Tag: The Facts

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The Facts, by Lewis

The late Senator from New York, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, is famously quoted for saying, “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion but not their own facts”.

Thomas Jefferson has written, ““Shake off all the fears of servile prejudices, under which weak minds are servilely crouched. Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call on her tribunal for every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.”

It seems to me that there are two means by which people at various times arrive at an understanding of their world. One is to reason to a conclusion via the assimilation of all the facts that one can gather and so putting them together as to minimize dissonance. The other is to begin with the conclusion that one wishes to draw, whether in the service of faith or mere prejudice, and sifting and sorting through the facts, picking and choosing so as to not disturb the forgone conclusion.

If I were to paint with a broad enough brush, I could slather one political party with the hue of the former and the other party with the latter. I won’t tell you which is which because that would be to deny me the opportunity to put my theory of how people arrive at their understanding of the world to the test. But allow me, rather, to tell you why I feel that the fact-based means of rationalization is far the better one.

There are two kinds of truth. There is absolute truth and there is revealed truth. If we are to assume that truth matters, then it is important how one arrives at the truth. Our society is almost equally fond of both means. Congressional hearings, legal proceedings, the scientific method, and child-rearing are all based upon finding out what is true and workable and following that path. It requires setting aside preconceived notions of how things work in order to find the truth. If something is revealed which belies what I believed to be true yesterday, then I must reject my old conceptions and accept the new—at least, until it, too, is shown to be erroneous.

On the other hand, if I have been taught to believe that there are certain truths which are forever unchanging, eternal, unequivocal, then what do I do when presented with powerful evidence of their falsehood? I must either claim that the new evidence is a lie from someone who is not to be trusted; admit that I have been fooled for, lo, these many years, at the risk of losing face; or ignore the contrary evidence and hope that it goes away. This is, admittedly, a very uncomfortable position to be in. In part, I blame fundamentalist religion, in all its varied forms, for putting people in this predicament.

When you have been reared to believe that even to question “divine truth” is to risk eternal hellfire, it tends to put a damper on open-mindedness. The problem I have with these folk is when their mindset is brought to bear upon the political realm, which, at least in the United States, is constitutionally designed to be free from such influences.

All this said, I do not wish to give the impression that I am devoid of any tendency to eschew truths revealed through mystical events. Though I am a “non-believer”, in the traditional sense of that term, I have recently been starkly reminded that there are events in our lives that I have a great deal of trouble getting my mind around.

A few weeks after my husband, Laurin, died, the minister at my church, First Unitarian Society of Denver, gave a sermon on mysticism. It was about being open to the idea of things going on in the world around us that simply have no logical explanation and how that sensibility can make life easier to deal with, if not more interesting or joyful. That very night, I awoke around 2 AM, as I often did, needing to take relieve myself. Once back in bed, my mind, as it often did, began mulling over myriad things going on in my life. Still awake at 3:30, I realized that I needed to pee again. I got up, walked to the bathroom, and sat on the commode. From that vantage point, I can see my bed silhouetted against the east window. I noticed nothing peculiar. Upon returning to bed, I saw, lying on the bottom sheet where the covers had been thrown back, two facial tissues lying perfectly folded and flat, one slightly overlapping the other. They looked as if they had been carefully pressed, not as if I had lain on them during the night. I was certain that they were not there the previous morning when I made the bed. I had not been crying during the night nor had any other use for a tissue.

I spent the next two hours agonizing over how those tissues got there. I did not believe in life after death. I did not believe in ghosts or spirits. Yet, there was no “factual” explanation for what I had discovered. My sobs were so loud, I’m almost sure my neighbor must have heard them. It took Shari and Michelle from the SAGE Caregiver Support group to help me realize that what I witnessed might have been a sign from Laurin that, after so many years of my taking care of him, now it was his turn.

Even now, five months to the day after Laurin’s passing, I cannot write these words without breaking down. I now can admit, without flinching, that, yes, there are facts–and facts matter. But there are also phantoms and shadows that invite us to become their friends. Suddenly, the world has become a place of true wonder.

© 23 March 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.

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Facts by Michael King


I am more aware of my memory than when I was younger. I have become increasingly conscious of how the things remembered are isolated pieces of time, interaction, momentous events, strong emotions and other seemingly significant events in my past. Sometimes I will recall something of no particular importance with any particular feeling attached. It is from this awareness that I approach the topic for Monday, “Facts.”


It is my understanding that in a trial there may be numerous witnesses that observed a crime. Without coordination they may tell very different stories about the event. There is no reason to question their honesty, but what are the facts? Facts seem to be an elusive kind of reasonable makes-sense explanation regarding any given situation. It seems the mind will interpret experience in a way that seems plausible. If that is the case then facts are something that seems to be the most probable rather than the actual reality.


In “Telling my Story” I am usually aware that my memories are the perceptions that I now have of people and events in contrast to how I might have perceived those memories 25 years ago, 50 years ago, 70 years ago or even yesterday. What are the facts? Usually the date, the people, the place and the event are factual. Then are the particulars as to the surroundings. And becoming more vague would be the probable small details if recalled at all and then in the interpretation of the facts are the more distortive emotions and feelings. All these factors contribute to the probable facts related to any situation.


It amazes me that there are people that will respond to a question with the word “absolutely.” Either they are conning someone, trying to sell something or are unaware of how ludicrous their comment is. I’m convinced that being factual is not very important to some people and not particularly expected. There are many examples where people aren’t even aware of their distortions or perhaps don’t care if there is accuracy in either their thoughts or comments.


My conclusion is that to be factual is variable to the persons, events, memories, observations and philosophies. Perhaps more factual would be scientific evidence. Even then there is much room for interpretation. That is a fact.


Now, after that disclaimer, I’ll share a few facts about me. I am a 73 year old male humanoid mortal living on my planet of nativity. I was twice wed and divorced, fathered four children and am the grandfather of two men and a woman and two very young granddaughters. I live in Denver, Colorado with my partner Merlyn. I am an active openly gay eccentric who wears ear bobs, sports tattoos and piercings and has fairly colorful wardrobe. I paint and do sculpture, write stories for “Story Time,” help set up for the Prime Timers’ “Nooners,” volunteer at the GLBT Center, go antiquing and visit thrift stores, cook, eat, drink vodka, go to plays, stage performances, ballet and opera, exercise at the Y, walk, ride the bus and Merlyn’s Suburban, watch movies, porn and TV, talk to my family and sometimes get together with them, And then there are those other facts that shall go unsaid.

© 23 March 2013

About
the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Details! by Donny Kaye

One of the first television shows I really enjoyed as a kid was Dragnet with Sgt. Joe Friday and his partner, Frank Smith. One of his iconic lines for which I remember him most is, “Just the facts ma’am, just the facts!” My formative years were influenced by Joe Friday especially living with a mom who seemed to be able to find objection as details were shared. When I stuck to the facts I was more inclined to be allowed to do what I wanted to do than if I embellished at all with details. It seemed that the details of who I heard something from or where I heard it often resulted in restrictions that weren’t at all favorable to the interests of a young eight, nine, 10-year-old boy. I remember being banned from Jimmy because I attributed my use of SOB to him when questioned by my mother as to “where had I heard that language,” totally disregarding that my father used it frequently. Plus absolutely no credit was given me when using the term appropriately, in reference to my male dog. Our clubhouse was suspect, as was the far north side of our neighborhood where my friend Eddie lived and where I first tried puffing on a cigarette, not fully. Appreciating how detectable the smell of smoke was! I also learned that there were times when I could embellish with details, often which were made up, and I might receive favorable judgment and consequently, allowance to do what I wanted to do. What I realize now some 55 years later, is that those formative years and ability to stick with the facts as well as to embellish with detail when thought necessary became a way of life for me especially as a closeted man with stories that couldn’t be told without, what I presumed, severe implications and consequence. Leaving out the details of one’s life makes for a rather bland and unremarkable life experience. While at the same time trying to keep straight all of the embellishments thought necessary to cover that which seemed so necessary along life’s way, make for an interesting dilemma when trying to recollect the stories of the past. The experience of Storytime at the Center each Monday has helped me to reconnect with the richness of who it is that I am as a man who has recently come out of the closet. Beyond the opportunity to reclaim the stories that are my past, this experience is helping to create an attention to life’s details that is unparalleled.

Increasingly I am in a state of wonder and awe not only at who I am but who it is that journeys with me in this experience called “MyLife.” The details of my life are rich, exciting and inspired. My life is the unfolding experience of grace and passion. The details making each moment beyond what I could’ve imagined. I pay attention to the details not in a perfectionistic kind of way which I had refined over my lifetime but in regards to the quality that is brought to each of life’s moments as a result of being present to the detail if each moment. Just the facts? Awe, come on and tell me a little bit more of the juicy stuff that makes one squirm!

About the Author

Donny Kaye–Is a native born Denverite. He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male. In recent years he has confronted the pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life. “I never forgot for a minute that I was what my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of his memory. Within the past two years he has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three children, their partners and countless extended family and friends. Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected with his family. He lives in the Capitol Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community.

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All About the Wonderful World of Fact(s) by Jon Krey

To begin
with I’ve never seen a fact that is, in fact, a fact. Factually there are
always questions about facts and that’s a fact.

As a matter of fact I dealt with facts back when I was
working. Facts are a necessity in my former fact laced field.
However, I’m never sure about the facts either. Once while
depending on some facts to be sent by fax I found that the fax didn’t get…
the…facts….to me in time to present the… uhh…facts… printed by the fax. This
didn’t sit well with the court who needed the facts from the fax factually so I
could present these….same …facts….to the court since those…. facts …which determined
the factual decision made by the  judge…who…would…judge
the…facts…

He already knew that most facts are NOT factual anyway and
so when the fax failed to submit…these….facts for me he’d already made up his
mind based on what he knew about…the… facts…and made the proper decision based
on the facts, or lack of facts as he knew those… facts… to… be?!

Therefore, in the end not having the facts because the damned
fax machine didn’t work…was, was …….faxually…nonfactual…….


Oh, factity factity,
factity, fax! I’m losing my faxing mind so JUST FACT or FAX IT! I don’t care!!!!! I’m sick to death of
“facts” sent by fax and nothing but the….f,f,f,f,f.


Forget it! I already
have.  Shit!
© 29 April 2013

About the Author



“I’m just a guy from
Tulsa (God forbid). So overlook my shortcomings, they’re an illusion.”











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The Facts by Donny Kaye

The fact is that I am a man of a certain sexual persuasion. As a man of a certain sexual persuasion I am finding a new, more relaxed countenance in which to experience the challenges as well as joys of life’s twists and turns. In this place of honesty, I find myself in a continuing revelation of happiness as I experience all that is my life without feelings of reservation about just being me. The fact is that I’ve not always experienced my life from this perspective. There had always been a reservation about me that if anyone in my life knew that I liked men in the way that I do, I would be judged and excluded from relationships as primary as my parents, siblings and immediate family, not to mention my own children, former life partner and friends who had become part of the fabric of my life, over sixty plus years of existence on the planet. The fact is that I worked very hard to create an illusion about my identity that even had me fooled for much of my life. That expectation started for me in the earliest years of my life when I was declared “such a good little boy” by my parents and others immediately engaged with me in life. The fact is that “when striving to be the best little boy,” even in the body of a grown man, there was no spaciousness for someone who preferred men. This meant that I spent a lot of my energy loathing the very essence of me. The fact is that by creating an illusion about my very nature I have consequently created a situation where those who were close to me are still searching to define their relationship with me now. What I have realized is that there is a disconnection that has occurred with others as I have worked to connect with myself. The fact is My life belongs to me. Those close to me are fortunate that I am sharing it with them. If I love them I cannot share a lie. If they are to love me, I will let them love me. The fact is this has resulted in losing the love of a lot of people, at least temporarily. But if they loved a character that I was playing for them, if they loved someone who wasn’t me, then that love was already dead. The fact is there are people in the world who will love me for who I truly am. The experience I am realizing now, having come out, is that happiness is more complete when not holding reservation about being who I am. The fact is I had money, careers, degrees, vacations, every material thing! Nothing ever made me as deeply happy as “coming out”!

About the Author

Donny Kaye-Is a native born Denverite. He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male. In recent years he has confronted the pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life. “I never forgot for a minute that I was what my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of his memory. Within the past two years he has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three children, their partners and countless extended family and friends. Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected with his family. He lives in the Capitol Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community.

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The Facts by Merlyn

Americans live in a world where the facts don’t mean anything.

I have finally realized that people don’t want to know the facts about what is really happening in the world and choose to believe the lies they see on FOX and CNN.

When Iran, Germany, China, Russia, Asia times and Australian web sites all have the same story and that story isn’t even mentioned on American TV or web sites, I tend to believe the foreign news.

I’m not going to say anything about what is going on today in the real world because I don’t think anyone really wants to know about things that they can’t do anything about.
I used to spend hours every day looking for the FACTs.

For the last two years I have stopped looking at American TV news. I’m down to about 15 minutes a day reading the headlines on the foreign web sites.

About the Author

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day.

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The Facts by Will Stanton

These are the facts and only the facts. I’m not Detective-Sergeant Joe Friday from the old TV show “Dragnet,” but what I’m about to tell you are just the facts as I know them…all except the family name. I’m sure that there still are family members about, and I would not wish to make any of them uncomfortable should any of them read this. So, I’ve altered the surname.

When I met and interacted with members of the Tanner family years ago, I found them to be rather interesting. I suppose that, in some ways, they were similar to many middle-class families; however, in other ways, they had some memorable qualities.

One unusual fact was that the Tanner parents had, as it was described to me by friends, two sets of children. They had married early and had a bunch of kids. As Mr. Tanner’s career blossomed, his pay increased dramatically, and his kids were growing up, they foresaw their ending up with an empty nest sooner than they would like. The parents decided that they really wished to have more children. So, they had four more.

I met John Tanner in college through a friend of mine, Jim. John was from the first bunch of kids. He also was gay. He was majoring in modern dance, something not many students consider for a college major. Naturally, he was quite physically fit from years of dance training. His youngest brother and sister liked to punch him in the butt and call him “Iron Butt.”

John was one of fraternal triplets. That means, of course, that they all were born about the same time; however, that did not mean that their appearances or personalities would be totally alike. There have been some amazing studies of identical siblings, proving that, even when separated at birth, their appearances, personalities, and lives often match remarkably. Not in the case of these fraternal triplets. One of John’s close friends told me that one boy grew up to be a rather straight-laced, conservative-behaving young man. He described the second one as a pot-smoking hippy, although I had no knowledge of that myself. John was a totally different case, altogether.

John apparently felt comfortable openly participating in the ongoing gay culture of the time. I was not fully aware of all his friends or his activities with them, but he certainly did not seem concerned about his openness. In contrast, I never have been very adventuresome. The closest that I ever came to being fancy-free like John occurred spontaneously. I just happened to bump into him one morning, and he suggested that we take a drive together up into the hills to see the blossoming redbud and dogwood, just to enjoy the spring day. We drove out along a long ridge-road to an abandoned lane that led down the hill and deep into a woods. Some distance down, we parked and got out to stretch our legs. In our conversation, he remarked that he had noticed that I was just as physically fit as he was because of my many years of athletic training. That remark did not lead to anything intimate. What we did do, at his suggestion, was to take off all our clothes and to run merrily down the lane into the woods and eventually back again, rather like young colts in springtime. (Sorry. If you were expecting more to this story, that was all there was.)

I learned more about the Tanner family when Jim and I were invited during spring break to John’s home in Kentucky. His father had an important industrial position and apparently was making good money, so his parents were able to build a rather spacious home there in the style of a French chateau. All the interior woodwork and trim were painted white. The spotless white of the interior was complemented by sky-blue wool carpet, custom-ordered from the Burlington factory. Once inside the home, everyone was required to take off his shoes and walk about only in stocking-feet.

I am not sure if any of the older bunch of offspring lived at home; but the four younger kids did. There was fifteen-year-old Jason, his twelve or thirteen-year-old brother, a brother of nine, and an even younger sister. They all were there in the daytime; however, I noticed that Mom had arranged for Jason and the next oldest brother to sleep over with neighbors during our stay. I assume that was to accommodate us guests, although I would have been happy to make do any place in that spacious home. Jim remarked that maybe Mom was keeping the older guys safe from any unwanted attentions. I was uncomfortable with the possibility that she could think such a thing because neither Jim nor I would have engaged in any untoward behavior and certainly not as guests.

As in most families, there was a certain physical resemblance among all the offspring. This was true with the Tanner family, but there was something rather special about Jason. Before our journey to Kentucky, John had forewarned Jim and me that we would be surprised by Jason’s remarkable appearance. We also had heard the same thing from a number of John’s friends. Over the next day or two, we also discovered that Mom was very aware that Jason often attracted attention.

Now remember, I’m just telling you the facts…no exaggeration. All the Tanners were relatively good looking; however, Jason was different. He was stunning, and everyone, including Jason, knew it. His facial features were more perfect than the other brothers’. His skin was flawless and somehow had a richer, warmer color. His dark hair was luxurious, his form lithe and graceful; and his sky-blue eyes made the blue of the carpet seem faded. What John previously had told us was no exaggeration.

Now, for a mother who might have been concerned about too much attention being paid to Jason, she ironically chose to buy clothes that made him stand out from the others. I recall sitting in the living room with everyone when Jason entered. The sister was wearing a blue dress, and all of the rest, including Jim and me, were dressed in blue jeans and lighter-blue shirts or white T-shirts, very much blending in with the home’s decor…that is, all except Jason. He was dressed in startling-lemon-yellow T-shirt and little shorts, which beautifully complemented his handsome face and long, tanned legs. Jason stood out like a peacock among crows. I really suspect that she consciously tended to dress Jason in a more eye-catching manner than the others. She recognized his exceptional appearance and proudly chose to emphasize it.

This perception was substantiated by what Mom, herself, told us. She seemed eager to relate to us an incident confirming what an astonishing impact Jason’s appearance made upon other people. She had gone shopping, and Jason accompanied her into a small shop. No sooner had the two of them entered the little shop than the woman by the counter loudly exclaimed, “Oh…my…God! You…are…so…beautiful! And your eyes! They’re…so…blue! How old are you? If I wait three years, will you marry me?” Apparently, Mom was not offended, and innocent Jason was pleased but mystified.

Once home, he asked his mother, “Am I really beautiful?” She answered, “Yes, you are very handsome, but you must not let that go to your head and make you arrogant.” Ironically, her own pride may have gone to her head, for I still find it curious that she told us this story. So obviously, all those comments about Jason that we had heard from John and his friends really were true.

We did see Jason and the family one more time when they came to the university for John’s graduation and his modern-dance recital. John was dressed only in a primitive wrap about his loins and nothing else. As he went through his solo routine, his family watched. I can imagine that, under their quiet appearance, they were somewhat uncomfortable…all, that is, except Jason, who seemed to be enjoying it immensely. From time to time, he would turn to glance at Jim and me with a big, mischievous grin.

That was the last time that I saw John, Jason, and the rest of the family. I learned later that John had gone to New York City and threw himself into the local lifestyle with gay abandon. I also heard that, on occasion, he would dance nude on top of bar counters, apparently proud of his own body and for the titillation of the bar crowd.

Those were the days when we did not have the facts about certain matters as we do now, and John’s lifestyle came back to haunt him…big-time. His story ends on a very sad note. His close friend reported to us that John ended up back in his parents’ home in Kentucky, dying of AIDS; and he passed away with his head in his mother’s arms, one of many tragic losses during that era.

Since then, I have lost track of the Tanners. I had no particular reason to stay in touch. I still have, however, lasting memories of the family, exuberant John, and, of course, the astonishing Jason. I always have wondered what happened to him. So many years have gone by since that trip to Kentucky. I have a feeling that he lives in his home town, and I want to believe that he has done well for himself.

I wonder what would happen if, by chance, some acquaintance of his came upon this story on our blog. It might ring a bell. He might approach Jason and say, “I found this story on a blog, and it reminded me of your family. Are you the Jason in this story?” If so, I hope that he is not offended that I have written about his family or is embarrassed knowing that he made such a lasting impression on people. I certainly have not forgotten, and that’s a fact.

© 15 February 2013

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.