Union. Ivy. blueblood. aristocracy. old money. brownstone townhouses. this my inheritance. lakes region retreats. soft, sensitive, privileged big feet. don’t require a crosswalk to get across the street. just a cashmere wrapped waist of floral watercolors would arrest them. skidding to a stop to let them pass by. i guess to let us pass by. nobody could replace them. nobody could replace us. in the history books all over the many and diverse states of america, no uprising, uproar nor campaign could erase them. erase us. not now, atleast.
So privileged yet diminished was i, young, with a voice not yet heard, and when heard, silenced often if not quickly. youngest of my tribe, i would need evocative presentation to capture their imagination. early on i learned needed to grip their hearts with fear. not only would i come out liberal, i would also come out like fluid on identity continuums.
Halloween? easily my favorite of holidays all year. tp the trees. smashing pumpkins all over the place. stealing candy left out in trays by out-of-towners. upscale hoods. haunted houses get egged. fake cemeteries. blindfolded with hands in spaghetti in popcorn bowls we took for nightcrawlers. for goodness grace. i took it all in, the freaks in the streets. the costumes. on any other day, the question would confront me. Why or how was i so out of place?