Wednesday, December 3, 2014

History, Herstory

Only time will tell what momentous events stand out in history.  For instance, it appears that the assassinations of Lincoln and Kennedy are big deals, while the assassinations of Garfield and....whatshisname, not so much.   McKinley!  That's who it was, McKinley.  But I think you get my point.
 
That even holds true with wars.  WWI and WWII are memorable, but almost no one talks about the War of the Roses anymore.  (Not even the movie.  Which wasn't bad.  Didn't see that whole chandelier thing coming.  Oops, sorry, spoiler alert!)
 
At the end of the day (I am using that phrase as a metaphor for when you're dying.  I thought I'd explain that for any Asbergery-types that may be reading this.), I think what really matters is your own personal history--the people and events that impacted you, helped define who you are and how you view life.   And sometimes historical events end up influencing that as well.
 
I was in high school when the Vietnam War protests started and, in my own small way, I supported the protest.  I wore a black armband to school and refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.   Rebel Lite.  I didn't get in trouble for this--I was a Theatre Kid, and everyone knows they're Weird.  My parents were confused, more than anything.  But then, they never understood me and didn't feel the need to.  They figured my liberal leanings were a passing phase, like when I was in seventh grade and thought I was John Lennon.  So they just let me alone.  Irish Parenting. 
 
Anyroad, those liberal leanings stuck.  I still believe in peace and equality, even if those things are as elusive as unicorns and a comfortable bra.  I just don't have the emotional energy to be vocal about it anymore.  Also, due to my current employment status, I have to keep my mouth shut so the kibble and beer may continue to flow at Maison de Debala. 
 
But of all the Momentous Historical Moments I might see in my lifetime, the one that would make me the happiest, (other than scientists determining that Hot Fudge Sundaes are an essential part of a nutritionally balanced breakfast) is if women were finally universally not seen as inferior.  That, all over the world, they could get any education and job they wanted.  They could wear whatever clothes they wanted, and feel free to say whatever was on their mind.  And that the entire world held the belief that a woman's mind, despite the fact that it is encased in a body that bleeds once a month, and pushes out tiny humans on occasion (or not), is every bit as intelligent and worthy of respect as the minds that are encased in the bodies with dangly bits between their legs.   That is my dream.
 
Hey, it ain't no MLK, but what do you expect from a Weird Theatre Kid?