Recently, I have been emotionally distraught over the disgusting act of cruelty that happened to Constance McMillan. I cannot understand how, 40 years after the Civil Rights Movement began, we are still teaching each other that it is alright to hate others because they are different or because we don’t agree with them. I cannot understand how Christians really believe they are doing God’s work by lying about His supposed hatred with someone else and how they could think that treating His children like this would be an effective way to encourage them to attend their churches.

Anyway, I could go on and on about how sick this is, how wrong this is, how I hope Constance is listening more to those who are sending her love and support than to those idiots who are trying to get her to hate them back and how I hope she knows that she is perhaps the strongest teenager I’ve ever heard of for going up against an entire town and enduring this with grace. And I could especially go on about how I dread the day that I will have to explain, with shame and embarrassment, that people actually humiliated, beat and killed other people simply because they wanted to love someone that other people didn’t agree with, much like how my parents explained Segregation to me.

However, I think The Bloggess did this topic the most justice with far more poise and eloquence than I could so I’ll send you in that direction and work on trying to forgive these hateful people in my own heart.

My point in posting this particular entry is simply to state this:

In 2000, I attended the Soccastee High School prom with a girl. There were no questions asked. There were no raised eyebrows. There were no death threats. There was no press coverage. There was no picketing, no rallying, no angry parents screaming about how we were evil and wrong. There was only a prom in a small town in South Carolina where everyone did the same things that all teenagers do at proms across the country - got nervous beforehand, ate at a restaurant while way overdressed, danced a little, talked about what everyone else was wearing, got drunk afterward, perhaps lost their virginities, etc.

Whether or not we attended the prom together as friends or as lovers was never asked of us by anyone. Nobody pointed and laughed when we had our picture taken together. Nobody made snide remarks under their breath. Nobody stopped and stared when we went out on the dance floor together. It was peaceful. It was normal.

This was ten years ago in a state that only took the Confederate flag off their capital building a month later.

My point is that there is hope. Just like in any group of people, the loudmouthed, ignorant idiots cannot be expected to define the whole bunch.

Although it is rare in any region, I was raised in a family that believed in unconditional love. My parents and grandparents taught me to be colorblind, to ignore others’ social statuses, to believe in the goodness of people without smothering them with stereotypes before I’ve even met them. In my house, anyone was welcome around our family’s dinner table as long as they used their manners and didn’t smoke or drink in the house. My family taught me to forgive people who wanted to hate me and judge me and make my life difficult because they thought I was different. They taught me not to fight hatred with hatred and how I would be a better, more peaceful person if I learned to forgive and love. My parents told me that this is what Jesus taught and that’s why they were proud to call themselves Christian. I don’t think they ever thought that hatred was an option, even though I’m sure they were tempted on a daily basis.

This is what I was taught to believe. This is what I intend to instill in my child(ren).
I am not unique because of these traits. And I am Southern, too.

I’m taking a Tyler Durden mental approach to this business thing, more from necessity than from wanting to seem hip.

For me, this sugar scrub business is a lot of fun (well, the developing-of-products is moreso than the filing-taxes-and-paperwork), but it isn’t my passion. It’s a great product that I’m proud of and would encourage anyone to buy if they’re in the market for that sort of thing because I really think it trumps a lot of the competition for exceptional quality and price (except Skin and Tonic. She’s got an amazing product, fantastic, innovative scents, great prices and a sparkling, rad personality to boot. I’m glad we’re friends or I’d be terrified of her as a competitor.), but it’s not what I want to spend my life producing or working to share with the world. I don’t stand behind quasi-pricey bath and body products nearly as strongly as I stand behind so many other things.

I’m going to have to go into detail with this in another forum because my personal opinions about capitalism and consumerism shouldn’t be made public when I’m trying to launch a business, but my plan/objective is to make the scrub company successful enough to support our life’s dreams. I want to go back to school, my husband wants to start a company and we both want to take the Bear to see the world and own some land and work to live off the grid eventually. Ideally, the company would become a wild success and I could sell it for a bundle of dough and spend my life going to school and writing and wandering the globe with my family and working wherever I want to, but for right now, my goal is to make it a thriving side-project to my main agenda that will eventually include everything I just mentioned.

Like the Paper Street Soap Company, Yum in the Tub is only serving to fund something much bigger and more important, although I’m not planning on blowing anything up.

It used to make me sad when pop culture made fun of dysfunction, primarily of the WASP-y family variety. (And when I say “WASP” here, I don’t mean the literal meaning of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, I’m referring to the social connotations and stereotypes associated with this sect of people, particularly of the upper or upper-middle class variety.) I first felt this way when I watched “Will and Grace” and they loved to highlight the incredible mental fuckery of Will’s Connecticut-based family who did the stereotypical behaviors of ignoring their children’s unorthodox principles, sweeping blatant conflict under the rug and allowing it to manifest into drinking problems and mental/emotional instability, denying any destructive, self-loathing behavior to live life in perpetual stagnation and misery, and working so hard to keep up with the Joneses and create an ideal appearance that they breed more self-loathing, distrust, empty materialism, etc. Oh, and this was the fine, successful life they encouraged their offspring to embrace and aspire to. The same could be said about the pill-popping Karen Walker character who laughed about her broken marriage and loveless existence by criticizing everyone, spending money wildly, and drowning any hint of emotion in booze. The more I started paying attention, the more I recognized the apparent public appeal of making jokes about privileged, wealthy white people (not all of these people, by the way. Nothing here is ever a complete blanket generalization.) and their insane, destructive behavior that stems from the drive to show of wealth and prestige. And not only this, it was also funny to make fun of the copious antidepressants and therapy treatments we resort to because of this very broken, sick mentality. And on top of that, (and perhaps what makes all this the most absurd) this sort of humor was/is never geared toward outside minorities; it was/is always directed and marketed to the very people who fit the description.

Originally, it seemed tragic to me that family dysfunction was rampant enough to become a public joke that everyone watching could understand and relate to. Had we become so jaded with this comfortable, accepted societal insanity that we were able to gloss over the pain of it and make it yet another important issue we swept under the rug?

And then as I got older and began to see these exact traits and stereotypes within members of my own family (not all of us) and the incredible pain and destruction it caused, I started laughing with the others out there who had stepped outside the brainwashing, became a little introspective and driven toward self-improvement, and didn’t settle for perpetuating any more ignorant, stubborn, emotionally disengaged lifestyles. Elated to be amongst like-minded people who were free of their pasts, I finally got the joke:

If we didn’t learn to laugh at the complete vapid uselessness and the absurdity of what we’d seen and experienced, we’d never ever make it as whole people… if we made it out at all.