no chip on MY shoulder

"you've got a chip on your shoulder."  what a heartless way of invalidating somebody's experience of inequality.  it's pretty much like 'let me ignore your life in one sentence.'  i've never heard a white straight able-bodied rich man be told he's got a chip on his shoulder....  the saddest part is, this bs response to my hurt and anger and exposure of my pain made me question my own lived experience.  and it came from someone very close to me.

so let's set the scene.  a close friend told me that she was in a secret society at our elite college.  you know, the kind that had infamous ties to the klan, kept women out of positions of power even after they clawed their way to the top of these schools, tried to retain the power of the social elite after colleges begrudgingly gave out financial aid, etc.  i told her that the fact that this society still existed was the most effed up thing i had heard in a while.  she got offended (as if i hadn't been by her telling me she was in it) and told me that the purpose of the society was to improve community at our school.  so i told her why it made me so angry, and why it made no sense.  that secret societies were built to keep people like me from making decisions about superstructures that affect their lives.  that they provide networking to keep social resources in the hands of the few.  and that open access is the only way to heal and build trust in a community with a history of discrimination.  she had the nerve to tell me that 'i had a chip on my shoulder.'  the worst part was that i questioned myself for a week after this happened.  maybe i am just too sensitive.  maybe it's in my head.

2 days later, we fought about it.  she then told me that if i had been invited that i would have joined - i was just jealous.  i feel like this was a gift from heaven since i KNEW that that was false.  but i wondered what would have happened to my psyche if she hadn't slipped at that point.

luckily, i'm a fighter.  i'm not giving up, and i'm not going to stand for anyone else being told their experience is less important than maintenance of power.
'you've got a chip on your shoulder' is code for 'i know that i fucked you over but i prefer not to be reminded about it.'

why who says it makes a difference

we've all heard it before.  it's like a 3-yr-old, "but she gets to do it!!"  yes.  she does.  no, you don't get to.  i get really tired of this.  even people on the news feel the need to talk and debate about who gets to say what.  everything from 'white trash' to 'bitch' to 'welfare queen mother in heaven' and all the other soul-corrosion people let loose.

maybe a concrete example would help.  imagine that you're mom has a disabling disease.  you're joking one night and she says, "well, it would be easier for me to die and then collect the life insurance than for you to pay my hospital bills."  you both laugh.  you take a swig of miller lite and look away.  the next day imagine that your friend mentions to you that economically, paying for your mom's medical bills might not be the best option at this point.  will she really get better?  now imagine your friend says the same words your mom did.  you don't laugh and you ACTUALLY GET MAD.  they aren't funny.  she shouldn't have said them.

why is it different?  i don't think it needs explanation, but just in case, i'll play dumb.  because you're part of the family.  because you know your mom.  you know her situation.  you know the pain she experiences month after month.  you care about her.  you help her out of bed in the morning.  you know that when she wakes up every day she feels useless and incapable of anything but bleeding the family dry.  your friend, on the other hand, doesn't have a clue.  she has no right to say what she said BECAUSE OF WHO SHE IS.  it is as simple as that and its not discrimination (jesus mary i love you save souls) or anything else.

so stop.  please.  its over.  right now.

sadly still relevant

working class zero

why i am here

a lot of things in my life have been changing.  i just graduated from an 'elite' college, and i am still reeling from that experience.  along with figuring out what to do next, i have to figure out all of the people i am and how they fit together.  to start, i am an artist.  i make shit.  and my last piece of work was a work that i want to share here.

If you only knew

I wanted to start from the beginning.  I wanted to tell you the truth.  The best I can.  I wanted to tell you how the grass got cut intermittently, usually on Saturdays and with a cigar.  I wanted to tell you that spilled milk was exempt because my dad got yelled at for that when he was a kid and he didn’t want it to be such a big deal.  But other things were.  The pope is infallible.  We pray the rosary on some nights and dad has beers on the others.  He passes out before dinner and we have to wake him up.  When I was 3 I had quiet time while my brother slept but I peeled his eyelids open so he would wake up and I could leave my room.  Mom was napping or sewing or watching soap operas.  She worked at Macy’s on nights and weekends and now dad is trying to find another job but he is too old and they think he will cost too much money to put on payroll.  He has to buy health insurance or he will be fined, Mr. House and Senate, but he still has no job.  He’s mad but secretly I’m happy because a few years ago he had varicose veins in his leg and they did a procedure to freeze them but it didn’t work and he had to wait until the next calendar year for mom’s insurance to kick in again and that’s when they stopped paying for it.  I wish I could stop telling you.  My brother thinks that he might have something wrong too like me.  In first grade my teacher thought I might have ADD but my mom didn’t believe her.  I didn’t get diagnosed until college and they told me I hid it so well.  And that I have depression.  I have trouble affording my meds.

The end gets caught up in the middle you know.  We would go to the park and my mom tried so hard to be wonderful.  And she was.  Her red raincoat wasn’t really waterproof but it had flannel on the inside.  She kept one scarf from when she lived up here in Des Plaines just in case she got to come back.  One time we went to see the duplex where they used to live but everything had changed and she cried.  When my mom brought me home from the hospital she was so scared she would break my arms that she didn’t change my clothes for three days.  My dad plays word games on the computer while he looks for jobs or researches aliens or predicts bank closures.  He tries harder than most people I know.  We had to stop the car when Mom saw the house that she grew up in in Waukesha because of her dad and she and her brothers walked to school and he left the gas running in the garage.  I sit in class where we talk about liberal ideals but I walk out of the classroom and it evaporates.  Your meetings, your dinner date, your massage are things I don’t understand and I don’t live up to.  But everything changes.  Recently, I took back y’all.  My mom was against it because it wasn’t who we wanted to be, but when I’m here it feels more natural and it helps me be okay with the people who are too busy and important and talented to deal with people with any problems like me.  There are rules here I still don’t understand.

I would like to tell you that I’m white and from the aspiring-to-be-middle-class and that I am over-educated for what my parents supposed I would be.  But they are so proud.  I wish I could tell them how hard it was and that when I walk off that stage I will be able to breathe again.  They gave up so much.  I wish it didn’t have to be this way.  Sometimes I am a shell of all the things I wanted to be but now I don’t want anymore.