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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Location: California, United States

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

White Grrl Blues

Years ago my baby sister wrote a poem about me called "My Sister Thinks She's Black." OK. Forgive me if I misremember but it was years ago and she only showed it to me once. Years after she wrote it. I believe she thought I would flip out.

It was clear to me, at the time, that this was her perception of me when she wrote it. It didn't feel like me but there was a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

I went to an all white elementary school, a racially mixed junior high school, a middle class, lily white high school, and then on to a racially diverse University. Wayne State. Located in downtown Detroit.

But I didn't just go to Wayne State. I went in 1967. A time of great social upheaval. I dated, among others, several black men. I fell madly in love with one of them and to this day still carry a torch for him. Yes. I know I'm a dyke but I still love Bill.

When I was 6, and we played "teenager," all of the other little girls wanted to have blond hair and blue eyes. I wanted long black hair and brown skin. When I was 12, I had this idea that I could disappear into the woods and become an Indian. The Native American kind. I would live in a tent and forage on the land. It was my fondest dream. I just wanted to be left alone to contemplate life and the Universe.

Where on earth did I get these ideas? Perhaps it was because I read "Virginia Dare, Mystery Girl" when I was a child. I was glad that Virginia had been taken by the natives. She seemed to have a much more rich and interesting life than she would have had raised by Pilgrims. Never mind that this book was pure fiction in the guise of an historical novel. It captured my imagination and has lived there ever since.

I was never sure if my sister was making fun of me, angry with me, or just making an observation when she wrote that poem. But the idea was interesting to contemplate. I think that I simply wished I was something other than what I was.

Kinja, the weblog guide


Blogger Cheryl said...

Oh, what a great post, Pam! I always lamented the fact that I seemed to have been born either a century or a decade too early. I envy you your adult perceptions of the Sixties...thanks for taking me back there, though I was a mere child. I, too, seemed to have always had a sense of "other" in me that wasn't simply being gay. As a matter of fact, I can truthfully say, "some of my best friends are black!"

You are great fun to read, Pam!

11:39 AM PST  
Blogger just me said...

I love reading your posts. Everyday is like opening a package. Have you ever asked your sister what it was she was thinking when she wrote it?

3:26 PM PST  
Blogger Cheryl said...

Oooo...I like it! The direct approach!

5:29 PM PST  
Blogger ~ nellenelle said...

1967 in Detroit... I recall riding back from vacation, listening to the radio in my parent's car, talking on what was happening. Scary time, and I was 600 miles east. You... were there.

I love when people give a glimpse of their own personal history, these stories are priceless.

6:09 PM PST  
Blogger Cheryl said...

Was that the summer Detroit burned?

9:06 PM PST  
Blogger Cheryl said...

Also, Pam, do you mind if I link you when I particularly like something or if I add you to my list of Nice People? : )

9:07 PM PST  
Blogger NursePam said...

LOL Cheryl. *tries to remember which year Detroit burned* I believe that was the year. Of course you can link to me. I don't know about the Nice People List although I have my moments.

And Just Me, what a sweet thing to say :o)

Nelle, I do believe you were still in grammar school while I was packing up to leave for University. You can really remember back that far?

7:10 AM PST  
Blogger Cheryl said...

"Nice people" is really meant to be read, "People I like," or, "People who think like me." You're in! ; )

2:49 PM PST  

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