Who are you?

I am a woman.  I am black.  I don’t keep up with the latest trends.  I don’t have the newest car.  I live in a run-down apartment building.  I don’t have time to hang at the mall or party.  I work 30 hours a week.  I go to school.  I take care of my family. 

I am a man.  I am homosexual.  I am a musician.  An artist.  I don’t play your sports.  I don’t wear pants that sag to my knees and shirts that could fit two of me.  I don’t throw spit wads, wrestle for fun, or shove smaller people into lockers, garbage cans, or various other enclosed spaces.

I am a woman.  I am atheist.  I don’t run to church every Sunday to try to make up for my sins.  I don’t wear skin-tight “cute clothes” to entice guys.  I don’t follow rules I disagree with, and I refuse to suffocate my personality with conformity.

I am a man.  A boy.  I was brutally raped when I was six.  I am small.  I am quiet, withdrawn, and lack self-confidence.  I don’t rough-house and I don’t yell.  I don’t fight back when people shove me aside, and I don’t fight back when people dismiss me at a glance.

And who are you?

You are star of the basketball team.  You always have perfect hair.  Your car always gleams as if recently polished.  You are a devout Christian.  Your friends follow you in hordes and flock around you like moths to a flame.  You have the perfect body.  The universe centers around you.

You jibe and prod, point and laugh scornfully.  Your eyes pass over that which you wish to ignore.  What you can not ignore you attack.  Be it innocent, unprepared, or defenseless, you do not care.  What threatens you must be eliminated.

But what is the threat?  A difference of opinion.  Of sexuality.  Of personality.  Odd that something so minor becomes so important.

Does it matter that my clothes are not like yours?  Is it evil to contest the boundaries of “polite society”?  Am I a foul creature for avoiding personal contact or appreciating the virtues of the same sex?

Yes, I see.  It does.  It is.  I am.

The world goes right and I go left.  Whether by choice or unwillingly, I am not the same as you, and for this I am persecuted.  Eyebrows raise and noses sniff self-righteously when I walk by.  Conversation is cut short when I near a group.  Eyes follow me warily down the hallway as they would an unfamiliar dog roaming the streets.  A stray hand shoots out to knock me into a conveniently situated garbage can. 

Is this fair treatment?  Does God condone such actions?  Do you feel that religion will justify this for you?  The Bible says homosexuality is evil, and therefore it must be so.  The Bible doesn’t lie.  Yet does this same Bible not also say to love your neighbor as you would love yourself?  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

But do you ever see the other end of hypocrisy?  Does the boy you just beat up ever come back the next day and blacken your eye?  Does the girl you just pressed to tears titter and gossip about you behind your back?  No, of course not.  There’s nothing for anyone to judge about you.

Perfection is impossible, yet you still strive for it.  I still strive for it.  And it is a futile effort.  No one is going to be pronounced perfect one day, and for one important reason.  Perfection is relative.  I believe perfection is independence, acceptance, open-mindedness, fearlessness.  You believe perfection is standing above others.

You need others to believe in you, because you can not do it yourself.  They boost your self-image and your confidence sky-rockets, but this is not strength.  This is dependence of the worst kind.  Those who do not willingly bow down to your glory are forced to, and your power increases with each blow to their soul.

But who are you?

Do you have some pre-ordained destiny to make humanity dance to your tune?  Does God speak to you personally about his plans for the universe?  Do you have little chats and plan out your next step in the homogenization of humankind?

What right do you have to judge me?  I am an individual.  I may not be as good-looking as you or have as much money.  My childhood may not have been as easy as yours, and I may think differently than you do.  But I am my own person.  I am a free-thinker.

So I ask again: Who are you?

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