Flying solo

Snow Goose Subject Separation
Originally uploaded by Fort Photo
I found myself tonight face-to-face with some of the ways I've separated myself from others and how this is connected to the judgment I have about my geographical and adopted roots.

The person who was to accompany me to AA this evening had a last minute change in plans and directed me to the meeting where she got sober. So I ventured solo to a town that is much like the one I was raised in. Family-owned restaurants, corner bars, flannel shirts, pepsi-in-hand, marlboro-smokin', on-the-verge- of- being- redneck territory. I grabbed a bite to eat in a small pizza joint and the stares of the mostly white-haired heads fell upon me. Funny thing is, I look like a lot of the guys in these parts with my baseball cap, tattooed arms, chain wallet and sneakers, only I have boobs poking out and this perhaps is puzzling. And I realize while sitting there trying to settle in with my slices that many of the faces in this tiny establishment look much like the ones I grew up with and there is this familiar old feeling inside of me about wanting to deny that this is where I come from, so to speak, and wanting to be completely disconnected from them all at the same time. I listen with judgment to the conversations around me and there's a woman in the booth in front of me talking about how the butter is on sale at the Giant supermarket and how she had a coupon for another 20 cents off and I hear my mother's voice in hers.

I was raised in a Pennsylvania Dutch and Hungarian home, much more strongly influenced by the Dutch half. I knew on some level, at quite a young age, that I was "not of these people". This was validated when I found out that I was adopted and I also felt that I was "different" having the sub-conscious awareness that I was attracted to girls over boys. And perhaps even greater than these factors was that I didn't want to be identified with the lower middle class kinds of people that I was surrounded by, which includes all of my immediate and extended family members.

My father was the embodiment of Archie Bunker - live and in person. He worked at the steel mill and made his way up the ranks to become a safety foreman. He oversaw a part of the factory that was comprised of primarily Hispanic and other minority workers. His running commentary of racial slurs that he shouted at the TV included : "Spics" and "Gooks" and "Jig-a-boos" and hearing them made my stomach turn into knots. When we were old enough to begin thinking about boyfriends, my sister & I were told things like: "If you ever bring one of them (black, Hispanic or any other minority) home, they'll be lookin down the barrel of my rifle."

I befriended the only black girl in my elementary school. One afternoon the boys were calling her the very same kinds of derogatory names as I'd heard come out of my father's mouth when we were playing on the jungle gym. I fought with several of those boys and kicked one who ran crying to the teacher. I was the one sent to the principal's office where I was given a proper "paddling". I was a disgrace to my parents, especially to my father when he found out I was defending one of those "niggers". It was this event that began my slow and steady movement, separating from not only my family but the association with this small farming town.

As I began to visit the homes of friends in junior high and high school, I soaked up any form of culture other than my own like a sponge. To find out there were other things to eat outside of the meat and potatoes variety was an eye opener. I was envious of the clothes and sneakers other kids were sporting and was very embarassed by my out-dated hand-me-downs from cousins or the handsewn outfits my grammy made for me or the K-mart knock-offs that just didn't cut it. Finding odd jobs of every kind and then landing a job at McDonald's enabled me to scrape money together for the occasional "cool" purchase, like REAL painters pants and Adidas sneakers so I could find ways of fitting in and not standing out as one of those kids from the "sticks".

I was the first person in my entire extended family to attend college. I knew from a fairly early age that being able to do this was my ticket out of my crazy home and upward to a better life for myself. I had high hopes for myself when I arrived there on a partial field hockey scholarship and over time, I just was high. And very drunk. And not too hopeful. I was terrified after graduation thinking about the idea of moving back to the torture chamber of my parents' home. This was my worst nightmare.

Moving into the "big city" and physically away from my family was met with fearfulness and resistance by my parents who had very rigid ideas about what life was like in an urban setting not to mention that I was going against the "rules" of what all of my cousins and my siblings did, which is that you stayed close to the flock. I realize now that this was partly rebellion and partly fear coupled with a strong desire to flee from anything remotely connected to this aspect of my life. I literally wanted to delete it. Having lived here for 23 years now, when asked where I'm from, I often have to stop and think before replying.

Fast-forward to the AA meeting tonight. As I walk into the musty church basement, I am surrounded by folks who look very much like those I would associate with my hometown. Everyone is white. Most have smoked their last cigarette before coming inside. The chairperson acknowledges that while this is a Big Book meeting, he apologizes ahead of time for his poor reading skills. He is not alone and there are many others who stumble phonetically to get through the sentences. There is clearly a woman who is mentally ill and symptomatic. Half-way through the meeting, a man stumbles into the back where I am seated and he clearly smells both of alcohol and several days' body odor. He is carrying 2 backpacks and appears to be living out of them. And we continue to read, most folks not skipping a beat. And then the floor is opened up for sharing and what comes out of the mouths of this motley crew is gem after gem of wisdom. Years of working solid programs. A deep and rich understanding of the Big Book.

And I am seated among them. I am one of them. I am of them. And I am no longer feeling my separation.