Leaving it all behind...

28th of December 2007

Leaving it all behind…

It occurred to me that for forty years I've been carrying around problems that have accumulated from day one in this life. If you've read any of my previous blogs, you know that living a charmed life was never for me. However this life has begun, I can unequivocally say; that I am fine with the path my life has taken and can't wait to see the direction it takes.

We are the sum of our steps in this life. We are today, where we've come from in our past. The nights I laid crying, the pain of physical abuse and the horrors of mental cruelty were just experiences that have prepared me for who I am today. There were good times interspersed throughout the horrible days and nights. Those good times with family also molded the man I've become. We come in to this world knowing how to love and for those of us who don't find our families the most loving or caring people to guide us in the process of growing up; we may find it arduous in letting go of the twinge. The bad and the good in our lives is the mix that creates us.

I type these words with the most open heart I've had in years or possibly in for ever. I believe them with every fiber of my being and I know exactly what I'm asking people to do. I have a father that denounces my existence because I'm not what he wanted for a son, but also because is current wife doesn't like a homosexual in the family. My mother barely speaks with me because she is caught between the different factions of our family. Those others have their own reasons for not wanting me to tell my stories, state what I know or express my feelings to the outward world. My older sister and her daughter can't forgive, forget or consider that I might actually be an honorable man. My younger sister is the one that is the most ambivalent about our relationship, but I restrain from a close relationship between us because of the actions along with the disinformation that was used the last time I opened my home and my heart to them. These family members, who I love, found my blogs several months ago. In locating what I've tried to tell them about for over a year, they also found that I have a book being published, which has once again placed me far outside the loving circle of my family.

I still espouse that letting go of my past and of the negative family emotions make me a happier, more peaceful person. It is easy to wallow in the past. It is not uncommon to blame the failures of today on the struggles and abuses from yesterday. What does it buy you other than a one-time pass for the problem you currently face and when does that pass expire? When do we mature and take responsibility for our own lives and halt the blame we tag those who negatively affected our lives?

These are difficult questions to answer and some people go their entire lives without finding suitable responses. They are extremely risky because the answers can be as simple as removing those who refuse to accentuate the positives in your life. In many cases that means eliminating family from having such an influence over us!

Removing the negatives in order to accentuate the positives is far more difficult than one might think, especially when that directly means going without the acceptance from the ones you naturally turn to first. My father wants nothing to do with me. Not really a negative, but when he tears me apart at every turn, slanders and assassinates my character, this defines the negative. It means that I decided to forgo my father being a part of my life in hopes that finding peace in my soul and love in my heart would fill the void left by his absence.

I don't advocate shutting out all of your family members without spending a great deal of time trying to resolve all concerns and work through your past with parents and siblings to create a positive environment. Only when all attempts to create this type of equilibrium fail consecutively, do I advocate cutting ties to focus on improving your life. Take these steps to create a whole person within yourself. In doing so, let go of the past. Let go of the feelings of hate and pain. Let go of everything that is not positive or good within your heart. Forgive those who inflicted the torturous moments that haunt you. By letting go, you heal yourself and create someone stronger in place of the person you know today. Be the person you want to be and lose the chains keeping you back in those moments of anguish. You have your own freedom to gain and to lose all that holds you from being the full person you are meant to be.


Before you can Love, Honor & Respect anyone else

You must first Love, Honor & Respect yourself!


Your humble servant – Todd M. Dobson

The Meaning of Christmas

14th of December 2007

The Meaning of Christmas

The true meaning of Christmas should always bring a smile to your face and peace in your heart. During the holidays, a grin is used by people who normally scowl, a gift is left by those who normally expect to receive, the smell of snow, the feel of a roaring fire, the taste of roasting nuts and the smell of winter green from the trees filling the air like a blanket draping over a cold body on a frosty night. Your ears hear the sounds of music from carolers at every turn and your senses feel the harmony in the air that draws closer this one time a year. To walk the streets with snow falling, the store front windows decorated and lights with tensile glowing all around will help set the mood for a truly magical time.

Anything that brings peace to three quarters of the world, even if only for one day, is worthy of everyone who lives every where taking part of its majesty.

CHRISTMAS = WORLD PEACE

Christmas may be a Christian holiday, but when peace is abounding the world around, the holiday should be celebrated weather you are a Christian or not.

I celebrate Christmas in a very special way; by paying homage to my Great Grandpa Lalka in repeating his acts of kindness. Helping those who need a guiding hand while simultaneously keeping my great grandpa’s legacy a live is giving me new meaning every year I am able to place a smile on the face of the children who might otherwise go without a blessing on this day.

Great Grandpa Lalka (Paul Lalka), his family (sons, daughters, brothers and sisters) lived in the Washington (Tacoma) Valley after moving from Czechoslovakia. My great grandpa had a coal business and his brothers owned various stores like a shoe cobbler, a furniture maker and each had his own farm. Because of their businesses, they knew the families in the region who needed a little extra help. In the old country, the family trade was carving and all of the Lalka men whittled. They would fashion toys year round and put together baskets of food to accompany the toys for the family. These baskets were left at the homes on Christmas Eve for the children to find come Christmas day, hence continuing the legend of Santa Clause.

The Lalka family persisted to give year after year eventually garnering attention to their kindness that was happening throughout the Washington Valley. As word spread of their good deeds, my great grandpa took on a new persona for himself and in his duplicitous nature; he felt he needed a new suite that better match his role. He and his brothers created an authentic Santa Suite.

They used crush red velvet for the jacket, pants and the hat. My great grandpa trapped rabbits and used the white fur to line the lapel of the jacket, the cuffs of the sleeves and the brim of the hat. One brother created a very wide belt and another made a huge brass buckle and hand carved buttons for the jacket. My great grandpa didn’t need any padding; he had just enough of his own. He had thinning snow white hair with a long naturally flowing beard.

The family lineage dates back to the fourteenth century and was not our original surname. The last name Lalka was given to the family by a princess as an ancestor walked in to a small village during her visit. As he waited to meet the Princess, she was taken by his alabaster skin, rosy red cheeks, beautiful eyes and striking good looks. She called him lalka meaning doll because she thought he was as beautiful as a doll. The name was taken by the family to honor the princess. This being said, great grandpa Lalka had alabaster skin with rosy red cheeks and a crimson nose. He was the epitome of Santa Clause with the suite that portrayed the jolly man within.

My great grandpa was offered money by every major department store on the North West coast, but he reserved his gifts for those who truly needed them and pandering money to perform acts of kindness was not his motivation. I was honored to have found his legacy and more so to feel the desire to continue keeping it alive. When Great Grandpa passed away, he was given tribute by every major news paper up and down the North West coast with many reserving front page headlines such as the one in the Seattle Tribune, “Santa Clause has Died”!

No one could know that this simple man born in to the meager means of a Czechoslovakian family would have such a positive impact on so many lives. He was a real man who made many mistakes, but giving true love to those who needed was not one of his misgivings. Striving to be just a little more like my Great Grandpa on a daily basis is what Christmas means to me.

While I know it is a Christian holiday, it has pagan roots, but more importantly, when any one day can bring three-quarters of the world together in harmony and with peace, it deserves to be shared and enjoyed by all. I don’t care if it is referred too via any other name, but enjoy the day – share in the enlightenment of the moment and give freely to those who don’t share your gifts.

More importantly, for those parents who wish to teach their children of the true meaning of Christmas...ask your child to give just one toy of their choosing to a child in need. Show them by example with donations to charities who help the less fortunate or something as simple as donating your time to feed the homeless. Children learn when we aren’t teaching. They learn more by our examples then anything lesson we choose to teach. Lessons on compassion and what it truly means to give will do so much in the way of extending the legacy of Santa Clause or someone more down to earth like Paul Lalka.

Christmas is meant to be shared and enjoyed by all and to me that is giving to someone who might otherwise go without. Spread the Christmas Joy and spread this message to all you know and love.

May each and every one reading this be over-come with Love and Peace for the holidays, and each and every day you believe in my message. Thank you for sharing in my meaning of Christmas and may it give you some meaning within your life too.

~~ Warmest wishes for everyone on this day and every day to come~~

Todd M. Dobson

Part II: Interesting Events Happened Today

5^th of November 2007,

Part II: Interesting Events Happened Today

I can’t believe how much the events of yesterday have bothered me. I had a busy day in the office; yet my mind was pre-occupied with the details of yesterday. It has been like a nagging fly that won’t leave me alone and even though I forced myself to focus on my work and the projects underway, this has been in the back of my head and worrisome. I was so packed with apprehension that would not alleviate that it was changing from light apprehension to extreme alarm with why this continued to bother me. When out of sheer exasperation, I finally cleared my mind it actually came to me as to why this has been such an over-burdening issue.

The construct of it is when the Sheppard boy cried wolf; that is what happened yesterday. I reacted out of instinct when the lady screamed and I witnessed the man running away with her purse. My response is not common; in fact, I was the only one who took off after him. Not one other person took those steps and that can have more to do with the facts that countless times the Good Samaritan becomes the victim today. I know it has stopped me from stopping to help someone that is on the side of the road at night. I instinctively did what was right to do under the circumstances, but my conscience won’t let it go because she was not in danger nor did she loose anything that belonged to her. The perception that called on me to respond not knowing if the man had a knife or a gun or if by tackling him would land me in a lawsuit because he might have been harmed at my reaction. None of these were thoughts as I responded to what we have been conditioned as a cry for help and in some small way, the need for protection. As it turned out, the woman in this matter was just acting and was in no danger at all. Because there was no danger, the risk I took had there not been a van for our villain to dive in to was far greater because had I actually tackled him, I would have been violating his rights as he never would have violated hers. The dilemma sharpened because while most people were not aware of what was going to happen, they were aware that something was to occur and they were to just watch and observe taking as many mental notes as possible. My only criticism is that doesn’t that remove the element of surprise and diminishes the entire focus for the show itself.

Once I acknowledged the preoccupation of my senses with the experience at the cafe, I felt better about the circumstances. I can’t change the events and I can’t prevent a company from researching human behavior, but I can take ownership of me. I can only hope the next situation I am faced with that calls for swiftness my hesitation is not what cost someone dearly and that was the honest cost of yesterday’s research and quest for ratings.

The next time a company wants to research the collective capabilities of the human mind, I suggest they use any other form for stimuli as apposed to placing someone within harms way for the sole fact to garner ratings for television…human life is worth so much more than ratings.

Your humble servant – Todd M. Dobson

The Most Amazing News for ME!!!

3^rd of November 2007

Hello My Readers,

Many of you read my blogs and have commented directly on this site and other sites about the experiences of my life that I've written about. The support you provided me has spurred me to press forward with something that was once laughable and then turned in to a possible dream.

As many of you know seven years ago I left Montreal and left the love of my life...my soul mate. Ian aloud our relationship to wither and die for some inexplicable reason while I was helpless to save its ravaged form. It takes two to share love but only one for a relationship to survive and Ian gave up on himself and on us. I struggled for more than eighteen months feeling each and every day like I was submerged beneath the surface of water drowning. Unable to catch my breath and with no way to salvage our relationship I continued descending to the murky depths or darkness and depression.

It took me four years to overcome the thoughts of Ian or wish him next to me and one of the ways I accomplished that amazing feet on my own was to start writing about him. I wrote about my anger and the eighty-six thousand dollars he owes me. I wrote about how I missed touching is beautiful skin and sculpted features. I was tortured by his lingering French accent and the eyes that once made me feel safe, warm and loved. I wrote of how we met and how for the first time in my life I understood how amazing love should always be. I also wrote in great details with the descriptions of a blind painter how we met, how we fell in love and how we ignited passion with fires of lust and the most amazing sex two people could ever share.

I wrote all of my feelings in to this manuscript without any order or conscience decision to organize my thoughts. Without ever thinking of what I was doing, I wrote this wondrous manuscript that many friends have read and prompted me to publish. You must understand that it was writing this book and the first women who read this book and pressed me to publish it. Dale's voice in my head gave birth to me thinking that my writing may be helpful to some people and was the precipitous to my blogging. I never was able to write before this experience. My book (Love, Honor & Respect) is really good and extremely descriptive and brings you into our world as if you are walking with us each step of the way. I still can't read it without correcting this or that. I can't open those pages without getting excited when I read of our first sexual encounters or cry every page when he rips my heart out with dishonesty and the loss of such great love.

I received a phone call yesterday with the most amazing news that I have wanted so dearly for so long; my manuscript is being published. My dreams of publishing that book that holds so many personal details about my life, my love and the darkest moments of my life is going to be for sale in a matter of months. I am elated beyond all belief. I know one thing that I want to do and that is to Thank You. Thank each and every one of you for your support of my writing and to thank you for telling me how my experiences have helped you. I love that I hear from so many people how the events from my life can help any one person. The love that so many of you have shown has pushed me to want to publish this book. I am dearly grateful and I hope that once my first book is published that each of you enjoy the parts of my life within its pages.

Deeply grateful,

Todd M. Dobson

Is It The Journey or the Destination

28^th of October 2007

Is It The Journey or the Destination?

If you have read any of my previous blogs, you know that I have been through many life challenges and yet my mind set has always been that I am truly blessed. Yes, I believe that I have guardian’s who watch over me and based on their guidance I am very blessed.

That may sound odd as you read about my many challenges, but it is my firm belief none the less. Over the past four weeks my mind has been in over-load and it has been difficult to turn down the background noise as it spins out of control. You see I’ve written about taking two long years to find a good job and after one year with the employer from hell, I found that job doing what I like to do with people I really enjoy working with. So, how can I have anxiety over my new job?

As I’ve written in the past, when you grow up in an abusive environment where the common words are not positive, but rather tears you apart as an individual. I said that correctly, the voice I heard daily said I wasn’t shit and would never amount to anything. I was dumb, I was stupid and I was nothing but a lazy, good for nothing piece of shit. I cold never do anything right and as long as I was not my older brother; I would never amount to anything.

I still hear those voices when ever anything starts to go in a positive direction for me, and those voices become pronounced as I step towards a positive direction. It never fails to surprise me when I first don’t understand the anxiety I feel or when the voices chatter out of control and I become agitated and bothered by their loud, uncontrollable noise filling my head. By the age of forty years old, you might think the rise in these voices might trigger a happy pleasure sensation because it should be a sign for me that I am in the midst of something really good. Unfortunately, it takes a little separation from ones self to make that conclusion and until that happens, the anxiety can run a person ragged.

The anxieties I suffer are common for adults of abused children, but they never become less difficult to deal with as time passes. Over the past four weeks, I’ve climbed deeper into my new position and I’ve grown to love the people and the job; but as I’ve excelled in my position, the voices have become uncontrollable. I started doubting myself in that very position and doubting the people who have done nothing but show their support. Second guessing the job I’m doing and their reaction to my work. Not one person has indicated anything negative with my performance and all the while I have made mistakes, none seem to cause anything close to the level of noise rampantly chattering inside my head.

It took me getting sick last week with a nasty sinus infection that caused an existing tooth infection to go overboard shutting me down for a couple of days in order for me to regain control over my anxieties. It took me thinking I was about to be fired at that same job that I love with people that have never once indicated anything but support, while in my head over the past four weeks, I’ve been seeing and hearing how I was going to be fired at any moment and for any reason. They were just waiting for the right moment was all I kept telling myself. Anxieties such as these can and often do become self fulfilling prophecies and that just feeds the fires for the next time they become uncontrollable.

As I stayed at home last night waxing philosophical and pondering life’s challenges did a life long challenge became an answer I could firmly believe in…it isn’t the destination, but rather it is the journey that makes us better people. My entire life I have always gone out of my way to become a better person. Better than my childhood indicated, and far better than anyone ever gave me credit to accomplish. I have tried with every year of my life to always remember what I had was truly a blessing and millions would kill to swap places with me. For every breath I take I feel honored that I have it to take and never ever take any of my life for granted. So it is harsh when those voices push me in the opposite direction and I allow them too because for that day, that moment I am weaker than I should be.

That is what unfolded for me this past week and how the realization that my destination, here in Atlanta Georgia is only where I need to be right now and everything is telling me that daily. That destination currently holds the right job with support by good people challenging me to grow and learn and sharpen my skills for them and for me. Over the past few years I have fought many demons and come to terms with so much to reclaim the person I once was. But what I’ve found isn’t the person I once was, it is someone who is better than I could have ever been.

That is how I found that the journey I’ve been on for the past seven years, which I once thought took a good life away and replaced it with one mistake after another. I suddenly realized how I ever created that first life to begin with: it was forged by mistake after mistake; challenge after challenge until I found what worked…that was my first journey. Now I am in the midst of a journey that has depths I could never have imagined, but I finally see the heights are outside the scope of my view and that is amazingly wonderful. Yes my mistakes have been many and very troublesome, but that is what makes the journey…not the destination as profound and meaningful. My place is right here in Atlanta Georgia and the time is right now. My journey is underway with no destination in front of me. I am controlling those voices for the second time in my life and good things are happening to me once again.

I am right here in the moment and enjoying now. I’m not wallowing in the past and I know my future is going to be OK no matter what happens. It is all about the journey we are on and it has nothing to do with the destination.

by: Todd M. Dobson

Gay Pride: What Does It Really Mean

1^st of October 2007

GAY PRIDE – What Does It Really Mean

When I first acknowledged to myself that I was a gay man, almost an eternity ago, I felt none of the gay people depicted on the news or I read about in the papers represented me as a gay man. So when friends asked if I would join in the local Gay Pride celebration, I declined for that very reason.

The only gay people I grew up knowing were two very effeminate men that lived in completely different parts of the small town I grew up in. The impression of being gay that was indelible left upon me was not what I saw for my life. I recognized the same stereotypes that everybody else saw and assumed all gay men were like; and the homophobia that was overtly present in all straight people, permeated through my thoughts as well. I witnessed other kids and their parents talking about those two gay men with their effeminate mannerisms as thought they were the scourge of the planet using words of disgust, vile and in a manner of total revulsion. The sad fact of the matter was that I agreed with them at my young age and on occasion I am saddened to say I would join in the conversations. There are many gay men and lesbian women who fault their own kind by stereotyping the very people who were the face of our community.

It was sad when the only other picture of gay life that I knew about was what the news media showed as the typical gay man in his leather costume. An over-compensating butch man exposing himself while being surrounded by his leather gear only to be over acted by the extremely nelly drag queens who dressed in women’s clothing and pranced around also exposing themselves for humanity’s sake. I thought then as many people think today - none of these homosexuals represent me. I convinced myself that I was not like any of them because I don’t want to dress in women’s clothing, or in leather gear or expose my genitals to the world just for the sake of doing it. I told myself then that there is much more to me than just being a gay man.

When you’re fourteen years old, you can’t image how the twist and turns of life will mold you as a person, much less how dramatically life can change the mind as you mature. I never considered myself homophobic, because I was a gay man and therefore gay men could not be homophobic. I also never considered who I might be hurting by repeating my horrible words that “Gay Pride did not represent who I was as a person”. I would even justify my homophobia by explaining that I was so much more than whom I had sex with. Now, if that doesn’t just sound like the sound blob written by the Christian Coalition, I don’t know how I could have been any more filled with hate.

It is horrible to believe that gay and lesbian people can themselves be homophobic to their own kind. Now, before you rip my head off, there are varying degrees of hate. You can be a little phobic, but tolerant for the most part. You can see this in heterosexual people all the time. A co-worker who knows you’re gay and responds with no big deal, lets say in a positive manner and expressing acceptance. It doesn’t seem to bother them at first, but later you get this feeling that they have purposely distanced themselves from you. This sense grows more prevalent as it continues to happen, but you’re not able to really point to any one thing that proves this nagging sensation. You let things pass knowing that they will only persist, not diminish as time continues to pass. It is like a irritation that you know exist, but can’t for the life of you place your finger on exactly what could be wrong. Over time you find more and more distance separating you and that co-worker and as more time passes you sense the issue really is a latent homophobia.

Another case in point is true of many families of gays or lesbians. The family says they accept you for who you are, however, your homosexuality is not spoken about and neither is anyone you date or love. They may accept you and discuss parts of your life, but your lover is not welcomed in their home or must sleep in a separate room. They may even go as far as accepting you and your spouse in to their home, discussing your lives; but supporting gay issues such as gay marriage…no that is out of the question. In almost all cases even the most accepting families feel it is a choice you made and while they don’t understand why you would ever make that choice, they accept that you did in their minds and that to them is acceptance. As I was telling you earlier, there are varying degrees of hate and acceptance.

These same things happen within the gay community amongst our own people. You hear it all the time by gays who say they don’t care about gay marriage and refuse to fight for equal rights. They may never want to marry another person; however, it is their own dark hearts, filled with hate that immobilizes them from a fight for equal rights. They themselves are gay, so how can they not want or see that each and every person in the United States of America should be treated exactly the same.

We have our own clashes between gay sub-groups that individually want to assert their rights to their own existence. If we don’t have enough hate emanating around us, we have it consuming us from within. Before you get angry at me for point it out and before you respond to the hate within our own kind, we must understand where this hate originates. Thousand’s of years of oppression have changed the way the world once thought. Many centuries of hate and oppression made people forget what it was to love and accept everyone as they were and without prejudice. They were taught over the years how to hate and who to hate and homosexuality has been at the top of that list for thousands of years.

Bring that down to our own lives today and we were brought into this world loving and accepting, but we learned how to hate anything or anyone gay. The news media, our family and friends did not know how to handle anything different and they were thought homosexuality was wrong. It was un-natural and un-clean. Being gay was against nature and above all it was against GOD. How any of us could ever stand a chance at being a whole person when for our entire early years we were inundated with the messages of hate. It is why coming to terms with our own sexuality can be such an arduous task for each one of us. It is also why those of our very own can show tendencies of hate against others within our own communities. Hate and acceptance are two entirely different opposing aspects and a person can accept themselves without accepting all who share their fate. It is a harsh reality, but one that is rooted within our own humanity none the less.

The pictures I paint with my words can be a harsh view to accept; but I am over run with optimism that each one of us can make a difference. That view doesn’t have to happen to us or right now. We have everything that we need to change it and it starts within ourselves and then within our own communities. We must denounce hate of all kinds. We must love and accept ourselves as individual people, but also love and accept our community for its own diversity. The gym rats, the nelly boys, the drag queens, the leather guys, the bull dikes, the lipstick lesbians and all homosexual people must open their hearts and know the road they share is with all of the people surrounding them…even if they aren’t of their own kind.

I can stand on my soap box and pontificate to all sides touting the obvious that we have so many people who hate and loath all homosexuals that it is futile not to love ourselves no matter the subcultures that divide our community. A unified group makes it more difficult for all others to segregate and concur. If we continue fighting within our own population instead of honoring our similarities; how can we ever expect the heterosexual world to ever love and accept us as a unified group?

These are the easy comments that everyone knows, but look at my 2007 pictures of Atlanta Gay Pride and see the diversity within our community (Myspace Pictures: http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=95276627&albumId=1236125 ). Notice the diversity as you see men, women and children all around. There were people of all ages and all backgrounds, all nationality, all colors and it was amazing to witness. The people on the floats were scantily clothed as you normally see on the media and in the news papers. You saw the leather guys, dykes on bikes, guys in dresses, girls that looked like boys; but then, there were beautiful women who could pass as female models and sculpted men like they stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine, couples with their children and thousands that looked just like you and me. Everyone was beautiful to witness and our differences showed as brightly as the colors making the rainbow that represents our oppression. The greatest effects of PRIDE in any city are the people who come together supporting each other in front of the rest of the world. I saw so many people and talked with countless men and women of all ages from every walk of life. The thing I couldn’t get beyond was how many couples openly displaying the love they shared together without inhibition. It didn’t matter what sub-group they claimed; love was the central focus for Gay Pride in Atlanta and it was an amazing picture for all to view.

Love and support are the reasons that every gay man, woman and child need to experience Gay Pride somewhere…so you know that you are not alone in this world or within our own diverse community. The scared fourteen year old boy trying to come to terms with my own homosexuality could have used the support Gay Pride has been providing millions since the sixties and I am sorry it took me so many years to learn that message of hope.

________________________________________________________________________

As for The David Magazine (a local Atlanta Gay/Lesbian Magazine that is published weekly): and the gay individuals who write every week in the Bitch Session section of the magazine. You more than anyone need to heed my message. While you complain weekly about people from outside your individual sub-group, remember, that each person may be the next victim of a gay bashing or hate crime. You may be the next one receiving hate as it drips from the lips or the fingertips of a homophobic person expressing their loath and disgust for gay America. We can prevent hate crimes by showing the city and the world that the gay community is a unified and caring group who supports each and every member within our population. Love is stronger than hate could ever hope to be, but hate is always easy. Don’t be the person spreading hate within our community. Be brave enough to stand up for all within our populace and accept even those you were thought to hate.

by: Todd M. Dobson

Father's Day 2007

Father’s Day 2007

Yesterday was Father’s day and if you had asked me a month ago about my father, I would have quickly questioned if you meant the man who donated sperm for my birth. I would have countered any question about my father as I don’t have one, but there was a man who forcefully gave sperm and whom I’m told is the reason for my existence, however he has never earned the title “Father”.

Kenneth Alden Dobson Senior is the man who fathered me as well as three other children (Kimmy, Kenny & Tonya).

As you’ve read in previous bloggs, I emerged from a very abusive childhood. My father was raised by an even more horrific man – Clinton Dobson. My grandfather among other things claimed the title as religious leader for the Reorganized Later Day Saints church. He among many other Dobson men had major sexual issues and were raised with strict Mormon beliefs that places women below farm animals in the hierarchy of impotents. Even lower than the rankings of most women was the coveted position as wife. If you were a wife to a Dobson man you were treated dreadfully, giving no credence to their wishes or desires.

My grandfather taught his boys that women were to be ruled over with a harsh hand. They were present only to service their man’s needs, raise the children, clean the house and prepare the meals. If they failed to perform those tasks in accordance with the “Head of the Household’s” requirements, she was to be firmly and swiftly dealt with including verbal as well as physical abuse. That did not take away from the constant verbal abuse that Dobson men were known to deliver at a steady pace. An ongoing barrage of verbal exploitation followed by the appropriate physical abuse when called for, let the women in the Dobson households remain off balance and scared to look closely at anything surrounding the husband. The art of these tactics dispelled any woman from looking too closely at lost time, frivolous spending and other habits that hid the sexual deviances of all Dobson men. If the wife ever had the audacity to question the veracity of her husband, he was to immediately deny everything at all cost and simultaneously claim the wife is at fault for all failures the man may have. Never accepting culpability for anything they may have done even if caught red-handedly.

I watched as my father swearing his loath and hatred for his own father while continuing the traditional Dobson woman bashing that so proudly established the men in our family. Ken Dobson treated my mother like she was lower than dirt. He hid his pornographic magazines in our bedroom in an attempt to hide it from our mother. Just as his father did to him and when his stash was found, Clinton and then my father would deny its existence and even blame the kids. Ken Dobson hated my grandfather for doing the very same things to him that he was doing to my brother and me. My father also carried on the traditions of always having other women on the side. When he wanted to visit one of his many side women, he would pick a fight with my mother over some frivolous issue making it insurmountable in order to rush out the door and into the arms of what ever mistress he spent time with that month.

I remember very vividly when he threw a full jar of Helmen’s Mayonnaise across the kitchen without even noticing that he almost hit my little sister as he yelled because my mother didn’t buy Blue Plate Mayonnaise. It didn’t seem to bother him the day before when he opened that very jar and made sandwiches for work. The difference was on that specific day he wanted to have sex with one of his countless other women before going to work and the fight with a flying jar of mayonnaise deflected attentions away from his own selfless desires regardless of the fact that he could have killed Tonya in order to supplement his sexual prowess. As usual he left in a huff after verbally bashing my mother with his usual tirade of epithets such as slut, bitch, whore, worthless, never going to amount to anything, stupid and the list increased daily.

All four children suffered constant abuse. Unfortunately, both parents contributed to this growing family tradition, but as my mother was taught this trait by years of abuse towards her by my father and his siblings; she ushered down her own form of verbal and physical abuse keeping a tight control over the only people should had power over – her children. When you are told for years how worthless and stupid you are, it becomes difficult to believe other wise. As someone sincerely bestows a compliment on you; it begs the question, how dumb are they that an obvious oversight where they can’t see your worthless façade. One might think that words like stupid, worthless and hearing that you are less than dirt should trigger your mind telling you the person is wrong, but what is triggered when you hear these very destructive phrases daily from the people you know who are suppose to love you. All of this is meant to keep an unstable home life, which is the opposite of what a child needs to develop appropriately into an adult. My father didn’t care about his children; he made it clear we were insignificant and how he would stop paying for everything the moment we turned eighteen years old. I can’t tell you how many times he said that I had better know how to make money after graduating from High School because he would not be paying for my sorry ass after his legal obligation ended.

There are many things that portrait this man as a ghastly, evil man who should never have been granted the gift of children. I can’t remember exactly which birthday it was, but I was young and we were all home playing in the back yard. Kenny (older brother), me, Tonya (younger sister) and two neighbor kids were in the back yard playing while my parents were yelling and screaming as it ended with a couple of smacks by one or both of them followed by my Dad leaving in a huff. We were very hot and thirsty, but weren’t going to enter the war zone, so we were getting a drink of water from the outside water spicket on the front side of the house. It was my turn after Kenny and Tonya had already drunk their fill and I was bent over with my mouth as close to the valve as I could get it in order to drink some water. My father came around the corner of the house and without so much as a warning kicks me as hard as he could. As I flew the couple of feet away to the side of his car, the spicket caught my jaw and lips and almost ripped them off. Blood was gushing out of my mouth and from my lips while my hip and ribs were bruised and hurting. The other kids scattered as my father told me “I was no better than a worthless nigger and I didn’t deserve to live in his house. He told me I was not to step foot back inside his house because he didn’t live with niggers”. I don’t think he ever looked at me long enough to see if the damages he inflicted were harsh, permanent or superficial. He got in to his car and left tire marks down the road as he left for work. He never apologized or even commented about it ever again.

The day I decided to leave home I was fifteen years old. It was the day my brother went into the Navy. Kenny had promised several months before that before he left for the Navy he would beat the shit out of me showing the rest of the world what a faggot I was. He made good on his promise by turning me around in a dark hallway as I walked to my bedroom following a brief verbal altercation. He requested that I give him my hairspray from my bathroom, but my father paid for all of Kenny’s accoutrements, where I paid for all of mine. I told him to get some from Daddy, he should have some upstairs as I left the kitchen heading down the hall for my bedroom, and Kenny grabs me by the arm to turn me around and starts pounding. Before I even knew what was happening he landed blow after blow to my face along with a series of racial epithets (faggot this and faggot that). Kenny didn’t break my nose, but he was as close as a person could get to breaking it. He broke two front teeth, split open my lips in four places, blackened one eye and left bruises all over my face and down my body. It looked more like I suffered in a car accident rather than got beat up by my own brother. As I was in the half bathroom that was attached to my bedroom, my father almost tore the door off its hinges. Not knowing who was at the door, I held up a bat in the event that I needed to protect myself. My father was incredulous as he took the bat away from me and for a second held it as though he was about to swing it while he looked at me as if he was contemplating using it on me while I tried to balance myself between the wall and the sink counter barely able to focus on much of anything with all the blood and blurred vision. He threw the bat down into the bedroom behind him and picked me up throwing me back against the far wall saying he should finish the job. I couldn’t really see out of my eyes, but the blood was pouring everywhere from different parts of my face, but in that second all I could think about was that if I survived, I was leaving this hell hole as soon as I possibly could.

I moved out of my father’s house months after that incident occurred with emancipation papers drawn up, an apartment and a full time job waiting. I had been saving and buying the things necessary to fill an apartment and it was all waiting for my moment of freedom. I moved to Baton Rouge on my own for six months and then to Atlanta Georgia for three years. I met my first ever boyfriend and moved to Boston and lived there for three years. I had always dreamt of going to college for computers and my dream school was Louisiana State University (LSU). I paid off my debt and placed myself in a situation where I could go, so after my relationship with Ricky ended, I moved back to Louisiana to attend LSU.

My father begged me to stay with him in an effort to appease his new girlfriend who hated that we didn’t speak. Very apprehensively I moved back in with my father to conserve what little money I had and take as few loans as possible. Given my father’s new found generosity, I asked him to help me purchase a much needed computer from Ricky for $1000 dollars. He paid for the computer and I was paying him back with monthly payments. I repaid $550 dollars by the end of my first year. During my second year at LSU I had an opportunity to work at IBM under an Internship Program at their National Support Center, but I had to take a writing class while I was in Atlanta Georgia interning for IBM. I packed all that I could in my car leaving the monitor with several other boxes that my father said he would send to me. I received all of the boxes except the one containing the monitor. When I left I asked him to help me pay for the English class that he never responded to my questions, but when he refused to send the monitor it all became clear that while I was paying for school, books and food, he was upset because I took away his ability to play solitaire after work on the computer. My father got upset because he used the computer to play solitaire and he was unable to do so when I took it with me. Kimmy told me he was angry because I took his computer away from him and his refusal to pay for the class was justified. Once the internship was over and I returned to my father’s house knowing I would have to find another place to live while completing school, he had all of my belongings out on the front yard in the wet weather along with a note that told me to “get it the fuck off his property and never come back”. This was because I took his solitaire game while having to take a writing class.

There are many reasons that I can claim my father has never been a positive influence in my life and therefore has not earned the title “Father”. The greatest of these is the simple fact that he doesn’t know what true love is, so how can anyone expect him to give it. However, yesterday I was forced to think about all of this and find a solution that comforted my heart.

I will never have a relationship with the man who fathered me. Neither does he earn the right to claim being my dad. He never contributed to my well being and has gone out of his way most of my life to deliver grief and misery instead of love and understanding. But with all that he has neglected, I can only come to one conclusion a second time in my life; he is being the man that his father taught him to be. He was not strong enough to see how that life leads to one of misery and self loathing. Therefore it is incumbent upon me to be the bigger man for the two of us. That while I will never hear from the man who fathered me and know there is no love in his heart for the son who could never measure up to being a real man. I can do what is right by forgiving him for all the wrongs he has perpetrated on me.

I know deep within my heart that had he ever been given a positive childhood himself, he might have made a wonderful father. That given the opportunity, he might even show love for someone that has disappointed him every day I draw a breath. I have great empathy for Kenneth Alden Dobson Senior in that while he bestows grief and bile on the existence of his children; he does so towards himself as well. He can’t really see the man who is reflected in the mirror because he long ago gave up looking for meaning where loathsome disgust resides. Kimmy tells me all the time he gives all that he can, all that he knows how to give and until yesterday that could never have amounted to anything for me. When given the chose to grow and become a better person, I know he chooses not too. I just could not understand how any father would choose not to love their own child. However, given countless opportunities to show his children that he is a decent man who could bestow true unconditional love, he chose not too. For this and many other faults – I forgive you.

I know there is nothing I could ever do or say that might make you realize what you’ve done and what you’ve lost; but I can forgive the injustices and hope for a better end to your life. I can know that once you pass, you will recognize the many traumas you have delivered and beg for forgiveness. I can ensure that you have at the very least – my forgiveness.

Ode to Big Brother

Ode to Big Brother

I have an older brother (Kenneth Alden Dobson, Jr.) that was born March 9^th of 1966 while I followed May 24^th of 1967. Our mother did the best job she could, given her circumstances, but our childhood left an indelible scar that shattered our youth while making manhood a difficult journey at best.

I was the typical younger brother who looked up to his older brother. As a child I followed Kenny like a puppy would his guardian. Kenny was smarter and far more adventurous than I could ever imagine being, so being in his shadow made me feel more like him then I normally would. We knew I was different from the earliest times in my life, but around the age of six years old when my brother learned what the words queer, gay and faggot meant; surreptitiously appointing these names to be adorned by me, we had no clue they were appropriate given my inclinations. I was young and the names hurt, but I still desired to be just like my brother. Not a day went by that our mother didn’t chastise me with: why can’t you be more like your brother? She was ruthless with her faint sarcasm and deliberate attempts to remake me in his image as did our father. No matter how hard I tried to be just like Kenny, there was nothing I could do to appease our parents.

As my reverence towards my brother gained more fervor, my parents continued hoisting his likeness upon me while Kenny simultaneously hated my attempts of emulation. I would replicate his every gesture because that is I thought my parents wanted, but he halted my attempts by the use of physical force and strength with a good old fashion beating to deter my efforts. Kenny eventually joined my parents with his own battle of taunts and verbal abuse that lasted until he left home for the Navy.

It wasn’t until he started molesting me that I realized my older brother was not someone I wanted to emulate any longer. For one year I suffered at the end of his physical abuse hoisted upon me in a way that two brothers should never do. I was forced to succumb to his sexual needs and during this carnal feast of my innocence he forced his way inside me. I understood at far too young an age what pain was all about. The physical abuse increased during his brutal exploitations of me for the only reason I can assume of keeping me from vocalizing our escapades. During this year long struggle, I found something in it that felt natural to me. While the concept of what my brother was doing disgusted me, my realization that the physical contact with another man felt far more natural than the few times he tried to forcing me to have similar encounters with my younger sister and a neighborhood girl.

I had no desires to perpetuate the same horrific physical desires on either girl. I realized that I was in the midst of my own sexual awakening that would have naturally come with a struggle later in my life had it been allowed to takes a natural progression. I was far too beaten, submissive and shy to have made the larger leap that I was forced to make at the age of 13 years old had none of this occurred.

I’ve spent a number of years in therapy understanding and forgiving the violation brought about at the hands of my brother. I may have the clearest picture as to what the family dynamics really were during this time in all of our lives. Kenny’s brutality did not stop with molesting me for one year nor did it start at its inception. He continued using me as his personal punching bag and means to release stress, but at least he knew he would never sexual abuse me ever again. My retributions for being the lesser Dobson started with my father, who made it my brother’s personal job to toughen me up and make me into a real man. Kenny was directed to his attacks against me as the golden boy of the family and who could do no wrong. Kenny being the exact replica of our father with whom Kenny despised with all his heart was given an engaging quest to remake the fag into a man. As we grew I watched as the hate for our father grew within my brother as an unattended tumor consuming all in its path growing until it takes over its host. Kenny remained constant in his vigil to never be like our father, but he was reminded daily by his reflection, his walk, his speech, his mannerisms and his temperament that they were identical in every way. Each day was another day closer to becoming our father and that thought seemed to be another step closer in the opposite direction he truly espoused.

My brother’s dream was to find a woman that he adored and could honestly love. Our father might love a woman, but he was taught that the best she could ever be was a sexual outlet for her man. My father believes that women were to be dominated, demeaned, tortured and their only services other than feeding, taking care of the kids and the house; was to service her man well. He could and should have many different women taking care of him, but his wife was chattel and was only a dominated toy for his whims. Kenny found the woman he greatly desired and one who made him the happiest I’d ever seen him. He found his Venus after many years of drug abuse while she spurred in him the desire to clean up his life. He fought and won custody of his son from another woman and started building the future he always desired with his soon to be wife. Things seemed to be going well for him, but the drugs soon became a far too frequent call to action exemplifying just how difficult a fight for possession of his soul would really be. No matter what they did as a family or how hard he fought against the hold crack seem to have on him; he could not break free from its grip. Not even for his dreams of love from the one woman and son he cherished above all. Kenny without acknowledgement had succeeded where my father never could; he had if even for the slightest time, the dream he never imaged he would receive: a loving family and he was the devoted father and husband.

As crack continued to ravage his body and mind he lost that woman who still loves him with all her heart. They had a beautiful little girl that my brother wasn’t even aware when she was born because he was on a drug induced bender. He never knew how he almost lost both his cherished wife and precious little girl that night due to a chemical substance that holds his life within its grip. My brother with few other resources available to him has moved in with the one man he loathed and hated with all his heart. The vile insides of him has turned that once loving father and husband into a psychotic man with a thirst only to destroy the woman who once set his world right-side up, but who is now seen as keeping him from his baby girl.

It is amazing to me how psychoses can drive the very sane into insane acts. He left his once peaceful and cherished home to live with our father and upon doing so let his exasperated wife know he would not fight her for custody of their child. Knowing deep within his heart he could not be the father she deserves. However, my fathers influence over a drug riddled man has led him to fight for custody of the girl with whom he has barely spent time. He has had more days with drugs since her birth then he has spent with his precious daughter. The misguided drug influenced man is being filled with spite and hate from the original source that turned a decent boy into a molester and later turned an act of attrition from the heart of the same grown man into a raged filled drug addict. Influence from a man so filled with contempt for himself turning out to be just like the father he once hated for the very same reasons his very own son loathes him.

Now I am faced with the perils of sitting in a court of law and telling this very same story filled with details that would turn each stomach of the listeners. Exposing the abuses I suffered at the hands of my brother, guided by our father who vilified his eldest son. Kenny Junior and Ken Senior want custody of this precious little girl for all the wrong reason. My brother can no longer be a parent to even his son who is living in the environment we grew up under. I try to hold back the disgust that fills my heart for the way I was raised and knowing this precious little boy (Ethan Jacob Dobson) is under the same manipulations. Knowing that the once honor filled man who stood in front of me with great remorse in his eyes, yet unable to get out the words, was becoming the man he hates - our father. My sleepless nights stem from the fact that I can no longer allow my brother to continue this cycle of abuse with his son and daughter. However, am I prepared to stand against him?

Can I be as courageous as I need to be in order to secure the future for his little girl? Will I, in turn if she is victorious with her claims of self dependence from my brother, have the heart to watch my nephew be dragged away by Louisiana Social Services in hopes he may have a chance for a life away from my brother and my father? The chances that the courts would give custody of this wonderful little boy to my older sister (Kimmy) or that she would accept the challenge might be a fleeting grasp at hope. I know better than to challenge my brother – a drug infested man who will die by these drugs one day soon. Could I even consider if the Louisiana Court system would even consider granting custody to a single gay male, the remainder of my family would object vehemently.

My heart can’t quit get beyond knowing if my actions are disingenuous to my brother, my father or even to myself. Do I even consider such actions as an act of revenge while claiming to have forgiven him for his many acts of aggression towards an admiring brother? Am I honest with my intent or am I fooling myself and others. Asking these and many other questions seem only to garner fewer answers than I find additional questions needing to be asked. Can there be any answers found with a clear heart when the acts lead someone to suffer? Who am I to appoint suffering to any one person?

The Importance Of Family

30^th of September 2006

The Importance of Family

I speak with my mother once or twice a week to find out how she and all the other family members are doing. When I left home at the age of seventeen years old, I really did not expect our relationship to be the only bond that ties me to the family; however, it is a pleasant surprise none the less. You see, I left home on January 15th, 1985 at the young age of seventeen years old because my family ostracized me at the tender age of fifteen after finding letters confirming my homosexuality. Most days everyone in the family just ignored me and when they did speak, they were nasty, spiteful and demeaning (like my brother telling me he was going to beat the shit out of me to show the world what a fucking faggot I was); so I left home as soon as I could.

Here I am at 39 years old and the past four years I found myself in a very familiar place with my family. No one speaking with me and when I become the subject of conversation, it is not in a positive manner. My mother has made a huge effort to keep in touch even at the risk of alienating herself from the others. They seem to be guided by my eldest sister (Kimmy) and while I can only make assumptions, I presuppose that when I dared to question the veracity of my niece (Melanie, Kimmy’s daughter) several years ago over missing money, I did the unforgivable sin in the family and went from the favorite brother to the same throw-away kid I was at the age of fifteen years old.

I’m OK with my family’s ostracizing me and I have come to see how my mother’s attempt to keep some semblance of peace amongst our family members is truly worthy of recognition. Before the past four years I always credited Kimmy for holding the family together. I saw her in the role as matriarch and making sure everyone and everything was in its place. It is amazing the clarity that comes with depression and psychotic rage, but after moving back home my eyes were opened to how distance can really change the images people are capable of viewing. This is not meant to hurt Kimmy, but that is what I feel to be true deep in my heart. Her need to control is not entirely her fault; it is a traite that we all were taught by our parents and how we were raised. My oldest sister never learned how to turn it off and I am fearful that it will be one of the things that causes her anxiety later in life. However, back in the real world, she refuses to speak with me and I assume it is due to my inability to beg for her forgiveness. Instead of it ending between she and I, the remaining family members are suppose to follow suit with having the same problems with me that she does.

My soul was devastated for the second time in my life as my second family outing was coming to bare it was during a time when I needed my family the most. They choose to excommunicate me for very ego centric reasons adding to the density of the clouds that surrounded my heart at the time. The actions resonated strongly with my previous experiences as I struggled to come to terms with my homosexuality at the youthful age of fifteen years old. Then and now my family responded with exorcising me from their midst rather than understanding and loving me all the same. I did this time as I had the first time; dug deep in to my heart and soul finding what I could to support myself until I could rebuild my confidence without the comforts of family.

In my isolation imposed by the family who should love me unconditionally, I relied on the only person I have ever known to truly be there for me during at all times…me. It saddens me because families are the people you should be able to count on no matter what. You try new things and they work, great the family is there to cheer you forward. If they don’t work, the family is there to lend support no matter the unsuccessful attempt. I could psychoanalyze our family and the problems we have with dysfunctions by the plethora, but that will take far too long and is the focus of other blogs.

I was forced to revisit the pain I suffered in both of my previous encounters, because I have done my part to perpetuate my hermit status. No, neither Kimmy, my brother (Kenny) nor my oldest niece (Melanie) speaks with me at the current time. I have become OK with their silence, but based on their non-verbal eloquence it seems I have isolated my innocent younger niece (Britney). My mother is attempting to get me to call Kimmy and my younger sisters (Tonya); however I am not sure I want too. When does a person state enough truly is enough?

When is the pain caused by family too much to bear and deliverance is the proper solution to the quandary? My inability to come to peace with this conundrum has me struggling with these questions daily. If I bend to the Kimmy’s desires, then she maintains the tight controls she wields over this family and no one else will ever challenge her authority. She started my isolation when I questioned the veracity of Melanie while refusing to beg for her forgiveness for such an act. This affects Britney as my stubbornness refuses to accept Kimmy’s authority over all other family members. I have done to my niece what the family does to me by cutting her from my life. She is a beautiful and innocent child who does not deserve to loose family members when she has not made any choices pertaining to me…for that I must beg her forgiveness.

My mother’s attempts to support the erosion in our family by making me think of our consequences instead of allowing me to wallow in the self pity was a necessary slap in my face brought about because for another year I was not invited to Britney’s birthday (which I was not because every family event must take place at Kimmy’s house, she must choose the menu but then complain because she has to do everything). I was speaking with my mother and mentioned that I would bring Britney’s card by her house when she said I need to call her. My mother chastised my neglect from her life and from doing the things we use to do like date night. When I was in the good graces of my family, I would take Britney out on a date. She and I would go out to dinner or a movie and I would let her choose the venue and the actions. We always had such a good time together and I found in that moment of reflection the longing I no longer allowed myself to feel for missed family events.

I bought a new card for Britney’s birthday changing it to also include a request for a date which occurred tonight. When I spoke with Britney on the phone she seemed very distraught at first like she was uneasy talking with me. I am sure before she called me the discussion was another tirade on my faults and inadequacies by her mother Tonya and I could almost feel the inner struggle as this beautiful child was deciding what to do with my offer. I directly asked if she was OK and if she wanted to go to dinner and she said yes. She opened up a little after that on the phone, but it was not until tonight that her wonderful personality really became present. We had a great time as I asked her if she would like to do this again in two weeks and possibly even every two weeks.

This little girl has the right to grow up without isolation and control from all of the adults in her life. She needs to see there is a better way of life. My heart and my soul go out to this beautiful little girl while I prey for the best her future can bring her. Family is supposed to be the most important support any person should have and I want my Britney to know she has me there when ever she needs me.

Love Uncle Todd

3^rd of September 2006

Does the US Government wish to Re-Define Family Next

Our elected officials across the United States have wasted the past eight years fighting a war, but it has little to do with foreign terrorist and every thing to do with their own form of terrorism. Yes! I wrote that correctly…the United States government with more than two hundred years of fighting for freedom is waging a war against some of its own citizens.

As stated in other bloggs, I am horrified that so much effort has been put in to fighting for basic common rights that the United States Constitution clearly gives every man, woman and child born a citizen in this great country. Our hate-filled officials go as far as to pass laws defining marriage as only the union between a man and a woman to ensure the sanctity of what, nobody really knows. It is funny because more than 80 percent of our elected officials are themselves in their second and third marriages. The audacity to believe after one, two, three or more marriages; they feel they are pious enough to tell the good citizens who they can and cannot love. They openly perpetuate hate and vile with every speech delivered against one last bastion of oppression - Homosexuality.

Where does this tyranny end? Who dictates our next lesson in life as we live the American Dream of a free country? Do we allow the government to start defining who can adopt our poor and destitute children? Some states and politicians have already begun this battle encapsulated within the rights to marry. These same people say one or two loving parents cannot give a stable environment to a child unless those parents are one man and one woman. Who cares that the children only require love and stability. This fact-less argument based on rants from those who believe they know what is best for these children, yet they themselves are not going to adopt or foster care for the scourge they deny a good home too. They argue the depravity of a single mother is bad, but nothing compared to the infraction of giving a child to two mothers or two fathers or even one parent that loves someone of the same sex. As if, heterosexuals are the basis of good parenting skills and love.

What is the next step? Is this government going to pass laws defining a family as a celebration between one man and one woman? If government intervention is immanent, do they forget single parent families or those consummated from illegal acts such as rape? Do we believe the government will stop here, why not censor what is printed and reported? Will they stop there or are we stepping closer too a dictatorship or socialist government.

Let me tell you all about the so-called one man and one-woman families the government wants everyone to have as an example. My mother married my father because he took her out after a betting his High School football buddies that he could score with her on the first date. He was the first male person who ever paid attention to her since her father was imprisoned for molesting her most of her life. She not only fell for the lines he gave her, but also the charm used to slip her out of her dress. Nine months later, they became parents and in the interim, they were married. They had four children together and the only thing that was worst than the physical abuse was the mental cruelty. Three of the four kids left home as soon as humanly possible, me including at the age of seventeen years old.

Our lives were nothing until we left home and even then, the pain and agony caused by years of abuse took many years too resolve. If this is what the government wants for those kids, they are better off in foster care. Loving parents have nothing to do with heterosexual or homosexual inclinations.

We need to stop our government from furthering the pain and agony caused to the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender communities. We need to stop using our legal system to spread hate.

Our government needs to teach tolerance and acceptance rather than bigotry and hatred.

Continue this message and make it heard!

Why Can't We All Just Accept One Another

3^rd of September 2006

Why Can’t We All Just Accept One Another?

We come in to this world instinctively knowing how to love. Love is one thing that we do know from the second we take our first breath. So why does HATE proliferate faster and easier than love?

If I had the answer to this question, then I would be in the Middle East working magic for millions of human lives. Hate is taught…and we need to see the hate we hold in our own hearts! For the life of me, I cannot understand why people find it easier to hate then to accept, respect or just to love.

How difficult is it to listen to the words from a person saying that which you loath to hear. Can you not find anything within that person reflected inside of you? Think of that person listening to you pontificate your ideology and remember that you want this person to understand and accept you; so shouldn’t you want to understand and accept them. If understanding is not possible, what about just respecting the fact they stand up for themselves as you do and isn’t that something you both hold in common?

If we truly want a better place for tomorrow’s future, we need to make changes in how we act! We need to care more about that which we dislike, in order to make a positive change in this world. If we cannot come to terms with our opposition, then accept that it takes all kinds to make this world go round. The bigger person can allow the differences between us and can eliminate HATE.

It is OK to see the opposite of me living and breathing within you. It is OK to have something different from myself. You…are OK and I respect your existence and love myself enough to allow you in the same beautiful world I occupy.

~ LOVE, HONOR & RESPECT ~