My Writings

I am hoping that I will get inspired to write more.  Please let me know what you think when I post up my random thoughts in hopes that one day I’ll be good enough to get something out beyond this small page.

Poem: My Teacher Told Me (in the style of another poem that I just can’t remember the title of)

My teacher told me:

“You could never be a dancer

Let alone a ballerina

What do you know?

I mean, what can you do different than all the others?

You gotta be able to turn forever,

use the floor

and you’ve never been a turner.

Your family doesn’t want you to go away to some academy

You never will

not even a summer intensive

And you don’t have the shape.

Your butt is just too big

Now, how are you going to be in a Company?

Sure, some famous choreographer

He said that anyone could do it.

But that was advertising for auditions

And he was talking about commercial dancing.

You’ve never

been praised by New York,

Danced in front of thousands paying good money for a real show,

been the focus, the spotlight

Now, how are you going to be in a troupe?

You don’t even shine yet.

You don’t know about ten hour days,

Pineapple Juice on Blisters,

Pointe shoes to sleep in.

Look at the women in that movie,

They struggled!

No dear, nobody will ever pick you out of a crowd,

So, just get back up.

It’s time for your solo.”

Am I a racist?

I was just a little white girl, one of a thousand in the Sea of Huntington Beach High School.  A girl who flirted with the cute boys in her class, just like everyone else.  Science was my favorite.  Matt and Jon were there.  They were typical boys for the school, often seen in a white a-shirt, black Dickies, long chained wallet, black docs and white shoelaces.  Their heads were shaved, Matt with a clover tattooed on the inside of his forearm even though he was my age.  Jon was more my style.  The teacher often yelled that my seat was not his lap or his desk, she was lucky if I moved or paid attention to her rants.  I stole his necklace one day and then became his.  It was easy for me to just be a part of his life at large.

The parties were amazing.  The bands were loud and rough.  The boys would accept me jumping around near the stage and try not to hurt me too much when the mosh pit roared behind me.  Matt’s older brother always called me his “fearless little darling.”  I knew about all of their exploits, their fights, their beliefs, and their plans.  I’ve never believed in anything strongly, so the concept of whites being better rolled off me like everything else.  Their community was strongly echoed in my family though.  It was where I grew up.  There was little diversity in race or social status.  To live in Huntington Beach, you have to be middle or upper class, nothing was ever cheap.  The group was normal for me.

I was present when Jon and Matt beat on of the few Hispanic students at our school.  They received in house detention.  I ditched science and spent the day teaching dance to the non-dancers taking dance PE to get out of running.  The next day our cohort of Latinos beat a white kid in the bathroom.  I knew the next one would end up in the hospital.  I was involved, but on the outskirts.  My docs had a white shoelace tied around the top to illustrate my involvement and distance.  I belonged to them, was protected by them, but not expected to die for them.  I fought for them just like I would anything.  I was a teenager and did things with my boyfriend.  I had always fought, it wasn’t a big deal.

As time went by, I realized that I didn’t know many people from different races.  Did that make me more like Matt and Jon?  Instead of being angry with me, perhaps you should know where I am coming from and elaborate.  Encourage me to listen so that I can learn much more than my limited experiences.  Does my upbringing automatically make me racist?  Is that what my existence is doomed to be?  What the hell am I supposed to do when I naturally am afraid of those around me?  What do I do now?

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