And now the Glesca Mammy is out.

Before submitting this post I made two phone calls. To two of my children. To ask permission to post what is here. They both gave me the thumbs up.

Below is a word for word response that I made in comment on a blog post in OM’s Project O http://aopinionatedman.com/category/project-o/. I will not include the blog post itself.

‘My twenty year old daughter told me recently that she read of a poll conducted where one of the questions asked was, ‘When did you choose to be straight?’ The response given was, ‘I didn’t choose. I was born that way.’
However you perceive homosexuality in terms of the bible and the love of Jesus, there surely must be room to question whether anyone – anyone – born with whatever actual or perceived ‘disability’ has the same human rights as another?
I have seven children. I am a practising Roman Catholic. I have two gay children – one of each. Lucky me. For it allows me to practise what I preach – that all men and women are born equal. That God’s love is for all.
There may be some mystery attached as to why some people are born gay but until that mystery is revealed to me by the grace of God’s wisdom, I will love and defend the rights of all people.
Perhaps He chose to make it so to determine whether our love and sense of equality is all-inclusive or selective.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts. They were most enlightening.x’

If you want to argue human rights, try me. Just try me. These are my children we are talking about just as all gay people are someone’s children. Just as all gay people are people. You might not like it, you might not understand it. But it’s here and they’re born that way.

I can only conclude that I am in awe at how selective people can be in matters pertaining to human rights. So long as you are the right colour, nationality, creed, gender, sexual orientation. I am gobsmacked. Utterly gobsmacked.

Inevitability

Words flow freely now

But fail to express.

I begin.

I digress.

The aim is lost.

And the purpose.

The intention ever the same.

To communicate without

Naming names.

To offer without

Being shamed.

Hands easily reach out

And arms hold.

Words struggle,

Cannot be bold.

Enough of confession.

No time to delay.

Parts taken,

Let’s play.

A game is all

It is.

Only earthly reason

To enjoy.

But this.

This loses everything,

Betrays inevitability,

Sinks beneath

Even shallow waters.

No question

Or answer

Can be understood

Or relayed.

Recorded forever

And played

Over and over

Again.

Ode to Hugh Jackman

It had to come!

Ice melts spontaneously

When you pass by.

A volcano’s eruption is, by comparison, shy.

Heat from your pores

Warms half the earth.

Adonis must have wept

On the day of your birth.

 

All treasures returned to ore,

Never more to glitter.

Even males look in wonder.

I wonder are they bitter

At Nature’s benevolence

And beauty with such prize?

Your wife is such a lucky girl.

No jealousy here. Just sighs.

 

Video reading    Ode To Hugh Jackman

Coming Out Of The Closet. Mark 2.

For as long as I can remember I’ve hated having my photograph taken. I’m not entirely sure why, although feeling awkward in front of a camera and some hellish looking pictures over the years may have had something to do with it.

When I joined WordPress I had no intention of putting my face or own name to my site. I’ve already done a post on my reasons here ‘faceless, not voiceless’, so it’s pointless to reiterate. But something has changed. Maybe not hugely. But significantly enough.

OM did a rant on his post, the-right-to-opinion, regarding Project O, which I took part in. I mainly took part in it because of his rant. How dare I not express my opinion when it may be of some benefit to others? As pointed out by OM, some people – many people, way too many people – do not enjoy that basic right.

I said, quite truthfully, in my post for Project O that I would fight for my rights. All of them. But, especially those I value highly – like free speech, self-determination, freedom to worship in my chosen way, freedom to be me.

And then it occurred to me that fighting means putting yourself out there. Oh, I do that in my life but not in public forums. I’m actually quite shy in lots of ways and the main one has always been any public display.

This sounds a bit stupid to my own ears, coming from someone who has sung in front of hundreds of people and in pubs, in front of strangers. But, I was so much younger then and probably had a different sort of confidence. But mostly, my mum had drummed it into me that talent was a gift and self-effacing bashfulness disallowed use of that talent. Talents are to be shared. Otherwise we insult God. And waste our gifts.

Anyway, all I had to do was stand up and perform. Performing is one thing. The idea of ‘being myself’ in any sort of public display embarrasses me.

I’m the person who would use a nom de plume if I ever finish a book. I would shun publicity if it were required.

So, what kind of righteous militant am I when I can’t face people but ‘hide’ behind my voice?

I don’t feel I’ve been hiding here. I’ve found kindness and understanding and approval. For my words. But, most importantly, as my words express me, for me.

It may seem somewhat pathetic but maybe we’re all a bit pathetic. With or without faces, we’re all seeking something from WordPress. From each other. Otherwise, I’d still be writing, dating it and filing it.

So, coming out of the closet Mark 1 was putting myself, in words, out here. Not on Facebook, not on Twitter or anywhere else.

But that has to change, I feel. Coming out of the closet Mark 2 has been required. And I did it yesterday. I did a video reading of a poem I’d written and opened up a scottishmomus Facebook account so that I had somewhere to post the video to. I had a hellish time trying to work out how to connect it from Facebook to WordPress but, with a little help from my friends, thanks Cubby, I did it.

At the moment, all that means is that I’m ‘performing’ but I’m putting my face with my voice and my words on display. For public perusal.

I am kacking it slightly but I see no reason to go back  – unless, of course, Facebook people are horrible to me!

I don’t know what Mark 3 will be or even if there is one or should be one. But, my ‘getting over photophobia’ and fear of public display begins. I am adding a page to my site for video readings of some of my writing. My face is there, my voice is there, my words are there.

OM asked what we hoped to expect or happen from Project O. I never expected this. I’ll be running around naked next through the town, shouting to passersby that I’m no longer shy or afraid. Well, maybe not naked. I do have some modesty left.

Little and large things can be changed in so many subtle, unexpected ways.

Something special is occurring here. I can feel it. I know it. OM’s Project O is not just for me and my little foibles. It’s for everyone. To give over an entire month on a forum that has over 23,000 followers, to allow all of those linked in this way to share each others’ minds and opinions is huge. It’s momentous.

I don’t know what it is yet. But, I’m pretty sure OM has an idea and hopes. I’m really beginning to think that ‘Ohm’ would be more appropriate as his catch-all.

It takes someone a bit ‘bolshy’, a bit questioning, a bit pushy, a bit ‘get in your fucking face’, to raise awareness. He’s doing that. And not, I believe for himself. Oh, he may get something out of it. There’s usually splendid payback when you do something wonderful, And, really, this has the potential to be full of wonder. My stomach’s fluttering at its potential. Insights and understanding of others could go a long way in making the world a better place for all of us. For all children, no matter where they are born. Namaste.

 

My videos will be ‘warped’ somewhat to protect myself, I hope, from mammies and daddies of weans I teach. If any of them come on here and see my full face and name I might get into bother for letting ‘fuck’ and ‘wank’ and other such niceties slip from my pen. I try to do so only when it seems fitting and I’m pretty sure lots of people (including mammies, daddies and some school kids) use them. But, given some of the odd things that happen in this crazy world, I’m looking out for my job.

And, if anyone recognises my face that knows me as Mrs. ******, school teacher extraordinaire! – I’m blaming OM. He made me do it! Well, you know what I mean.

And, if ever I make it into print and people slate me, I’m blaming him for that too.

And, if I burn the dinner today – well, I’ll blame my husband. I’m too busy writing to cook!

Thanks OM. It’s only taken 52 years! Where have you been all my life? Oh, that’s right, you weren’t born. 🙂