Personal essay – Page 14 – Sage Telling Your Story

May 5, 2016February 26, 2019

Purple, by Will Stanton

How much can one say about purple? The person who chose this topic told me that he had something quite special in mind. I don’t. So, I guess I will have to settle with simply commenting upon a few situations involving the color purple which I have observed over the years.

To start off with, I’ll be blunt and succinct about this first example just to get it out of the way.

Unfortunately (and I will not dwell on these points, either), purple often can be an indication of some serious medical crisis. I recall seeing a very elderly, fragile man whose lips were a scary dark purple, almost black. Of course, we all are familiar with the ominous purple lesions too often seen on people of our generation, Kaposi’s sarcoma, the infection with human herpesvirus that often has been associated with AIDS. And, if you permit me to quickly mention it, I never will erase from my memory seeing the faint streaks of purple as I watched my partner die from lung-cancer. Enough of that, however.

Moving on, some people claim that certain ethnic cultures prefer various colors. I recall early in my education, I worked one summer for an architect, my entertaining the idea that I might choose architecture as a profession. The firm, at that time, was drawing up plans for some low-income housing, most of the residents predicted to be blacks. One architect stated that a major color theme for the interior would be the color purple “because blacks like the color purple.” His comment struck me as an over-generalization, although I do recall seeing groups of blacks elegantly dressed in their Sunday finest at Black Eyed Pea. Often, their suit-coats and fancy dresses were in various shades of purple.

The school color for South High School is purple, a color most prominently displayed on football outfits. Unlike the 1950s or 60s, I never see, these days, students wearing school jackets or shirts sporting the color purple. I have seen some girls, however, with purple hair.

I also know someone who claims the color of his vehicle, known as a “Cube,” is burgundy, although it looks more like a dark purple to me. I have to look carefully in the sunlight to conclude that, however.

Here, I have another opportunity to use one of my favorite phrases, “bloviating ignoramus.” I had no desire ever to watch Rush Limbaugh on TV, although I occasionally have stumbled upon some clips on the news. I recall seeing Rush so fired up and blustering with some false accusation he wished to spread about someone whom he hates that, I swear, his face seemed to be turning purple. Somehow, he appears to have avoided a heart attack or stroke.

I have witnessed that purple-faced phenomenon first-hand, too, with a local intellectual-Neanderthal whom I refer to as “Neanderthal-Joe.” Back in the early days of the Bush junta and the U.S. invasion of Iraq, I casually mentioned to Joe that I was disappointed with Bush. Joe stood up, starting screaming at me, stomping around the room, slathering at the lips. He retorted that “Bush is doing God’s work!” His face literally was turning purple.

That happened also with a mutual acquaintance and good friend of Joe, a man who quickly had become a millionaire working for the sleaziest mortgage-banking company in America. When the Colorado Supreme Court declared Amendment 2, which in effect denied civil rights to gays, was unconstitutional, this man was infuriated, stating to me that, “Nine unelected men in black robes denied the will of the people.” I “pushed his button” by replying, “When I was in grade school, we were taught that America is a constitutional democracy.” At that, he exploded, sputtering and shouting. His face was a slightly different shade of purple from Joe’s.

Last of all, and on a more positive side, there also are some purple things that give me great pleasure. I have enjoyed seeing nature’s paintbrush at work with purple flowers, sunsets, Purple Martin birds, and bushes of wild berries, so dark that they look almost black. And, who can resist a heaping helping of homemade berry cobbler? Now, there’s something purple that is enjoyable to think about.

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

March 4, 2016February 26, 2019

Breaking into the Gay Culture, by Will Stanton

Breaking into the gay culture. I have no idea what that means. I suppose one first would have to define “gay culture.” I’m not sure what that is, either.

Does that mean living in San Francisco and being 99% nude in a parade? Does it mean hanging out in gay bars and trying to pick up tricks, perhaps even resignedly going home with a nameless body at 2:00 A.M.? Does it mean late-night roaming of Cheesman Park, or hanging out around men’s restrooms? Does it mean wearing rainbow colors, or lots of gay bling announcing to the world that my orientation may be different from yours? Is this that “gay culture,” especially as defined by uninformed or homophobic people?

On the other hand, could it mean that wealthy, cultured, and well educated gentleman who is bored by the bar scene and, instead, sits in the balcony of the Met Opera with a group of black-tie friends and then throws exclusive after-opera parties at his magnificent home? Or, does it refer to someone like billionaire, arms-industrialist Alfred Krupp enjoying the view of a dozen naked, young boys splashing in his swimming pool, flaunting the draconian anti-gay laws of early-20th-century Germany?

Or finally, can it mean a bizarrely inverted and destructive so-called “un-gay culture” populated by outwardly-straight army generals, fundamentalist preachers, homophobic Republican senators, or “pray-to-cure therapists,” anyone who fears or denies his own orientation that he does not understand or is willing to accept?

One obviously visible part of gay culture that I certainly respect is those persons who work for gay civil rights and to educate the otherwise ignorant public. Such work may expose them to ridicule or worse. Or at least, that dedication may dominate their lives and take up most of their time, possibly denying them the opportunity to pursue other, more personally rewarding directions.

For those gays, however, who may have realized their orientation but who have not found much of a of a life beyond it, I would hope that “gay culture” is not defined by unproductive pursuits for frequent sex partners, short-term relationships, beer-busts, and constant gay social events. Human lives should mean much more than that.

It seems to me that the natural, healthful approach for viewing one’s orientation is that it is simply one element of a person’s personality and thinking, that it does not have to dominate one’s mind. Consequently, choosing friends, joining clubs, selecting careers, interests, and hobbies does not have to be determined primarily upon whether they are considered to be gay or straight activities. After all, any psychologist or biologist worth his salt now knows that sexual orientation is not binary, not black or white; it is fluid, running the spectrum of thinking, feelings, and behavior. I could be mistaken, but perhaps some individuals think of Story Time more as a gay writers’ group. I chose to join because I prefer to view it simply as a means of telling our worthwhile, human stories. The human experience often contains universal elements not limited by gay or straight.

Denver, © 21 July 2012

About the Author

January 26, 2016February 26, 2019

Wrinkles, by Will Stanton

Human cells are supposed to repair themselves by being replaced with duplicate, new cells. If that process worked perfectly, then we would look about as young as when we first were fully grown. Mother Nature, however, with her cruel sense of humor, arranged it so that, sooner or later, that replication begins to fail, resulting in malformed or even diseased cells.

Aging is a major contributing factor to this breakdown in replication. So are disease, injury, smoking, chronic drugs and alcohol abuse, and too much sunshine. Unfortunately, cellular deterioration can occur with any cell, inside the body and visible on the surface. I once read that medical research has identified 12,000 diseases and afflictions humans are prone to, many caused by cellular failure. I imagine by now that many more have been discovered.

For many people, wrinkles are the most obvious evidence of aging, along with a few other delightful imperfections, such as gray hair, baldness, obesity, and loss of those youthful facial features. My time spent at the mirror is minimized to those brief moments when I am required to shave. Otherwise, I avoid mirrors almost as often as do vampires.

Speaking of other bad contributing factors, it is well known that chronic stress can contribute to premature wrinkles. Outdoorsy-people, such as traditional farmers and cowboys, often ended up with wrinkled faces and skin like leather. I also have seen a picture of a pair of identical-twin sisters aged fifty. The one who smoked and drank heavily looked seventy-five; whereas the one who did not drink or smoke looked forty. I have seen pictures of men and woman who have abused methamphetamine, and their faces looked like actors from the movie “Night of the Living Dead.” Meth is terribly destructive. On perhaps on a more positive note, there are such things as “laugh lines,” too. So, if your face is very wrinkled, just tell people that you laugh allot.

It is said that facial wrinkles give a face character, showing much of one’s life-experience. That makes sense among us superannuated folks. Of course, the young, and also those who admire or even envy the young, would prefer never to show signs of aging. Why else would billions of dollars be spent on face-lifts, botox wrinkle-removal, cosmetics, expensive hairdos and fancy clothes?

Ending on a silly note (and I must hasten to explain that I very rarely, if ever, indulge in humor that possibly can be regarded a repellent) the subject of wrinkles never fails to remind me of a little story once told to me. Now I can inflict it upon everyone here.

Once during one hot summer, two little boys were taken to their great-grandparents’ house for a weekend stay. The little boys woke up early the next morning. Hungry and bored, they went looking for their great-grandparents. They climbed the stairs to the sweltering second floor. Very quietly, they opened a bedroom door and looked inside. They were surprised to see their great-grandmother lying naked on the bed. The littlest boy whispered to his brother, “What are those wrinkles all over Great-Grandma?” — “Great-Grandpa.”

About the Author

January 18, 2016February 26, 2019

Culture Shock, by Ricky

“Culture” is a word that strikes fear into the world’s families of bacterium as if they know that shortly following the culturing will be an anti-biotic of the lethal type for all or specific families. A situation quite shocking from the point of view of the bacterium.

“Culture” is a word that creates feelings of loathing in the stereotype masses of the American populace. For some reason they feel that quality music in the form of opera, symphonies, and songs where one can actually hear and understand the lyrics is not of any worth. Thus, they vote to stop government support for these enterprises. As for TV entertainment, the masses do not seem to like a broadcast which does not contain lots of violence, sexual innuendo, or cheap humor.

These same masses will support government spending taxes for the things they prefer, for example baseball, football, and soccer stadiums. (If such things are good for business, shouldn’t business pay for it and not taxes?) But worse of all is their tendency to label those who do like quality music, songs, TV, screen play, or drama productions as elitists (at best) or snobs (at worse).

“Culture” is a word that creates feelings of joy or happiness in the stereotypical well-to-do (previously referred to as elitists or snobs). This group also tends to view the “less fortunate others” as undesirables for friendships and as a drain on the public treasury. Thus, they vote to cut social programs that support the poor, as the poor are viewed as lazy and uncouth leeches.

Of course these stereotypical views are not totally accurate and there are those of us who enjoy activities and recreations that fall into both camps. Sadly though, we are a minority.

“Culture Shock” commonly occurs when persons from one background encounter persons from another. An example is when “Johnny-Reb” moves into “Damn Yankee” territory or vice versa; or when a “New Yorker” moves to San Francisco; or when anyone from the east or west coasts moves into the mid-west or America’s “heartland” (the “fly-over” parts from which many gay men and women escape and move to either of the coasts).

One example occurred in my own home. My oldest daughter married a man from the Republic of Georgia. After he obtained citizenship here, he arranged to have his parents move to Lakewood and live with me and them. His parents grew up entirely under the authority of the old Soviet Union and its economic and social “values.” Maria grew up on a collective farm and so worked hard as she grew.

One day, my daughter took her mother-in-law to a discount store to buy her a new purse. While trying to decide which of many different styles to buy, Maria began to cry. When asked why by my daughter, she replied that there were too many choices and she could not make a decision. Maria was faced with “culture-of-plenty” shock.

Other “shocking” opportunities occur when military, police, gang, generational, and sexual orientation cultures have values that clash.

I have not experienced culture shock per-se. What I am experiencing is culture confusion. Being a closeted gay boy since my young teen years, I lived in the straight world most of my life. When I finally officially “came out,” at age 63, I was gently exposed to the gay “culture” of senior men. Then I learned a little of other sub-groups of gay culture; some of which apparently don’t “play-well” together, physically or politically.

So just as Maria experienced culture shock trying to adjust from a Soviet life of “little” to an American culture of abundance, So in my case, I am trying to understand all the subtleties of the elusive gay culture. Since I do not generally expose myself to the sub-groups of that culture, I am not likely to ever comprehend them well enough to form a cohesive or unifying understanding.

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

January 13, 2016February 26, 2019

Right Now, by Lewis

[Prologue: I wrote this piece amid the shock and horror of the shooting this past Friday at Arapahoe High School and the first anniversary of the much more lethal event in Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut. It seemed appropriate for the subject matter because it seems to me that our society must turn its full attention away from deterring acts of terror born of religious intolerance at home or abroad and toward the growing problem and many times more destructive issue of home-grown terrorism and we must do it RIGHT NOW.

As I have mentioned here on more than one occasion in the past, I grew up with guns and hunting. I was good at it. It was an outlet for the anger I felt inside for whatever motivation lie behind it. My victims were birds, mammals, insects, reptiles, amphibians and the occasional street lamp. Their sacrifice sated for a few minutes or hours my need to feel that I was nobody to mess with, that I could make an impact, that my anger was something to be respected.

Sometime during my middle school years, I outgrew that emotional deficiency. Some boys don’t. In their teens-to-early-twenties, their hurt and pain overpowers their sense of decency. It is no longer sufficient for them to punish surrogates for their oppression. Their oppressors become their parents, peers, even strangers. Their victims can no more comprehend what’s going inside their heads than the lowly sparrows I brought down by the dozens.

One day, a neighbor saw me shoot out a street light. The police came and took away my pellet gun. My dad had to drive me downtown and sign a release to get my gun back. It was embarrassing. I never attempted something so stupid again. Perhaps the police had the right idea–take the gun out of my hands until a person of responsibility helped me get it back. I can’t help but wonder if society would have been better served if someone had taken my weapon away before my angry rampage got as far as it did.

I write this out of a feeling that–as many times more complex is the problem of mass shootings today–we must seriously consider how we can diminish the odds of something like the Columbine or Aurora massacres from happening again. I will now make such a case.]

When the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. When the only tool you have is a gun, every problem looks like a threat. A gun quickly turns a coward into a drunken cowboy who shoots first and asks questions later. In fact, if you have a gun, you don’t even have to wait for the answers because you’re guaranteed the last word.

I’m sick and tired of hearing the press talk about the “senselessness” of these school shootings. Are they really unable to put two and two together? People do senseless things a million times a second in this country but nobody dies. They knock things over, they kick things, they slam doors, they curse, they stomp around, they pull their hair out, they spit, they foam at the mouth. Sometimes, they may even get what they want…and nobody dies.

But you put a loaded gun in their hand and reason and dialogue and common sensibility goes out the barrel. In the New Town, CT, shooting, Adam Lanza cut down 20 children and six adults, including himself, in about 5 minutes. By the time police arrived, it was all over but the sobbing.

This is not an issue about Second Amendment rights, as the NRA would have us believe. (More on the Second Amendment in a bit.) No, it is about sales of guns and the profitability of the gun manufacturing industry of which the NRA is a vital part. Look at the front page of Friday’s Post and tell me that the horror and pain on that teenage girl’s face is the price we have to pay so that every paranoid gun-hugging freak out there in our once-admired nation can own as much fire-power as his delusional mind can conjure up. I don’t believe it, not for an instant. No, this is a battle between a society that values life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and the most destructive, greedy, and self-serving industry that calls itself a champion of liberty.

Quoting Tom Diaz’s brilliant new book, The Last Gun, “An American’s chances of being killed in an automobile accident are about one in 7,000 or 8,000 per year; of being a victim of homicide, about one in 22,000 per year; and of being killed by a terrorist, about one in 3.5 million per year.” Yet, over the decade between

September 2001 and September 2011, American taxpayers have spent over $1.3 trillion on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and homeland security, while backtracking on the issue of freedom from domestic terrorist threats birthed by Second Amendment demagogues.

The “Oligarchy of Five” sitting on the current U.S. Supreme Court has interpreted the Second Amendment as if the first half doesn’t exist. This is odd for a bunch of “strict constructionists”. True, the language is quaint and the syntax poorly constructed. “Four-score-and seven years ago” is also quaint but we still quote that part of the Gettysburg Address.

Still, the Second Amendment follows the First and even the right of free speech has been found to be limited. A citizen is not allowed to shout “fire” in a crowded theater. (The way things are today, one might be on more constitutional grounds yelling, “open fire”.) Neither can you slander, libel, incite violence, obstruct justice, or disrupt the peace. Nevertheless, the NRA argues–successfully, if recent trends are any indication–that citizens should be allowed to “keep and bear [any and all] arms”, including weapons designed for the military.

Why the need for so much firepower? Well, in a vast number of instances among NRA members, it’s for protection from the very government that wrote the Constitution. So, in essence, the Supreme Court–one of the three co-equal branches of government–has ruled that the Police Power of that same government does not have the right to bar modern-day, would-be Enemies of Democracy from owning the most lethal hand-held weapons on the face of the earth. Is that not the very epitome of insanity?

It seems that the real enemy is not as likely to be found wearing a long robe so much as a bullet-proof vest or a backpack. The man who kills me is more likely to look like my son than a foreigner. Just because it’s hard to pick out the real enemy, does not mean that we have to throw up our hands and say, “Well, that was really a tragic occurrence. Let us pray for the families of those dead and those lucky enough to still be alive. May it never happen again.” No, we need to change the way we look at the gun problem and we need to do it RIGHT NOW.

16 December 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

September 1, 2015February 26, 2019

Grief, by Will Stanton

The emotion of grief, to varying degrees, is natural for humans but potentially very toxic. The causes of grief are both external, that is, events that happen to us, and internal, one’s own nature and how prone we may be to suffering grief.

Throughout history and continuing on through today, some people have suffered extreme traumas that can affect them the whole remainder if their lives. Victims of horrendous crime, violence, war, natural cataclysms, or massive plagues, all such victims are severely tested. As a consequence, shock, loss, grief, anger and bitterness are very hard to cope with.

Just imagine, if you can, Russia’s Empress-Dowager Maria Fednorova, barely escaping with her life to Denmark after her son Nicholas II and his young family all were brutally shot to death by the Bolsheviks and their bodies dumped into pits in the forest. She struggled with her grief for ten years. Her coping mechanism was to hold out irrational hope that one or more of them somehow had survived. Of course, we now know that all their remains have been found and none survived. For most of us, the common loss of a loved one or friend, loss of job, home, or financial security, is hard enough. That certainly has been true with me.

Then, each of us is wired somewhat differently from others. Some people are quite sensitive and vulnerable to prolonged grief. There are several potential causes. Brain physiology and chemistry differ among people. This may be caused by genetics, PTSD, emotional or psychiatric anomalies, drugs or alcohol. Too often, people lack good support systems of family, regular friends or mentors. They feel more alone, vulnerable, and less resilient.

Turning grief into an energizer, a motivator for constructive thinking and behavior, is an important coping skill that people should learn and practice. In contrast, dwelling endlessly upon grief can cause devastating effects upon one’s mental and physical health. A dramatic example of this is the character of Miss Havisham in Dickens’ “Great Expectations.” Once defrauded of all her money by the beau who promised to marry her and then abandons her, she remains for years in her yellowed wedding dress, sitting in a dark, decaying mansion where all the clocks are stopped at the time she learned of her betrayal, and with the desiccated remains of the wedding breakfast and cake lying on the table. Such a mind-set and behavior are obviously destructive to health and happiness.

Like everyone, I have had my share of grief, and for various reasons. Sometimes a sense of grief comes and goes, triggered by remembrances of past times, good or bad. This is true with the loss of my partner more than eighteen years ago. I still have moments. I also still miss my wire-hair fox terrier, who had to be put to sleep two weeks after my partner died.

I’m afraid that I also am prone to a more generalized grief that some others may not suffer. There is much about human beings and the world that is unnecessarily evil and toxic, and I morn humankind’s apparent lack of the ability to feel empathy, to change and improve.

My means of coping apparently is for me to focus upon the positive, associating with loving people, appreciating beauty in all forms. My writing about this topic “Grief” provides me with the opportunity to remind myself to remain focused upon the good.