I’m pretty angry right now, upset at myself and another, possibly for no reason.
Today my afternoon student, for some reason came in with a chip on his shoulder. He refused to go to his keyboarding time, as well as was extremely confrontational. This culminated in him calling me a silly faggot when I mentioned how I generally avoid contact with men.
I spent the next two hours less angry at him than at myself. He of course tried to apologize when he realized that I was obviously upset. Of course when someone has wounded you at the level that he had, apologies are more or less irrelevant.
My anger mostly came from the childhood animosities that I had when people would call me such names. Of course those days are past, and it is impossible to change what happened all those years ago.
It is hard to understand sometimes how words can affect you so deeply, especially after so many years of hardening yourself. I spent many years with my back against the wall, and not letting these sorts of names get to me. I think that spending so many years in Toronto, the most PC place in Ontario, made me lax in my ability to screen things out. No one would dare use such a word as faggot, or dream of using the many racial slurs that I grew up with. Thus I became confident that at my age, I would no longer have to deal with such issues.
As often happens, I was wrong.
Living in Durham, an area which may be more racially diverse than Sault Ste. Marie, but has only had a few years to adjust to it, has brought back many of the memories of how I had to slink by as male, non-sexual, nondescript.
I’d probably deal better with this if I had a hug and listened to L7.
Categories: Kyle Richtig Journal