I loved this oped in NYTimes written by Samantha Hunt. Especially this part:
“My oldest was 9 during the 2016 election. Someone at school had told her about Donald Trump’s “grab ’em by the pussy” transcript. My daughter asked, “Mom, do you know he grabs women’s private parts?”
“Don’t worry,” I consoled her; such a horrible human would never be elected president.
Four years later, there he was, threatening Mike Pence. “You can either go down in history as a patriot or you can go down in history as a pussy.” A comment that makes it abundantly clear Mr. Trump doesn’t know the first thing about vaginas — that they are the pure strength that pushed us all into existence.“
The crux of the article discusses how dumb it is to paint women and girls as inferior. The worst thing you can call a little boy is that he’s acting like a girl. Or that he’s a pussy.
But the truth is, the pussy is literally one of the strongest parts on any human body. It is one of the only experiences we all share as humans; we all pass through the belly of that tunnel. And that thing has done it for as long as humans have existed.
Growing up, I was an emotion train wreck. Early cassette-tape recordings of me playing with my older brother and sister allow listeners to witness one of my many, many temper tantrums, that I still seem to have in one form or another. My temper and emotion state was often pressed to its limits. I cried, and people called me a cry baby. Being emotional showed weakness. Weakness was for pussies.
So I tried to bottle it. To stifle it. But it wasn’t the right thing, because bottle temper and emotion is TNT.
I’ve written about this before.
Also happening in my world is that I confronted a high school teacher on the Facebook. This was a guy who taught us kids a class called Understanding the Times. Understanding the times is/was a class that teaches kids of the evils of evolution, secular educations, liberal thought, atheism and humanism.
I basically opened up to the dude, telling him that I became the exact thing he taught us not to become. And there was part of me that was frustrated that he was not responding. While I was writing in my journal, I realized why.
It was a eureka moment. A “d’uh” to the Nth degree.
It boils down to: “Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach.”
He built perfect little army squadron of Christian robot foot soldiers to go into their post high school lives armed with an miseducated view of the world for them to battle the forces of evil, of secular humanism, of satanic atheism.
I handed him a silver platter with me on top and basically said, “Show those kids you’ve brainwashed for years how it’s done!”
I gifted him with a present so beautifully wrapped with a flimsy bow on top and tissue paper as wrapping paper. All he had to do was John Wayne himself onto the social media stage and give me the biggest Christian shellacking known to all men and women whom he has ever taught.
But he couldn’t.
Because being a practitioner of his own teachings proved to be his kryptonite.
He can teach em how to do it, what to say and how to say it. But he is incapable of showing us all how it’s done. And that’s what was frustrating while I was attempting to engage. but now I can sleep at night, knowing he’s simply a hack.
If he doesn’t have a classroom full of sponge-headed teens who gullibly soak up every bullshit puddle of diarrhea he can squirt from his mouth sphincter, that is the extent of his professional ability. Do as I say! I can’t be held to do it myself.
I had misattributed my anger toward him, because I looked up to him as a Goliath. All it took was a slingshot and a little pebble to bring his ass to the ground. What a disappointment.
I’d call him a pussy, but we know that ain’t true. Pussies are strong. Pussies are amazing. Pussies are where we all came from.
All of humanity. He’s just a dick. A flaccid, white man’s dick. Just dangling there. Doing nothing. Sometimes it flexes and stands up proud. But 99% of the time it’s a sweaty, worthless dongle of skin.
Le Café Wittypoots 