Very excited to share my first formally published non-fiction piece – “Balancing a Heritage of Hate” – published by HerStryBlg. I used a poem, “Love of Hate of Love,” as the backbone for this piece and to weave together three stories from different periods in my life. Here’s an excerpt…
I practice punching at the kitchen table. I practice on the couch. I practice in my sleep. I make a fist and see my life there. I make a fist and study the veins that press out against the skin of my forearms. Hating your hate of love, I practice punching at the kitchen table.
July, 2015
A neighbor invited me over for dinner, and being new to the area, I went with excitement at the prospect of a new friend. He was quite the comedian, and we were two drinks in after a lovely dinner filled with laughter when he directed the conversation to same-sex marriage. My stomach sank as I realized he hoped to continue with his comedy skit.
He expressed his disbelief and horror that the U.S. Supreme Court recently struck down all state bans on same-sex marriage, legalized it in all fifty states, required states to honor out-of-state same-sex marriage licenses, and then to my horror, he spent the next fifteen minutes discussing dog breeds – and which ones would be best to unleash on the gays.
Pulling up pictures on his phone, he clearly articulated the characteristics that would best allow each dog to chase down and kill its human target (though not human to him). He preached on which breeds could be properly trained to hunt down the homosexuals and rip out their throats.
I placed myself thoroughly back in the closet, smiled, nodded, laughed, and felt entirely empty. Cold. Wrong. Then I made my friendly excuses, agreed we’d need to do dinner again soon to avoid any suspicion, and walked home looking over my shoulder every five steps. I couldn’t remember which breeds he identified, too focused on the images of sharp teeth and well-muscled necks; too focused on the fact that skin – and life – is so easily ripped apart.
In fear, I make a fist and see my life there. While I just want to love who I will, my heritage is built on the balancing of hate and so my blood runs thick with rage, with joy, with their tender twisting, competing, contradicting, so that a love of hate rises in my own pulse with the power of perceived necessity. You hate my love. You force me to walk in fear. And so, I make a fist and see my life there.
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Check out the HerStry website for the full piece!
marks in the sand 