Letter to Bob Casey - Feb. 4, 2017

Senator Bob Casey

2000 Market St # 1870,

Philadelphia, PA 19103

Dear Senator,

Thank you for standing against the Muslim ban. It is unconstitutional on multiple points, beyond being careless and cruel. If we’re not careful, the United States of America is going to go back in time.

Our new president is pushing the limits of the constitution beyond the breaking point. We need all Democratic representatives at every level of government to actively work against every injustice he proposes. Many are worried that he is pushing so far so that even when he is opposed, we will still land on the wrong side of justice.

Please speak out against the following three priorities, in addition to continuing to hold the administration’s feet to the fire regarding the #Muslimban. I know that it’s a lot to keep track of, but we must keep energy high and not stand aside and give our democracy to a demagogue.

First, resist any attempt to destroy or disassemble Dodd-Frank and the Volcker Rule, which protects the American people from another runaway financial crisis. We don’t want to bail out the banks with our tax dollars any more.

Second, please speak out against the appointment of Betsy DeVos. She’s a terrible idea for Philadelphia, for Pennsylvania, and for the nation. I know because I’ve been doing the work of education – and paying attention to the politics of it – for 15 years longer than she has.

Third, continue to insist upon Trump’s release of his tax returns. This first of his crimes against American ethics, norms and traditions,  can still be the reason that we ultimately ensure that he has less than a 4-year term in office.

When you resist Trump, you are representing me as a constituent. Thank you in advance for doing everything you possibly can in the coming days, weeks, months and years. Let’s ensure this administration is as brief and painless as possible.

~~~~~

To learn more about how YOU, reader, can fight back against Republican extremism, check out the Indivisible Guide. It was written by Obama White House staffers, and modeled after the ways in which the Tea Party worked against him throughout his Presidency. It's our turn. 

We Can All Write Our Reps -- Here's How

I haven't been blogging, but I have been writing. Mostly letters to my representatives, in the following categories:

• U.S. Senate (mine are Toomey & Casey)
• U.S. Congress (mine is Evans)
• PA Senate (mine is Williams)
• PA Congress (mine is Roebuck)
• PA Governor & Attorney General (Tom Wolf, Josh Shapiro)
• Philly Mayor, five city council at-large reps & one district rep

With the exception of a few city councilwomen, these are all straight men. Most of them are white. The exercise in learning who they were and that they represented me -- while I hadn't really bothered to learn much about them -- was eye-opening in itself. 

They are all Democrats with the exception of Pat Toomey, so he gets more letters from me. Interesting fact: U.S. Senators have multiple offices in various districts of the state (PA has seven; I imagine smaller states may have fewer). That means for each Toomey letter I write, there are eight copies: one to each district office, and one to the office in Washington, D.C. Even if he doesn't read one of them, his staffers will. 

As I share about my letter-writing on social media, several people have asked me for a copy of the letters. I debated sharing these letters on this blog. Was the content "queer" enough? Did it have anything to do with happiness? 

Jenny adeptly pointed out on a very cold walk the other evening that if it's coming from me, it's queer enough. And while happiness may not be in our politics right now, this is how I'm keeping my sanity. So here goes. 

For a how-to guide for your own activism, read the Indivisible Guide. Then feel free to steal any of my language or letters to send to your own representatives. 

Dreams of Pregnancy

They say dreams of pregnancy are not usually about pregnancy itself, but about being pregnant with possibility. Women dream about being pregnant when they are on the verge of something, not when they're actually contemplating getting pregnant. In my case, perhaps there's a little bit of both.

The dream itself isn't worth going into, except to say that it took place in my parents' bedroom. A woman doctor put her finger inside me to confirm that even though I was spotting, I was still holding the baby.

I'm not too high on dream interpretation, but I believe in symbols and stories. Dreams create an opportunity to unpack something that's scratching at the subconscious. My parents' home, where I lived from the age of four until I left for college at seventeen, is never far from my dreamscapes.

My gay identity and relationship with my parents are complicated by the fact that I couldn't wait for childhood to be over. I don't remember acting like a kid, being carefree or comforted by the presence of adults. I was not abused. But I was never comfortable, either.

Flannery O'Connor said, "Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days."

I was a wide-eyed, thoughtful and anxious child. Although sometimes moody, I was a pleaser who gave the impression of being wise beyond my years. My brother and I received unsolicited compliments from our fellow churchgoers about our impeccable behavior. I learned well how to keep my inner life protected.

To this day, Jenny will note discord between how I claim I'm feeling and what I'm outwardly projecting. I've learned to say things like, "I was self-conscious about that," or "that made me anxious," because I literally don't know how to act in a way that will show those emotions to a friend or partner.

Maybe feeling one way and acting another is simple adulthood, and I learned it sooner than most. If that's the case, I'm ready for whatever is next. My father's side of the family is Dutch, German and Scandinavian. Whatever is next, I will not learn it from them. They do not talk about upsetting or complicated matters, at least not with one another. This wedding on Saturday is beginning to weigh.

Although I'm out to most family members, I still have a hard time, in each new social setting, entering and navigating their rituals and conversations. Sonia will be with me. I hope I am pregnant with the possibility of being strong and confident and -- dear God can I hope -- a little funny.

On Tuesday night, I went out with Jenny and two friends, a lesbian couple pregnant with their second child. The couple was open and forthcoming about their process in the manner of a truly tight and confident family. We discussed sperm banks, using a known donor and adoption as ways we'd all considered making our families.

Of course, the pregnancy dream could have simply been a wisp of a memory from that night. Sonia and I have talked about adoption, but the possibility of me carrying a child isn't off the table.

After dinner, I walked with the couple and told them a little bit about this blog. "I don't know what it is I'm trying to work out," I found myself saying, "But I'm working something out, and enjoying the process."

I rambled a bunch, too. I need to work on my elevator speech.

Whatever happens Saturday, I'd like to think that I'm pregnant with that unknown: what is here, where it is leading me.

Sonia Saves the Night

For eight years, college through the age of 27, I was one hell of a waitress. Sometimes it was my full-time gig; other times I used it to supplement my income while freelance writing.

One of my favorite places to work was a big, purple windmill near my parents' house, where they served country cookin' and Greek food, diner-style. The waitstaff was mostly rural and white; the kitchen guys were all Mexican and lived in a single house across the street, sending money back to their families.

I preferred the kitchen guys, even though they flirted with me. It wasn't entirely unwelcome at the time, and they stayed on the other side of the line or kept a respectful distance.

The restaurant never had enough help, which meant more tips for me. I didn't mind. I'd have six to ten tables in a shift, at least one of them an 8-top. It's where I built my multi-tasking skills (a great asset in the nonprofit world). It's also the origin story of the anxiety dream that still haunts me.

When you're running around trying to keep 30+ hungry people content and well-fed, it can get a bit hectic. When you're a pleaser like me, and genuinely want to keep everyone happy, too, it can be an impossible task.

To this day I have dreams that harken back to that time, with additional dream-like elements like the restaurant is on the side of a mountain (I can't get to the table at the top) or I have one table that's outside, but all the doors are locked. Other obstacles pop up along the way - I don't have the right change, the kitchen is out of a particular food or I'm stuck in slow motion.

I have these dreams when my anxiety is piqued. They've been rare since I quit smoking, but I had a few cigarettes Monday night, so I had the dream again. This time, there was a Sonia-related twist.

It was a typical restaurant-dream setting: a sprawling restaurant the size of the wing of a mall, a disgruntled white dude with a mullet who was insistent that I give him $18 cash back from his debit card (no one does this), $15 for him and $3 for his wife. The wife apologized for his rudeness. I left to figure out a way to get cash back and make sure they had the right change.

The usual obstacles came up: I squeezed through the first room, crowded with bodies both seated and walking around, so tight I could barely move through them. Other tables tried to wave me down along the way. I found the cash register, but it was empty.

I squeezed through another room, equally crowded, only to find Sonia, also in a waitstaff apron, with a black check book full of cash. As she counted out the money I needed, I woke up. I didn't even need to get back to the rude guy; the anxiety had dissipated. It was the first time the dream ever ended with a solution before I opened my eyes.

Sonia is good for me. Being partnered is good for me. And because this is the first time in my life I've lived with a partner, it's still novel to wake up from dreams (not to mention dreams in which my partner saved the day) to see her lying next to me.

It's Friday of my first week blogging about gay relationships and happiness, and I'm grateful. Now, if I could only figure out how to get a follower or two...