Meditation for Queer Femmes – Who Gets the Love?

Over the weekend, my butch husband and I attended Swingtime, a queer dance that has been going strong for over 25 years. The political atmosphere of the nation, our recent firming up of a decision to try and retire in Ptown and subsequent intense desire for this to happen immediately, the fact that our younger son graduated from high school Saturday and is flying full tilt out of the nest, and the pain and feelings of helplessness around our elder son’s health issues all made for a pretty emotional weekend. We were ready to relax and dance with our people, let me tell you.

There is a lesson in swing dancing to start the evening. I found myself dancing several times with a very sweet young person, a BBW, a young woman of color visiting from the Midwest. I went into Gay Mom mode, encouraging her and teasing her gently, as Gay Moms are wont to do. She was such a sweetheart and I enjoyed getting to know her a little bit. Suddenly, I must have gotten a little too gay, because she started mentioning her boyfriend, how he thinks it’s odd that she likes hanging out with gay people so much, but that she feels so much love and acceptance from gay people, and she loves them in return. I think I managed to control my face, and I know that I subsequently met her mom and her aunts (who are a lesbian couple), and I believe I did not betray my surprise. I hope I was able to keep my disappointment that she wasn’t queer to myself, but it definitely got me thinking and fretting, and I’ve been picking away at this ball of confusion for the past couple of days.

A queer friend remarked, upon hearing this story, “I go to a queer event to relax, and I don’t want to be tricked into giving away my queer love to straight people just because they’re comfortable in our space.”

Part of me agrees whole-heartedly, because that’s definitely some of what I’m feeling. But I am also thinking about how I have been learning about and fighting against racism since I was in elementary school, and I have been a feminist for almost as long. How could I possibly begrudge this lovely, dear child of color and of size the experience of feeling embraced and loved and safe? I know that it is systemic oppression and the status quo that revel in members of oppressed groups pitting themselves against each other, that all the work I do with queer youth is about helping to open space where all youth will be able to fully be themselves, and I know also, that, as my gal Pema Chodron says, “if you decide to open the door to everyone, you give up being able to chose who walks through”, and yet, and yet. I did feel a little tricked, even though I often wear a button that says, “Assume nothing.”

Anger is so easy to go to, especially now. My nerves are frayed, I’m exhausted, and I feel old and sometimes pretty hopeless and helpless. I wanted to dance. I did dance, the whole night, and a few of those dances were with this young woman, who was kind and sweet and open-hearted. It’s complicated. It’s deep. There are no easy answers, except, perhaps, a space opened and maintained with integrity and love will attract those who are themselves loving and in need of love.

 Every Monday (or Tuesday or even Wednesday), I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was a fabulous straight femme, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.

 

 

Published in: on June 5, 2017 at 10:02 AM  Leave a Comment  
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Feral Queers

First of all, I’m sorry I left you hanging at a rather suspenseful moment last post! I’m happy to relay that my Dad is fine and both my folks are doing really well.

And now, to our irregularly scheduled blog post:

 

On a recent suburban evening, Tex and I took ourselves off to the local library where we were looking forward to participating in the Queer Book Group run by our simply marvelous local lesbian librarian. We were to discuss Orange is the New Black and for the very first time, Tex had finished the selection and I had not.

 

Imagine our surprise when we got there to discover two earnest straight white ladies sitting at the head of our QBG table with a clipboard and a lot to say. I remembered, just barely, hearing that our fearless lesbian librarian leader had engaged these folks to bring their knowledge about prison activism to our discussion that evening. Tex, however, didn’t have a clue, and was forced to leave the room when one of these horribly entitled, condescending gals sang out, “So, do you want to talk about QUEERS in prison now?” (No, certainly not with you, and plus, you don’t get to say queer, and double plus, you don’t know shit about it, so shut up!)

 

See, me and Tex are kind of feral queers, and when we manage to make it to a queer event, we just want to be with other queers. We live out here in the straight wilderness, having to don protective coloring and full-body armor, dodging homophobic bullets right and left, trying to keep our queer selves and dignity intact and functioning despite the lack of any kind of harbor of decency, and we are fucking tired. It’s desperate for us, no fucking joke.

 

After the straight ladies finally left, Tex voiced so many grumpy complaints that when we got home she had to write an apologetic email to our fabulous lesbian librarian. (“Dude, don’t give it another thought,” came the gracious reply.)

 

I managed to hold it together with the straight ladies, but I am sorry to say that I made the vomit gesture when same fabulous lesbian librarian leader reminded us that we’re reading Rubyfruit Jungle for next time. I hated that anti-butch/femme book (took it quite personally), but who cares? The QBG is so wonderful it doesn’t matter what we’re discussing, but somehow, I still couldn’t stop myself from reacting in this unfiltered fashion.

 

When Tex and I get around other queers these days, we get dangerously amped up. We tend to erupt with loud comments that are often uncouth, poorly timed, and unruly. We sputter, laugh too loudly, and make jokes in dubious taste, startling more decorous queers and potentially ruining our chances of finding new queer friends. Tex says she used to be disciplined in grade school for disrupting class, and that’s exactly how she feels now at QBG. And I’m so desperate for queer culture that any book, film or webseries QBG members recommend or say they’re enjoying, I shout, “IS IT QUEER?” so you might as well call me the queer one-note Sally and, as we know, she usually ends up eating lunch all by herself. Tex and I worry that we are crude, offensive, and generally unfit for polite company.

 

But isn’t it also true that we could all do with more queer love than we’re getting? Surely we’re not alone in this. Yesterday, at the homeschoolers QSA, one of the members related an episode where she bonded with a passing gay boy about her new jellies. She’s a modern queer teen on the go, with a coterie of fabulous friends of all sexualities and genders, and yet sharing a squeal or two with a sweet flaming stranger completely made her day. When she told the story, everyone at the QSA sighed and cooed and nodded and smiled and smiled.

 

We need each other so badly! So give up the sugar, my sisters and brothers. Smile at each other, break out a friendly wink, an air kiss, an understanding grin. Spread the fairy dust and queer up this old world. See each other and gather each other in.

 

 

 

Published in: on November 12, 2014 at 10:34 AM  Comments (3)  
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