As I checked my mail a moment ago, a little boy bicycled by.  Though I didn’t know him, I acknowledged him (as is still customary in this region), saying, “How’re you doin’,” with a brief nod.  There was no mail, but I noticed the milkweed on the lawn.

There is one advantage of having mental illness: Since you’re already “crazy”, you can do whatever you want (within the law of course), without ruining your reputation!  And I do!  I sing outside, talk to myself outside, bless my beloved bamboo outside, and blow on milkweed outside, among other things!  I have always been enchanted by this–how the milkweed seeds parachute!

The only two prolific blooms were beside the mailbox, so I returned to that spot, and picked one.  But the parachuting seeds were barely visible, because there was no dark background.  So I picked the other one, and positioned it alongside an azalea bush.  Ah, it was wonderful–I could see them now!

Then I heard “…dude?  It was the boy, having stopped and begun talking to two little girls, next door.  Since I wasn’t certain he was addressing me, I ignored him, and continued blowing on the seeds.

Yet then I heard the boy say, “He’s…fag!”  I looked back around the bush.  I couldn’t hear the girls’ response, but I did hear him say, “Well he must be!”

Having been called a “fag” countless times in middle school (simply for keeping to myself, out of shyness), my impulse was to come to my defense, and sharply correct him.  Then I found myself softly laughing!  He’s just a kid, I thought, and I’m no longer a kid!  So I released the remaining parachutes, and proudly came back inside!


  1. 1 James May 4, 2009 at 8:30 pm

    When YOU know who you are, who else matters in the scheme of life?

  2. 3 maddyejames May 8, 2009 at 11:05 pm

    As long as you’re having good time blowing milkweed. It’s the small things, sometimes.

    • 4 solosocial May 9, 2009 at 7:08 am

      It definitely is!

      Tonight I noticed that the Moon was full! Unfortunately, I didn’t turn into a wolf (I’ve always wanted to be a werewolf). But I did gaze at it a long time, as I always do. I thought of how close it seemed, how we take it for granted, and how our ancient ancestors worshiped it.

      It is indeed the small things that matter most! “God is in the details.”

  3. 5 Funny Fashionista May 17, 2009 at 1:29 am

    What a rotten kid! I would have totally kicked his butt! LOL

    • 6 solosocial May 17, 2009 at 5:21 am


      Most of the middle-school boys who called me a “fag” were not nearly as big and strong as I. But I was afraid to fight. It wasn’t physical pain that frightened me, but emotional confrontation. I’ve always feared confrontation with other people, though not with animals. With people, it’s personal–with animals, it’s not.

      Still, I did end up beating the hell out of some of them. But I couldn’t beat the worst of them–Raymond. I tried twice, but he was the only one bigger than I. And he cheated anyway–he sicced his German shepherd on me, as soon as I hit the pavement!

      If my adult mind could go back and possess my teenage body (as in the film, “The Butterfly Effect”), I would go back to that bus-stop, single him out, and say, “Raymond, if you ever call me that again, I will fight you. You might win, but I’ll hurt you so much you’ll feel like you lost!” Odds are, he’d never call me a “fag” again. Because bullies are actually cowards.

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