is around you – putting aside, as best you can, previous conceptions that you or others might have about it. Ideally, look at it as though you were seeing it for the first time. Mentally reduce it to its basic elements – “See simplicity in complexity,” as Lao-tse put it. Use intuition as well as logic in order to understand what you see (a vital difference between the Whole Reasoner and the Left-Brain Technician). Look for connections between one thing and another – notice patterns and relationships. Study the natural laws you see operating through them. Then work with those laws, applying the smallest possible amount of interference and effort, in order to learn more and achieve whatever you need to – and no more.

Sometimes this is a difficulty for those of us that are more logic than intuition. But Hoff continues in this vein…

Carefully observe the natural laws in operation in the world around you, and live by them. From following them, you will learn the morality of modesty, moderation, compassion, and consideration (not just one society’s rules and regulations), the wisdom of seeing things as they are (not of merely collecting “facts” about them), and the happiness of being in harmony with the Way (which has nothing to do with self-righteous “spiritual” obsessions and fanaticism). And you will live lightly, Spontaneously, and effortlessly.

I love the idea of this, I really do–but it is a difficult thing to do, especially in the world today. And, secondarily, even I know that spontaneous is not a word anyone would use to describe me. But, you see, this idea of sticks as a learning method is not just found in reading material.

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A little over 3 years ago I got my black belt in JKD/Gung Fu alongside my children. We had been working hard for that belt, and I was very proud of us for following something through to completion. I had studied multiple other styles, but like Goldilocks I found them all inadequate in some way: this one is too violent, this one is all kicking, this one is not useful for someone of my stature… etc. The mix of JKD and Gung Fu seemed to fit all of the various requirements I had.  I also began to study Filipino Martial Arts on the side, since I had been introduced to Escrima stick fighting and just fell in love with it.

At some point, it became clear that I wanted to continue my education more in the FMA side than JKD/Gung Fu, and I found myself studying in the Garimot Arnis Training (GAT) system. And here is where I found the difference between theory and application
Many of the systems I studied previously focused on a 1:1 application method. Which is to say, they would teach in the following way: IF [someone does this] THEN [you counter like that]. There’s a counter for everything! If they’re standing on the right side of you, and they attack with a front punch, and you have your right hand up…. then you put your left leg at a right angle, and move the left hand in a semi circle to the east and…..

…and that’s great, there are a lot of things you can do with that.  So long as you have a mind like an encyclopedia with instant recall. That’s a great place to start. We’ve got the rules, but there’s nothing beyond rote response. And here is where my stick fighting interest led me to something entirely new… GAT may have begun with the basics, but there was no 1:1 instruction.  Yes, there was an instigating action… but rather than focusing on specific reactions, the focus was instead: “here are a whole bunch of ways you can react to someone coming at you, let’s figure out what is going to work for you.”

This becomes even more evident when stick fighting. It is a difficult thing to train yourself to react by instinct. When you start out, you want to measure, and come up with formulas or rules to make sure you’re doing what you need to do to stay out of harm’s way. You hit your opponent’s stick, and stay the heck out of their range (and yours). The thought of getting hit by a stick is scary–and since you’re practicing with your friends, the thought of hitting your friends is equally unappealing. But you have to learn to put yourself out there in order to get close enough to strike–and further, you have to learn to “feel” your opponent. If you don’t learn to move, and counter, and strike, you won’t get hurt–but you also will not strike.

In the end, it comes down to this: after you practice enough, you will be able to move in such a way that you are out of striking distance, but can still strike your opponent, and you won’t even think about it. After you practice enough, you will be able to feel (and tell if there is maliciousness) in the grasping of your wrist, or shoulder, and react before your opponent has time to complete their action. After you practice enough, you can use intuition as well as logic in order to understand what you see, and react accordingly.

There’s a scene in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves that pops up in my head from time to time*. It is when a little girl is studying Azeem with careful curiosity and finally asks him, “Did God paint you?” and Azeem chuckles and says, “Because Allah loves wondrous varieties.” (We’ll skip the bit of racism from Friar Tuck that immediately follows)

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You mean I’m going to stay this color?

Yesterday as we were riding back from Target (where I got a GREAT deal on a “party platter lasagna”), the youngest and I were discussing his Spanish class and some of his difficulty with the class. I mentioned that when I took Spanish in high school I had a hard time of it. Not because I knew too much Spanish, but because what Spanish I knew was considered slang. In our class, we were expected to learn PROPER Spanish—Spain Spanish—instead of this Tex-Mex nonsense we were speaking in the home.

My Spanish teacher, Señora Chatten was from SPAIN. And not just anywhere in Spain, either. She was Castillian — which meant she had an affected lisp.  And just to throw a total wrench in the works, not only was she from Spain, she looked Spanish. Which is to say, she looked like a slightly overweight Barbara Eden. She was tall, blonde, had beautifully clear blue eyes, and even wore her hair in a high ponytail.  For those of us in our small class (of 30 kids) that had never encountered someone truly Spanish, it was a bit of a shock. Walking into class, we saw a güera standing by the desk and thought, “oh, substitute teacher… sweet.” And then she just starts rattling off Spanish like crazy. And not Tex-Mex, or border Spanish, or even Mexican Spanish…. REAL Spanish.

As I’m talking about Señora Chatten to the youngest, his eyes got huge. “Wait, wait,” and then a pause, “she was WHITE?” “Well, yes,” I explain, “she was from Spain.” There was another long pause. “People from Spain,” he continued, “are WHITE.”

And here I had to laugh. Because growing up in Central Texas there was no real reason for him to assume that someone speaking Spanish that was not “clearly” Hispanic had done anything but learn the language in school. “My darling child,” I said, “where on earth did you think your lovely alabaster skin and green eyes came from? My great-grandfather was from Spain. He had green eyes, red hair, and beautiful pale skin. I mean, yeah, those genes are recessive—but they are not THAT recessive.”  He mulled it over.

“Look,” I explained, “all the things that people, including yourself, tend to associate with Hispanic-ness are actually things that are more accurately Indigenous features. The dark skin, the full lips, the broad noses… being short… those are all more Indigenous features, honey.  Think Native American. The truth is that Spanish people are about as diverse as any other European country.” This seemed to disturb him in a way that I had not anticipated. “I’m not saying you didn’t get ANY of the indigenous features… you’ve got some big ol’ lips, and your hair is closer in texture to native hair. But mostly, you got a whole bunch of European going on up in there.”

He seemed to be thoughtful for a while, and then tentatively asked, “so I .. I AM Hispanic, then.” I shrugged, “what you call yourself is what you call yourself, kiddo. But for the purposes of applying for colleges and scholarships, I would say the answer is YES.”

 

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Meanwhile, back at the ranch….

More recently, I’ve discovered my older child, who has just started college, and I have a shared experience.

“Mom,” he said as we walked to the bank, “the other day some guy in my class was all, ‘so what ARE you,’ and I was all, ‘what?'” I stopped walking in the middle of a crosswalk, and took a second to gather my thoughts before I asked him, “what did you say?”

He laughed, “I just said, ‘what the hell kind of question is that?'” I resumed walking across the street with him. “Yeah, I used to get that too. Most people guessed I was half… something other than Hispanic. I was too pale, my eyes just a little too tilted at the ends, my lips just a little too big… they just didn’t understand.”

He continued gamely, “well, this guy thought I was half-Filipino because he thought I looked Asian and Hispanic… which apparently means Filipino!”
I laughed. “your nose is a little broad, too. I can’t get away with Filipino, my nose tilts up too much. It is decidedly European.”

We stopped in the parking lot of the bank and he turned to me… “But the guy wouldn’t just accept that I’m just Hispanic. He was all, ‘are you SURE there’s no Asian?’ And I was all, ‘nope, as far as I know, this is just what you get when you mix white with Mexican, no Asian involved.”
I laughed, “yeah, I told your dad, ‘no.'” He wisely let that one go.

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Six of One, Half-a-dozen of the Other

The plain truth is that my youngest–with his pale alabaster skin and carefully modulated tones–is far more likely to pass as white than my oldest, who shares my skin coloration albeit a bit lighter.  He hasn’t rejected his Hispanic-ness, necessarily… but he has (in my opinion) made it something outside himself. To him, it’s an accessory, to be worn as needed. And that’s okay. I’m okay with him doing that if that’s what makes him happy.

My oldest, however, has an exoticness around him that doesn’t completely overcome the clear-blue of his eyes and brown curly hair. He has a foot in both worlds but can never exist completely in just one. In a way, I kind of envy that fluidity–because it doesn’t come with the baggage of being allowed to exist in a world that is not of your own.

I am an Ally for many different causes. Frequently these seem to cause some sort of trouble for either myself of my family. Now I know my immediate family (husband/kids) don’t really sweat it, but sometimes it has some interesting consequences–particularly with our extended family.

Some people wear their feelings on their sleeves… I wear mine as buttons and patches on my purse.  With the exception of the lavender bespectacled unicorn in the center (with “Haters gonna Hate” embroidered below) every patch and button has been hand-selected and added by me.  I bought the bag (with the unicorn on it) from Etsy a few years ago, and then just started adding things on.

The front is pretty self-explanatory, though a couple of the patches are a tiny bit obscure. My personal favorites are the “do no harm but take no shit” button towards the bottom center, and the “feminist killjoy” patch to the left of the unicorn.

Now, by placing these patches and buttons onto my purse, I have made something of a social contract. I understand that when I visibly wear something that declares a like or a dislike for something, I am implicitly allowing people to ask me about it.  Most of the time I get people telling me they “love my purse,” or “did you sew all those on yourself?”  But every once in a while, someone finds something they might not agree with—and now it’s awkward.

Let’s start small. I once had a lively discussion on the juxtaposition of the Star Trek command badge with the floral Vader patch. After I pointed out that I also had a Galaxy Quest mission patch, a Tyrell corporation patch (not shown) and Browncoat patch (also not shown), we agreed it was ok to put the two franchises next to each other because I was being all inclusive.

Speaking of all-inclusive…. that brings me to my point. You might also see that I have several buttons that out me as an LGTBQ Ally.  On one occasion, this prompted a “what are you a queer?” from a perfect stranger (to which I responded, “oh, I’m sorry, I’m already married,” and smiled sweetly before continuing, “but I’m sure you’ll find someone lovely.”  I have also had people who know me a little better—and know that I am married someone of the opposite sex—ask me if there’s a particular reason why I might be an advocate equal rights.

Let me lay it out for you. It’s honestly none of your business why I support equal rights, if indeed I have one at all.  Is it necessary to have a child who identifies as something other than heteronormative in order to support rights for all?  Are you asking me my orientation? Would it matter if I said I was bi? or gender non-conformative?  Should it? Is that ANY of your business?  Because it’s not. WHY do you think I need a reason to be a decent human being?

There’s this great passage from Rose Madder where Rosie asks Anna why Anna’s parent founded Daughters and Sisters, the secure shelter where Rosie is staying. And Anna hands Rosie a Paul Sheldon Misery novel, and says:

Bodice-rippers are one of my secret vices… but they’re trash, and do you know why? Because the whole round world is explained in them. There are reasons for everytyhing. They may be as farfetched as the stories in the supermarket tabloids and thye may run counter to everything a halfway intelligent person understanda bout how peopel behave in real life, but they’re there…In life, Rosie, sometimes people do things, both bad and good, just-because.

I don’t need a reason to be a thoughtful human being, any more than some jerk has a reason for being an asshole. Sometimes people are good (or bad) just because. I wear my allyship on my purse so that people who might need help can see where to turn. I put my Ally sign on my cube door, so people who need help understand that I am a safe place and I will listen, not judge, and help them.  And you had better hope that I don’t see you being a jerk to someone (based on their orientation or otherwise) because I. Will. End. You.

Here’s the thing. sexual orientation is just one small part of a whole human being, and I feel that to discriminate against people for something that is (honestly) not something that the public should know/care about. Now, if that person chooses to make their orientation known AND part of their persona, I’m all for it, too. But it should not be a defining point on which human rights are granted or taken away. This is a horrendously complex thing that involves an infinite continuum of:

• biological sex (the parts you get at birth)
• gender identity (pronouns)
•  sexual orientation (who you are attracted to) — which can include asexual
• romantic orientation (who you want a long relationship with)
• sexual behavior (not preference, but BEHAVIOR)
• gender roles (what society expects)

Here watch this:

To a lot of people…it’s easy to imagine that human beings are simple, and you can know a person’s sex, and then you will know all sorts of things about them deeply and clearly. And if you don’t fit into this nice little box, people who do can get really confused and sometimes even angry…

[people should understand that] there are no nice shiney boxes, or if there are shiney boxes, there are an infinite number of them. Enough to put all of the people who currently exist, have ever existed, and will ever exit.

I guess what I’m trying to say is… it’s none of [our] business.

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And now because you have that wonderful song from 1993 in your head…