Burr

There are certain things that really bug me. Bug me more than the next person. My friend Sal used to say that I would get a burr under my saddle and just could not let it go.

One of the things that truly bothers me is my perception of the oppression of women inside western religions. It really bugs me to say that a woman has a pre-ordained roll that was given her by god.

The converse has got me into some trouble even recently, that by definition, then a man has a pre-ordained roll. My friend and I were out to lunch with her mother who was visiting. Everything was happy and we were all the best of friends till we got to the lunch place and sat down to eat and my friend’s mom insisted that I pray because I was the man. I was a bit offended. It was not an offer, it was a demand, that I pray because its my job, my roll as a man. You are saying then that my friend is not capable of praying because she has no Y chromosome. It was a silly little scuffle that got blown way out of proportion and I responded poorly to a simple statement.

Yet, the over reaching thought I came up with was simply that I don’t like it when people try and push me or anyone else into a pre-manufactured box. You don’t even bother to ask me who I am, just what name I use when I describe my eating, voting, drinking, sexual habits. That you have somehow boiled me down into a five-word title offends me. I am more than that, other people are more than that. Ask, seek, and get to know a person before you decide to judge them and put them into a pile and assign value to them.

Two rapes on deck. The violence inside our human nature rears its ugly head even in this the most ugly of places. Humans are sick fucking creatures. I am more angry at the lack of response rather than at the act in and of itself. I see the vic, I see the result, the tears, the snot, the guilt, the anger, I get to share in that all. We get daily updates about speeding tickets and parking violations, but on this subject “they” are silent. I bring it up, in email, in person. I express my deep concerns for the safety of our sisters and urge a response, anything, an email, a statement condemning it, something. Silence is worse. Silence says you don’t care one way or another. A parking ticket is of more concern.

It’s a bur under my saddle, I speak, I scream, I type, but “they” don’t want to hear. I can not make them act. Now I sit and stew. A slow bubbling anger that simmers just under the surface. I ponder what next. My answer, I do my job.