Can you please help me please?

As I Ideate Full On Re: Features & Guest Authors

(Okay, the following intro paragraph is going to hurt a bit. Just look at that thing…one big blob of a block of text. You may want to grab yourself a cuppa of whatever it will take for you to keep the eyelids propped up for about fifteen sentences cram packed with pedantic pain. Are you ready for all that? Are you sure? All right, don’t say I didn’t warn you…good luck.)

On my About page I mention something to the effect that I consider myself somewhat of an human relations guy. I mentioned that for a several reasons. One being that I really enjoy humans; I don’t always enjoy being around them in close and confining proximity so much as I enjoy observing them, scientific like…from a safe and considerable distance…with multiple escape routes just in case things go sideways without notice like they so often do whenever a human is involved in the equation. And another reason I consider myself as a human relations guy is because I gots that paper that says I am. In addition to an undergrad degree in English, which I believe is fundamental to just about all I have become, good like and bad like, because it instilled even deeper into me than it was prior, which was already pretty deep, a love for literature and an appreciation for the language it takes to paint a story, which usually involves humans. But I gots more paper props, too. At about 2/3rds the way through my navy career, I got a little bored with my primary gig – telecommunications – and I looked for a way to take a break. I found that break by volunteering and qualifying for a three-year stint in a, go figure, human relations gig where I served as an Equal Opportunity specialist. To qualify, I first had to attend three-months of intensive, so called, sensitivity training (a misnomer because instead of being sensitive to my feelings, it exposed them and ripped off their calloused protective scars and scraped over them until they were bloody and raw), where I learned about how much of a turd white males have been throughout the United States history, and before. It was a very tough, but wonderfully enlightening, three-months. And finally, to top off my ice cream claim to my human relations affinity is a cherry of masters degree in, go figure, Human Relations.

So why did I just put you through all that?

Because I need your help.

And the reason I am asking you for your help, is because, even though I’ve had considerable experience of and in the field of human relations, I still don’t feel I am the one most qualified to do what it is I want to accomplish here.

But I think you are.

I think you know much better than I about what it is like to be a woman in this somewhat of a misogynistic world, or to be a person of color in this somewhat of a racist world, or to be a homosexual in this somewhat of a homophobic world…

Yeah, you know…

So I was wondering, knowing all that you know about all you’ve learned and experienced while maneuvering through this difficult and sometimes dangerous obstacle course called life, would you please help me please?

[Continue reading…]

 

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MY VIEW – A Women’s Issues Feature

When DotedOn submitted her essay My View to the Relating to Humans Women’s Issues feature, I could immediately feel its power and its truth, and the life lived as written, raw and exposed.

When submitted, DotedOn initially addressed it to me. I wrote to her soon after and asked if I could take out the address as I felt it may be distracting from the essay’s message. She wrote me back and, kindly, as she always is, said it was fine for me to make the edits and, since English is not her first language, she asked that I make any other edits that I felt may be necessary. I was pleased when she wrote this because there were, in fact, some grammar adjustments that I had wanted to make.

And, with haste, I made the adjustments.

However, after I read her essay with my edits, I found that something had happened. It seemed its power had somehow been diminished. I immediately restored the essay back to its original version, which, in turn, restored its power.

I spent the rest of the day reflecting on what had happened. The edits I made were almost insignificant, really; however, the impact of the edits was wholly significant. The impact was devastating to the overall feel and effect of the essay.

Perhaps, then, our words draw their strength not so much from our language and its form, but from our voice and our uniquely individual inflections and tones as only we can speak them…


 

My View

by DotedOn
 

I’m a single mom. I have five kids. I escaped an abusive relationship because I got to the point where nothing could be worse than staying one more second in that house. I exchanged comfort for unknown. I feel guilt every single day of my life. I know I took the right decision. I still don’t understand why my kids don’t see it and keep asking me why I don’t go back to daddy. They were there, they should know why.

Some people admire me… I still don’t get why. What’s to admire? That I left 5 kids without a dad? That I tolerate abuse for so long? That I’m alone and lost in another country miles away from every person dear to me?

I get questions like: How can you manage alone with 5 kids? I rub my eyes. I have everything. My question is: How could a widow 80 years ago manage 11 kids and no washing machine or fridge or disposable diapers or Nintendo’s to keep the kids quiet for a while.

Who should I please? Why I get judged? Why if I chose to be happy I feel this guilt all the time?
 

dotedon.wordpress.com

Me

Me

I like bubble gum.
I like bats.
I like baseballs
And cowboy hats.

I like mudcakes.
I like moles.
I like mountain bikes
And deep, dark holes.

I like tinker toys.
I like tag.
I like tadpoles
And greasy, dirty rags.

I like football.
I like fightin’.
I like fishin’,
Especially when they’re bitin’.

I like snakes.
And my backyard squirrel.
But it’s me I like the best
Cuz I am a girl!

 
From Poem Man

WHO I AM – A Women’s Issues Feature

I am very honored and excited to share our very first submission to the new Relating to Humans feature.

Before we get to the submission, however, I would like to say a few words by way of introduction.

You know, I am a writer, which means…I’m insecure. I am. Every time I hit the “Publish” button to release my stuff out into this wild world, I get more than a little apprehensive wondering if it’s going to be well received, or not. Such was the case when I put this new Relating to Humans feature out there. I was a little nervous, wondering if anyone would take it seriously; if anyone would care to participate.

Which is why I am so honored and excited to be introducing you to the poetry of becausethisishowisaythings. She, with her one submission, helped to validate what this new feature is all about.

Becausethisishowisaythings is a fearless twenty-year old (fearless as is evident by her willingness to participate in this new venture of ours), and her poem is an honest expression of how she feels about being a woman.

So please, take the time to read her poem, and, if you are so moved, maybe leave her a comment and visit with her and support her efforts at her own website becausethisishowisaythings.wordpress.com

 


 

Who I am

I am confused.
I am a woman, a girl, a female…but I am not very feminine.
My mother tells me to wear prettier clothes. My sister asks if I’m a lesbian.

If I’m a girl, does that mean I have to wear pink, do I have to wear flowers in my hair and make-up on my face, all to convince you that I’m a girl, that I’m a woman?

Do I have to wear revealing clothes and get drunk on vodka to attract a man,
a boy, a male?

Do I have to feel afraid of sex?

Should I feel guilty for being honest, and not a bitch?

I am a woman, I know this, but it seems other people aren’t so sure.
I don’t know if I’m a feminist, but I know what I want to be.
I want to be strong, to be attractive, to be sensitive, to be accepted, to be understood.
I want to be a good person.
A person. Not a label.

I am a woman, I am a girl, a female…but don’t try to label me with these things.