Looking back on my first installment of my memoir, I would have written it a lot differently now. That is because I have grown since then in life, as a person and as a writer. I already have the outline for the fifth book (the final one of the series - at least, my telling of my life story in the current format). What I will tell you is that it will go back to my school days and clarify a lot of things I myself was mistaken about. I am sure I will be just as intrigued in my approach as a writer, as my faithful readership will be curious to find out what all of what I just said means.
Here I present to you excerpts from episode 17, entitled "Deeper and Deeper."
~~~~~
My mother never really realized I had one steady lover, let alone was well into my second relationship, until I started getting letters from Lance in prison. He seemed much friendlier, almost angelic from that far away place and we corresponded every other week or so the whole eight years he was in prison. As time went by, and as my mother became more accepting of my sexuality, she would even send him Christmas cards.
Before my mother arrived to that acceptance, she and I had it out a few times. Not because I was gay, although that was mentioned, but because I dated Black men - pretty much exclusively. I had no idea that would have been an issue, but then again I thought back to her bitter display during prom season just a few years prior.
"It's bad enough you're gay, but you would have to date Black men," she said in a sinister tone.
"Well, would you rather it is a Black woman?" I recovered quickly.
"This whole fascination you have with Black people is scary."
"It is not fascination, more like gravitation," I remarked proudly.
"Why? What have Black people ever done so impressively for you?" She really wondered and I couldn't believe the racist standing in front of me was my own mother.
"You are a racist," I accused.
"I am not! And how dare you accuse me of that? I just believe you should stick with your own."
Unbelievable.
"I do stick with my own," I seized the opportunity. "Men!"
"That's not what I mean and you know it." She was furious.
~~~~~
My mother was, indeed, not the racist she seemed to be to me at that time. I even apologized to her, after I got a better understanding of what she meant. My poor mother used to have the hardest time getting across what she really meant. She was always concerned, for a long time, about what other people would think and one can't forget my grandma raised her.
Googles was another one I used to go toe to toe with, while maintaining a good deal of respect, on the race issue. She had horror stories. It's unfortunate because Googles was a good woman at heart and was a prime example that racism isn't something we are born with, but something attained or taught. She had a lot of Black friends at the factory she worked at. They affectionately called her Rita, because she looked like Rita Hayworth and the guys loved to play in her hair.
I was dumbfounded, imagining some burly Black stud fiddling in my grandmother's hair. She accepted it as a compliment and knew it wouldn't go any further, as she explained to me the factory was the one place she saw Black people getting treated fairly, from where she was standing. Her being a determined woman, she noticed her salary was the same as her Black male counterparts and based on that unfortunate truth, she viewed them as her equal - then. Over the years, however, she witnessed a lot of separation and attitudes among those Black folks around her. She would even stick up for them.
She told me she'd have them over on holidays and go to their churches for a visit, only to be talked about by them the following Monday at work. She felt that she fed them and partied with them, only to be stabbed in the back and betrayed by them. She was still deeply hurt at how she fell out with her "brothers from the grease pit," as she referred to them. Then the Civil Rights Movement took off and she was hurt in the 1967 riots, by people she was only trying to find cover for. Then, at that point, she told me after that anything negative that happened to her had been done by a Black person.
"You just can't trust them," she said.
Then I went on to tell both her and my mother that, yes they had an argument that I was teased and taunted by Blacks in my youth, but then Blacks were always coming to my rescue, as well. That was my environment - there are good and bad in all races, religions, sexual orientations, etc. Since my mother taught me to be a positive thinker, I always sided with the good people in my life, the majority of whom just happen to be African-American. My mother saw my point, while Googles remained unmovable.
~~~~~
I have always been more giving...more concerned...more into the relationship...
None of my lovers, the four I have learned so much from, ever acknowledged our relationships as, simply that, relationships. None ever told me they loved me. None ever treated me as more than an object, save one. It was always about me doing for them, me pleasing them physically, me writing poems for them, them, them, them...never about me, yet I am accused of being an egomaniac, in regards to my theatrical accomplishments, writings, and such.
Let's not mistake pride with egomania...
-----
Here I present to you excerpts from episode 17, entitled "Deeper and Deeper."
~~~~~
My mother never really realized I had one steady lover, let alone was well into my second relationship, until I started getting letters from Lance in prison. He seemed much friendlier, almost angelic from that far away place and we corresponded every other week or so the whole eight years he was in prison. As time went by, and as my mother became more accepting of my sexuality, she would even send him Christmas cards.
Before my mother arrived to that acceptance, she and I had it out a few times. Not because I was gay, although that was mentioned, but because I dated Black men - pretty much exclusively. I had no idea that would have been an issue, but then again I thought back to her bitter display during prom season just a few years prior.
"It's bad enough you're gay, but you would have to date Black men," she said in a sinister tone.
"Well, would you rather it is a Black woman?" I recovered quickly.
"This whole fascination you have with Black people is scary."
"It is not fascination, more like gravitation," I remarked proudly.
"Why? What have Black people ever done so impressively for you?" She really wondered and I couldn't believe the racist standing in front of me was my own mother.
"You are a racist," I accused.
"I am not! And how dare you accuse me of that? I just believe you should stick with your own."
Unbelievable.
"I do stick with my own," I seized the opportunity. "Men!"
"That's not what I mean and you know it." She was furious.
~~~~~
My mother was, indeed, not the racist she seemed to be to me at that time. I even apologized to her, after I got a better understanding of what she meant. My poor mother used to have the hardest time getting across what she really meant. She was always concerned, for a long time, about what other people would think and one can't forget my grandma raised her.
Googles was another one I used to go toe to toe with, while maintaining a good deal of respect, on the race issue. She had horror stories. It's unfortunate because Googles was a good woman at heart and was a prime example that racism isn't something we are born with, but something attained or taught. She had a lot of Black friends at the factory she worked at. They affectionately called her Rita, because she looked like Rita Hayworth and the guys loved to play in her hair.
I was dumbfounded, imagining some burly Black stud fiddling in my grandmother's hair. She accepted it as a compliment and knew it wouldn't go any further, as she explained to me the factory was the one place she saw Black people getting treated fairly, from where she was standing. Her being a determined woman, she noticed her salary was the same as her Black male counterparts and based on that unfortunate truth, she viewed them as her equal - then. Over the years, however, she witnessed a lot of separation and attitudes among those Black folks around her. She would even stick up for them.
She told me she'd have them over on holidays and go to their churches for a visit, only to be talked about by them the following Monday at work. She felt that she fed them and partied with them, only to be stabbed in the back and betrayed by them. She was still deeply hurt at how she fell out with her "brothers from the grease pit," as she referred to them. Then the Civil Rights Movement took off and she was hurt in the 1967 riots, by people she was only trying to find cover for. Then, at that point, she told me after that anything negative that happened to her had been done by a Black person.
"You just can't trust them," she said.
Then I went on to tell both her and my mother that, yes they had an argument that I was teased and taunted by Blacks in my youth, but then Blacks were always coming to my rescue, as well. That was my environment - there are good and bad in all races, religions, sexual orientations, etc. Since my mother taught me to be a positive thinker, I always sided with the good people in my life, the majority of whom just happen to be African-American. My mother saw my point, while Googles remained unmovable.
~~~~~
I have always been more giving...more concerned...more into the relationship...
None of my lovers, the four I have learned so much from, ever acknowledged our relationships as, simply that, relationships. None ever told me they loved me. None ever treated me as more than an object, save one. It was always about me doing for them, me pleasing them physically, me writing poems for them, them, them, them...never about me, yet I am accused of being an egomaniac, in regards to my theatrical accomplishments, writings, and such.
Let's not mistake pride with egomania...
-----
Looking through the Naked Window: The Restoration Chronicles (Volume 1) is available in both Paperback and Kindle Editions for purchase at http://www.amazon.com/Looking-through-Naked-Window-Restoration/dp/1484950933/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
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Thank YOU!
Check out Antonio Cassone’s Author Page on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003OC3MME
Thank YOU!
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