From the Mouth of Babes
What an interesting and exciting weekend I experienced!
On Friday evening I gathered to celebrate the life of a friend’s mother who recently passed away. It was a beautiful service and one that paid tribute to a life well lived and a life that had substance and meaning. A life-long Librarian who shared her love of books and reading with many young children over the years, her memorial service reminded me that the goal for all of us should be to make the world better for those who follow us and to enrich the lives of those who come in contact with us: A pretty big goal for all of us.
Saturday was a tossup between going to a football game or staying at home. I chose the latter. Did some work on a web site and just enjoyed the nothingness of Saturday evening at home. A rare occurrence so very much enjoyed.
Sunday was Come Out With Pride in Orlando. My house-mate and I went to Lake Eola around 1:30 and made the tour of the booths set up by various organizations and businesses. Ran into a lot of friends and acquaintances and enjoyed a fun time—just really hot. Watched the Come Out With Pride parade and took a lot of pictures. Attended the rally at the band shell and wished more people would learn about Toastmaster’s. Overall, a wonderful time; then it happened.
As we were leaving the park we ran into a cute little group of children-7 of them to be exact. Their ages appeared to be between 9 and 5. Cute looking little children…then they started talking to the group of 4 guys walking in front of us. It was crushing having just celebrated the experience of pride to hear these children call the guys faggots—over and over again. In the process, as we passed one of the bar stations the smallest child reached up and grabbed the tip jar from the bar. She put it back when the older child told her to do so. It helped, of course, that the bar tenders were headed towards her.
The faggot talk continued and the boy even suggested something we could all try to cure us—I tried it years ago but didn’t think it appropriate to discuss it with a 9 year old. One of the guys in the larger group, finally fed up with the children, told the boy he had tried his suggestion with his mother and she wasn’t very good. The little boy was just about to attack the older young man when another kid said, “Don’t hit him. He’ll call the cops and have you arrested. It’s what they do.” They walked on continuing their discussion of the faggot parade until the police finally came and ran them out of the area.
I thought a lot last night about the child’s comments. I did not grow up being called names. I was not “obviously gay.” I played football and basketball so I was not a stereotype. But I will never forget the first time someone called me a faggot. That sticks in my head like few other things. What an ending to a fun and interesting weekend. And the kid was right. If he had hit the other young adult I would have called the cops. It is what I do. It is what we all should do but I am crushed that he has learned such hatred at such a young age. Happy Pride!
