. . .got the time, time tickin' in my head. . .

I find myself wanting to blog for the sake of blogging, not because I have anything useful to say.  This must be what high school counselors feel like.  I was listening to a re-run of This American Life this morning called "Quiz Show" in which they explore three stories of peoples experiences in the world of game shows (or a dork competition at MIT, in one case)  The first story was about an Irish fellow who has dedicated his life to being that awkward, self-loathing, effeminate guy who lives with his mother.  But his mother died, and then he won 250,000 pounds on the Irish version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  (I believe it's called Who wants to win a wee spot of money, pour me a pint of the black stuff)  And after the original airing, went on to win a gold medal for Ireland in tennis in the Gay and Lesbian olympics.  The only luxury he has afforded himself with his new-found wealth is a strange sounding piano.  Don't ask.  Anyway, there was one part of this whole story that got me thinking about my own prejudices.  The guy has a high, feminine voice.  That alone, did not make me think he was gay.  He told a story about how, when he was 18, he became very close friends with an elderly man who sexually abused him for A YEAR.  It never entered my head that perhaps he was gay.  It just seemed one of those horrible realities faced by people who do not have the self respect to stand up for themselves.  They seem trapped by their own lack of self-worth.  This all made sense to me.  But then, at the very end of the story, when they mentioned his gold medal at the gay and lesbian olympics, my first though was, I am ashamed to say, "was he really being abused?  Because if I was sexually abused by a man, I think I might not find men attractive after that."  This is horrible, I know, shut up.  So is this just founded in my own lack of understanding?  Why am I an asshole?  I have spent my entire life around every possible minority or social group you can imagine.  My mothers closest friends were either black, gay, disabled or just old hippies.  I grew up in a town with a large immigrant population, largely because of the turkey plant down the street and all the Schwans corporation plants in town.  My chosen career path is not exactly peopled with a bunch of white, republican men.  (well, there's one guy who's a libertarian, but who likes to talk about them?)  So what's wrong with me?  Maybe nothing.  Now I am, of course, aware that there are reasons for this type of sexual abuse being common among people who are gay.  Abusers have brains, if a bit fucked up, and some are able to convince themselves that these relationships are consensual. And fucking a straight guy in the ass is pretty hard to pass off as consensual, in one's diseased brain.  So I can intellectualize all this shit, but I still have those thoughts.  "Was he abused?"  Well of course he was.  So I think what's wrong with me is what is wrong with everyone, to a certain extent.  As a puppet once said, "Everyone's a little bit racist."  We all have horrible thoughts that come, unbidden, to our tiny minds.  Stereotyping the seemingly single mother at Walmart with her 6 kids, a feeling of fulfilled expectations when the news talks about another young, black, male suspect in a murder investigation, or another WASP CEO on trial, for that matter.  When my 71 year old father was in the hospital for 2 days this week, I started researching funeral arrangements.  I am not proud of my dark thoughts, ever.  But it is what we do with them that makes us good people.  One can not ignore the stimuli our society gives us.  But a healthy mind is one that takes it all and uses it as ammunition to fight back against racism.  Against homophobia.  Against planning your father's funeral.  So there.  I guess I wanted to blog today.