What’s Your Sign? by Phillip Hoyle

What’s your sign? I’ve been asked, but probably missed what was happening either because I don’t interpret questions as come-ons or more probably because I feel aversion to any archaic system of interpreting human behavior. I readily admit to being prejudiced in this matter. I’m wary due to my inattention to emotional signs; I just don’t read people well. I’m also wary due to Christian teaching and scientific methodology, both of which in the forms I got them rejected the reading of stars as omens. Were I asked, “What’s your sign?” I’d either want to explore these ideas intellectually or judge the person asking me as someone I’d not want to become intimate with—but those are my problems. In admitting these things I really wonder if my prejudice serves simply as one more defense to protect me from predators.

Oh I can answer: for instance, if you are interested, I’m a Cancer, but it seems such a lame sign as if I’m the victim of a diagnosis. Then to add on to that there’s the image of being a crustaceous crab or someone who walks backwards or sideways when what I really am interested in from life is that it be enjoyable. I certainly don’t want to become someone’s dinner. The Zodiac sign just doesn’t stick with me at a superficial level. This moniker Cancer, this superficial analytical device approached superficially for superficial reasons doesn’t attract me in any way.

In general, I find the Zodiac about as interesting as I find the medieval meditations on the temperaments. For me they have their place in history. I recall my good friend Gerry McMillin being put off by a book on the Zodiac and the Gospels, a volume that a student and friend lent her. When she told me she probably would return it unread, I reminded her that astrology was the astronomy of the biblical eras. I elaborated that according to the Jewish historian Josephus, a contemporary of the earliest Christian period, the Zodiac had a major architectural presence in Herod’s temple. Furthermore I added that I do think it strange that if this phenomenon was no good as in evil, Satanic, or against God, why didn’t Jesus the prophet and subject of the Gospels rail against it? He did preach against the money exchanges in the same temple. My friend was then able to read the book and somewhat see its logic. Still, like her, I’m not much interested in the Zodiac or in casual discussions of its details.

Super-rationalist me doesn’t want the imposition of magical formulae for analysis of personality type or prediction of future or fate, or… whatever. I have always been more interested in modern analytical categories, but eventually I came to see that norms established in psychotherapeutic practice, in sociological inquiry, and even in education-related developmental schemes often are used against people rather than for them. They are thought to describe the perfect person against which one must be judged rather than simply averages of assessment. Such norms are conscripted for court use in civil and criminal proceedings by both prosecutors and defenders. They are used to demean cultures different than those based on Euro-American values. And the modern behavioral norms really haven’t changed all that much from their ancient counterparts—which means they are imbued or endowed or stink of the fear of the beyond, powers over which humans have no control, and so forth. So I laugh at being asked “What’s your sign?”

Oh, I’m polite, because really I don’t know what the asker is wanting: for example, does the interlocutor simply want conversation? Not bad in itself. Does the person want an answer to easily fit me into some convenient category? I will only disappoint. Does he or she want to know me for what I am? That’s going to take more than a conversation. Is the asker on some drug that makes the esoteric knowledge afforded by the Zodiac real? I’m not at all interested. Is my inquirerer a lay pop psychologist? Still not interested. Is this person a deep thinker trying to assess me in my approach to life? This will take a long time; we’ll need many meetings and carafes of coffee and probably some wine. You see, many possibilities make me both interested and wary.

What to answer? I could say:
“I’m a Cancer but probably not in the way you mean.” or
“I’m a Cancer but not all that moody.” or
“I’m a Cancer but an unpredictable cusper.” or
“I’m a Cancer but probably not what you’re looking for.”

Now, if with dark browns enhanced by natural eye shadow and a slight downturn shape at the lateral edges that crinkle when laughing, and should those eyes look longingly into my hazels and ask: “What’s your sign?” I’ll probably not have anything to say but may really get confused and confounded by the question and not worry over why it was asked. I’ll simply say, “Sure,” and pay the bar bill and say, “Let’s go.”

© Denver, 2013

About the Author 



Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

What’s Your Sign? by Gillian


I’m a sign of the times.

I am a woman with more freedom than any previous generation in the history of humankind.

I have freedom of expression, and self-determination of my life, which women of the past could scarcely dream of.

I vote, a privilege not extended to all women in the U.S. until 1920, with the passage of the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, although in Colorado, women gained the right to vote in 1893.

I have complete control over my own property, a privilege not extended to American women until 1900.

I can even purchase my own property, a privilege I was astonished to find not extended to me in 1966. I had a good job and determined to buy a house; a very modest, two-bedroom frame house, the likes of which have mostly become “scrape-offs” in recent years. However, I found that although I could qualify with my income, I could not get a loan. This refusal certainly had nothing to do with my being a lesbian; it would take another 20 years for ME to figure that one out! It was because …. What would happen if I became pregnant? As an unmarried woman I had no one to pick up my debts when I had to quit work. (Hey, perhaps being a lesbian might actually have been an advantage!) Poor innocent little ol’ me. I had no idea that only one in a thousand women (0.1%) owned homes in 1960, but, WOW, by 1970 we zoomed all the way up to a shaky two in a thousand (0.2%). Currently, single women are around 20% of homebuyers while single men account for only 10%.

Just in my lifetime, how things have changed. I own my home, I own and drive my car, I manage my own money. I haven’t worn a skirt since I retired; I am free to follow fashion or ignore it. I am free to follow social mores or ignore them.

I talk about religion and politics, very much verboten in my youth, and, still worse, about sex!

I have lived with my beautiful Betsy for over 25 years. Far from causing us to live in fear, this fact does not seem to faze anyone among our acquaintances, friends, and families. And now, in July 2013, neither does it, according to the Supreme Court, threaten all those straight marriages out there. Which, by the way, are failing at a rate exceeding 50%.

Like many older people, I get a bit curmudgeonly at times, bemoaning today’s world and muttering on about how things are not what they used to be.

How happy I should be that they are not!

I have lived, and am living, in the best possible time.

I am indeed, and delighted to be, a sign of the times.

© 6 July 1913 

About the Author  

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

What’s Your Sign? by Will Stanton

I am hoping that my sign does not become the humorous road-crossing sign that I downloaded from the web. Someone made and planted next to a street a road sign stating, “Warning. Geezer Crossing.”

On the sign, there was an image of a bent, old man with a cane. And in the background of the photo, was an actual bent, old man with a cane with an identical profile, slowly crossing the road. Funny, but a little sad, too.

When it comes to astrological signs, I cannot say that I “believe” in the art. My parents drummed into me to be, in their way of thinking, always “realistic.” So, I do not look at the daily horoscopes, nor do I ask to have astrological charts made for me. I have to say, however, that way back in college, a girl expressed a desire to do my chart; and the results were surprisingly accurate, even in small details. I found it to be somewhat interesting, but I stuck it away in a cupboard and never have referred to it in order to make decisions in life. I regarded it with the same mild curiosity as I have with the revelations of people who have read the lines in my palms or looked at Tarot cards. Those, too, seemed to be accurate. But again, I never felt that there was a practical use for that information. Maybe I missed out on something. Maybe I might have made better decisions in life.

I suppose that I could claim that various other signs, other than astrological, represent me, at least to some degree. The treble and bass clefs found on musical scores might be considered to be representative of my nature, music being a major interest of mine. Unfortunately, retardando might be my current sign, because I appear to be slowing down. Allegro, or more so, prestissimo, as I felt in my youth, no longer are my signs, although I wish that they were.

I am aware that, especially during rush-hour, many drivers utilize various signs. Those are not my signs; I don’t use them. I prefer not to be run off the road or shot. I use my fingers trying to play piano.

I do not know sign language. Perhaps more of us should. That would be considerate, should we encounter a hearing-impaired person. In addition, I certainly wish that, when my friends and I hope for a pleasant dinner in a restaurant, that far more people would use sign language as opposed to having too many drinks and then speaking extremely loudly and shrieking with laughter. In one restaurant, the noise was so intense that a couple and I gave up trying to carry on a conversation. They always carry ear plugs with them for loud movies, and they stuck in their ear plugs. I don’t blame them. The food was good, but we are not going back to that restaurant unless it is on an off-time.

There are signs that I prefer to use a lot. These are non-verbal signs that I use to communicate with others my affection and approval, my caring and empathy. A genuine smile has become one of my most naturally employed signs. Especially in today’s world, there is too little of that.

© 5
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.