Just watched this movie. It doesn’t take much for me to remember those days; I suppose people get tired of me talking about Martin Luther King, Jr. Maybe I should move on and find new heroes? Is that possible?
When I met Peter and we got married he was part of a group of friends, all artists, some had day jobs and some didn’t. We would all get together on Saturdays. This was a mixed race, mixed gender identification, and mixed drug takers and smokers group. Since I don’t mess around with substances–I have enough trouble coping with my nervous system without “help”–the men liked me as this kind of Madonna figure. In their eyes I was “pure.” Then I got pregnant with Michael and they all wanted to lay their hands on my belly. There are lots of ladies who don’t like that; I’m one of those ladies who like being admired for being pregnant.
Those times were a period of learning. I had never been exposed to this. I was frightened of meeting and mixing with people of color. I prayed that I did not slip and say that some of my best friends are Black. But they liked me and I liked them. I did a lot of listening then. I listened to their stories.
Sad? Oh yes. Funny? Oh yes. Mostly funny when it came to themselves.
lgmwriting 