sunday

so i'm back with the gospel choir now
which means that i am singing some of the the things that conflict within me
that's okay though. conflixion is good for the soul.

i've been thinkin about my dad lately, yesterday especially. i was cutting meat into cubes and i remembered the way he used to stand just behind me, when i was about six or eight or so. no, . . . maybe about seven. anyway, i'd be up on a chair, cause i was too short to reach the counter with a knife in my hand. i was on my knees, though, so it was more like prayin at the kitchen counter. and my dad, he had these knives. all kindsa knives, big ones, small ones . . . ones that fit in your mouth. heh

i think this is where i got my love of knives and swords, but knives especially. anyway, he'd stand just over my shoulder, and give me directions--cut right here, or use this knife, or pull your fingers back . . . --it was so cool. he taught me how to cut up meat that way. we were always doing a roast, slicing it and cubing it for stew. my mom made the best beef stew--carrots, potatoes, onions . . . mouth waters just thinkin about it.

but with my dad standing over my shoulder, that's how i learned to use a knife. he was good--a chef in the navy just before i was born. i am the product of two food service-type people, and i discovered last year that we kitchen kids have neuroses that others don't tend to. chiefly, our kitchens and bathrooms must be spotless, and we get very pissed when someone comes behind us after we've cleaned and dirty up shit and leave it in the sink. that's been almost a deal-breaker for me and d; i don't tolerate dirty stuff in the kitchen unless i leave it there.

sometimes, i hear my dad in my head and i'll have these conversations with him where i'll tell him--like i did as a kid--no, dad, wait, just watch this. he did every time. and he always rubbed his chin and said, 'well, okay', when it worked--cause it always worked. i have his instincts in the kitchen and if i weren't going to seminary, i'd be going to chef school, which i might anyway later on. although most curriculums look far too theoretical for me--far too recipeish and step-by-step for my taste--it still might be fun. my stepmom the preacher used to say that that was his way of getting women, cook'em fabulous meals to hook'em, then marry'em and never set foot back in the kitchen. my dad . . . everywhere we lived, there was a girlfriend not too far away. i met one once. i was a mean little bitch to her too. that was fun.

finally found out what squidbillies are the other day. i don't keep up much, never have that way. sounds like something interesting, but not for now. i got stuff to do.

finally took my midterm at about 1130, turned it in at seven to midnight just now (er, twopointfive hours ago). i did okay. i skipped an assignment cause it was a stupid stupid assignment, so before the test i had a b. my gpa is important to me, as my kid says. got my dean's list letter last week. that was cool.

i'm headed to the dominican republic in two months. first mission trip. i'm rather excited. i'd never been out of the contiguous fifty--and not even in all of them--before summer oh four. that was the summer of puerto rico. such beautiful country. i'll be teaching for a week at one of the schools near santo domingo. better learn spanish quick. one of the perks, of course, is that this will look good on my app to wesley in a few years. but i'm going because i really do want to help and because it will add a dimension of reality to my life that's not present at present. it'll be good for me to get my hands dirty. it's a short trip, only about ten days or so, but five days in pr felt like a month so i expect this trip to be similar. i'll be working in dr just like pr, only in a different millieu.

i'm glad i'm not with one of those bible-thumpin hell-raisin churches. no matter what they say about us, they can't say that we don't give a shit and they can't say that we don't take care of our own. our kids grow up intelligent, wanted, and loved. and safe. some of us raise queer kids. some of us don't. but most of us queer parents wouldn't even be here if our straight parents hadn't raised us first. it's always funny and sad to me when straight parents reject their queer kids; they don't seem to realize where that queer kid got the courage and the insight it takes to live true to how you feel.

i look at it this way: every queer kid who tells me that s/he is queer will always get the same response as if s/he had said, 'i think i'm breathing'. queer happens, just like shit, birth, and death.

well, i gotta scare up some cash for the trip to dr.

easy