Not a random insult.
We invite the drama inside our lives when we outwardly express our opinions. Social media is social. I bit my tongue through the two elections of George W. Bush. Mama taught me it was rude to discuss such topics as sex, politics, and religion. Now up until this last election, I’d pretty much abided by my Mama’s raising.
I didn’t shout on the street as Florida decided which tiny scrap of paper counted as a hanging ‘chad’. I didn’t scream or holler when the Towers fell. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything. I live in the hills of West Virginia, not close to New York. Yes, I knew people effected. It’s a small town. We all know somebody.
Rachel is a…
As Bush entered his second term and we all knew Cheney and him had lied and went to war for oil, still I said nothing. Friends went off to war. Friends came back home. Not the same. They would never be the same. And life happens.
I finished college. I finally voted for a winning president.
Although, I guess it’s time I owned up to what I am. I’m not a Democrat. I guess by now you’ve probably figured out I’m not a card-carrying Republican either.
Rachel is a registered Independent.
Purposely registered as free from any party affiliation, as I don’t agree with either party enough to be labeled by one of their names. Up until the last 8 months I didn’t think what my voter card said really mattered. I didn’t think it mattered anymore than how I like to lay naked on top of my husband and kiss passionately.
Or which God I whisper holy prayers to and hope they reach heaven. I pray to my God. Which God is the right God? I am not sure. I’ve been baptized twice. Washed in the blood of the lamb at the age of 5 by Baptist’s hands. And again at 15 by the Pentecostals’ Church of God. At 19, I went through Catholicism classes to convert. But I didn’t finish.
Today, I pray. I still pray almost every day.
I quit attending church and mass a long time ago. But I kept my faith.
A man looks at me and says to my face, “God ain’t never done anything for me.”
I say to him, “He gave you a wife. He gave you your son. The son every one said I couldn’t have. I shouldn’t have. God’s done plenty for you. Count your blessings.”
As I defend a man who doesn’t believe in me. I defend his profession. I know he doesn’t see me or his child as God-given blessings. None of this matters. Because I am loyal, and I love the people in my life without question.
I don’t want my son to grow up in this world.
And I am told for voicing my opinion by an internet stranger:
“Rachel is a Muslim lover. “
It’s true. I am.
I march because I expect better from us. I want better for all of us, even the ill-prepared who doesn’t know what awaits them.
I am a humanist.
Inside every body is a thousand stories, memories, feelings, and dreams. Their inside is no different than my inside. Outwardly, we may dress differently. We may pray to a different God. We may make love differently behind closed doors. We may eat different dinners. We may raise our children in a different parenting style. We may even be registered to vote differently. Some of us pee standing up. Some of us pee sitting down.
Tears taste salty. Hurt stings the heart. Blood is crimson.
Humanity: the one thing connecting us across oceans and land masses.
We can change an entire system. We can sling hate and pretend we are better than others. We can remember the governments which have failed us and place blame on them. We can scream and yell…
And cuss out an internet stranger.
We came into the world, and eventually we will leave it. It’s what we built and how we acted in-between those years which will become our legacy.
Rachel E. Bledsoe is a writer and an Appalachian Misfit Mama. She enjoys swimming, long walks on the beach, and Marie Antoinette biographies. She is the sole voice and writer behind The Misfits of a Mountain Mama. You can visit her on Facebook or on Twitter @MisfitMtMama.