Professor J's Place

This month, we celebrate gay pride. Why June? Because on June 28, 1961, there was an uprising in New York that set off six nights of riots at the Stonewall Inn. Queers were tired of being beaten and arrested for being queer. So, we celebrate Pride Month in June to honor those transgender, lesbian, and gay people (mostly the women --trans and cis) who intensified our fight for simple human rights. Now we are witnessing riots all over the country. Why? Well, the time is a powder keg. We have unprecedented unemployment, over a hundred thousand people (largely the elderly and African Americans) are dead from a pandemic, and the systemic violence against African Americans continues apace. Three people in May. The most recent, the killing of George Floyd, sickens everyone I know—left and right. (Thank God for cell phone cameras, or we white folks could maintain our denial of what has always been there.) Of course, there is some evidence that people are traveling in from outside ...

October 11 is National Coming Out Day. For years, I’ve made a joke of this on social media. “Hey, friends, guess what?” Or, “Surprise!” There’s a sort of forgetting when you’ve been “out” for nearly 2/3 of your life. But I have recently reawakened to a powerful truth. Coming out, even today, is risking your life.   A few years ago, I was working in a summer program for high school students, and a boy came to class with his face bruised and swollen. An adolescent fight? No. Gay bashing by other young people? No. His father beat him because he was gay. His father . Other teenagers become homeless, hence the need for homeless shelters dedicated to the care of LGBTQIA+ youth. Drug addiction is rampant among LGBTQIA+ as a result of this violence, shame, and isolation. And last but most important, dozens of transwomen, gay men, and lesbians are maimed and murdered each year. In such an environment you may wonder, why come out? First, it is hard to be two people—to show one...

An hour or so ago, a man I do not know went on a short Facebook rant about how #MeToo destroys creativity and victimizes men. Here’s my take on that: Guurl, it’s come to Jesus time. Let’s look at Al Franken, shall we? Many liberals think he was done wrong by the #MeToo movement.   He defends himself by first ignoring or dismissing some of the complaints and then arguing that the most detailed and original complaint was by a conservative plant. Okay, but why did you do it? What made you think it was okay to use your power to cross boundaries and treat someone in a way that made her feel uncomfortable? And do I want a senator who willingly abuses his power? It’s the same for Joe Biden. I don’t care if you’ve always been a toucher and a hugger. You should get consent first. I hear people say, “should he ask permission to hug people?” YES. When my pastor first came to my church, he asked me if I was a hugger. It’s what normal people do! What makes Joe Biden exempt from...

The United Methodist Church General Council is preparing to vote on LGBTQ+ inclusion into the full life of the church. This would mean ordination and marriage rights for sexual minorities. There are two votes: one that would affirm the "traditional" beliefs of the church and one that would open the church to all. The vote seems to be heading toward a denial of rights. I am not a member of the Methodist church (though some of my best friends are 😏). However, I do remember how painful it was to be a member of the Presbyterian Church USA (PCUSA) when the votes went against inclusion. It was heartbreaking. It made me wonder if I really wanted to be a Presbyterian. It may well have had something to do with my long absence from the church--though I never really put it together until now. I also remember how painful it was when PCUSA voted for inclusion. We lost people. Indeed, we lost entire churches who voted to leave the denomination. First Presbyterian San Antonio was ...

I have been furious for days.  San Antonio has been going through its own Time's Up moment in the writing community. This is not my story. For a first hand discussion of this ugly situation, I invite your to read the blog post of my friend, Courtenay Martin. A google search of Bryce Milligan's name will give you some of the traditional news coverage. The way Milligan has been treated by some of the news sources has made me furious. This is a man who preyed on 13-16 year-old girls, and the press is giving him a platform to deny it at length. Time's up. I don't want to hear it. Also, on Friday afternoon I learned of yet another school shooting. This one in Sante Fe, Texas. Eight students and two teachers were killed by a seventeen year old boy with a shotgun and a handgun. My first tweets and posts were profanity laden, I can assure you. The only positive thing I've done is donate money to some organizations who work for sane gun restrictions and to Beto O...

Today is Jan. 22, 2018. I have been sober for eight years today, and here’s my story. I first got sober on June 14, 1988. Flag day, for what it’s worth. At that time I lived in Omaha Nebraska. I went to my first meeting on a Friday night—at the gay and lesbian meeting in the cafeteria of a hospital— “Live and Let Live.”  I just looked them up, and they’re still meeting at 8:15 on Friday nights—sending love to you guys! Thank you! I became a daily AAer—sometimes more than one a day, but Live and Let Live was my home group, and there I met a group of other young lesbians who became my tribe. Men were welcome to our almost nightly coffee house meetings after the meeting, but the core group was about six women. I was “in the middle of the program” when I was younger. Daily meetings, daily phone calls, hiking together, going out to eat together. . . It was a good time.  During that time, I ended a long-term relationship and had a brief (six month) relationship. All ...

I wrote this to share with the deacons, and of course, that means you. I began with my favorite psalm, Psalm 42 I have always longed for some kind of relationship with the source, with God.  But I am inconsistent.   I believe. I don’t believe. I search for something else. I walk away. Paul Simon writes about my experience when he says “We are born and born again like waves of the sea.”   As a child, I attended Catholic church. I am old enough to remember attending Latin mass and covering my head with a veil in worship. I loved the music, I loved the scripture readings, and I loved the homilies. I’d come home and explain them to my mom (not that she needed my exegesis, but I guess that was a precursor to my later career as a teacher). I left the church in my teens. Literature, nature, and music became how I connected with God.  Some odd combination of CS Lewis and Godspell got me through my teens. I read and talked about God a lot, but I ha...

  "Learning to Walk" David Fabricius Aaby I’m learning to walk. As most people who know me know, I fell and broke my knee-cap this summer. When I was healed, and my doctor blessed me and said, “you may go,” I asked him for a referral to physical therapy.  I had recently learned that my knock knees, and the arthritis they created, could be improved through exercise. The doctor said yes, that although it would not take away any deformation, it would strengthen and stabilize my knees. I walk funny.  I’ve always thought I walk funny because my knees are deformed. Come to find out, my knees are deformed because I walk funny. So I am learning to walk. And to stand. And to strengthen muscles that are atrophied. When my therapist first watched me walk, he said I need to start out with my heels when I walk. And he stood me in front of a mirror. “You’re standing on your toes,” he said. “Put your feet down.” Those first days were rough. When you first ...

My last post on this blog was about the death of San Antonio's beloved Fr. Eddie. I learned of Eddie's death the day this photo was taken. I was one of the people being ordained and commissioned to serve my church as elders and deacons. On the far left, you can see my pastor, Kelly Allen . I have put off writing about this day, and the week that followed, for some time, but as I showered and prepared for going to church this morning, these words echoed in my head: "faith, familia, trabajo." I heard them yesterday in a speech by the man I hope is our next VP. (More about that later). Those words are embraced by people of faith everywhere, and they certainly exemplify the life of Kelly Allen. On the Friday following my ordination, Kelly suffered a major stroke. That Sunday, her family released her body from life support, and gave her organs to save other lives. It was fitting that her last act on life was to save others. Greater love has no one. I cannot exp...

Fr. Eddie Bernal  photo, Lisa Krantz Last night, after a day full of worship, fellowship, and happiness, I turned on the 10:00 news to hear that Fr. Eddie Bernal, a beloved priest here in San Antonio, has died.  I wanted to share a story he once told at a SOL center class many years ago. Fr. Eddie was doing some service work with the youth group from his congregation. Afterward, they all went out to IHOP for dinner.  There was a homeless man by the door of the restaurant, and one of the girls in the group engaged the man in conversation. Then, to Fr. Eddie's surprise (and, he admitted, fear), the girl invited the homeless man to eat with them. They all had a good dinner and a good conversation with the homeless man. As they were walking out of the restaurant and the man was walking away, Fr. Eddie called out to him, "We never got your name."  The man turned and said, "Chuy, I'm Chuy." For those of you not from San Antonio, it mi...

I needed to write a statement of faith. Here's what I came up with: I believe in God the creator Who made the sparrow and the hawk-- Who made Enchanted Rock and Grand Canyon-- Who made Life—in its infinite variety. I believe in God the savior Who suffers with and for us. Who teaches. Who heals. I believe in God of the still, small voice Who speaks to me in the woods Who says, "Look," or "Love." I believe in my human frailty -- My sinful nature that causes me to walk away-- And in the God who walks with me and waits for me. I believe in the God who calls us to community-- To service. To love. --------------------------------------------------------- The Pharisees asked him, "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus answered "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second i...

Yesterday I went to church and I saw this in the parking lot. I can think up several different stories for this, but I love it. Other things happened. I saw my friend Lenna sitting across the isle, and went to join her. We chatted for awhile, and then I saw that my former pastor Lib McGregor Simmons was sitting in front of me. That was a nice surprise. Here she is (on the right) with my current pastor Kelly Allen Then, sometime during the sermon, which was about letting go of control as a Sabbath practice, Kelly was talking about letting go of control of your children. Oh yeah, and there's more. Yesterday was the 12th anniversary of my Mother's death.  Talk about letting go of control--or having control wrestled from your clutching hands -- And I looked in front of me and there was Lib. Lib was my pastor at the time of Mama's death. In fact, she came to see us and pray with me in the hospital about a half an hour before Mama died. And she counseled...

I have a wisdom tooth inside my crowded face I have a friend who is a born-again Found his savior's grace I was born before my father And my children before me We are born and born again Like waves of the sea That's the way it's always been That's how I want it to be  Paul Simon I have always loved this song--it's one of my favorites. It combines my love of the romantic era and the concept of the wisdom of children that is lost with age, "I was born before my father and my children before me," with the truth of my own experience, "We are born and born again." This morning--this all souls day--I am hearing this song again.  This morning I clicked on one of those silly Facebook things. It looks at your profile pics over the last few years and picks the most representative profile pictures to show your change over the years. The picture for 2014 was one of my favorite baby pictures. I jokingly said to my friends, what...

When I was an undergraduate, I read an essay by Adrienne Rich about Emily Dickinson. "Vesuvius at Home," the title taken from an ED poem, shattered the image of the shy, strange little woman sitting in her bedroom and hiding away from the world. And I began to read Dickinson. Then I began to study Dickinson. Her syntax, her precise and startling use of words, her understanding of the human mind, of my mind, were sustenance to me. And still, I think that there is no one who touches my heart as much as Dickinson. On this day, the day after the congress released its report on torture, a day when racism and violence and lawlessness seem ever present, a day when I think that perhaps my country has lost its soul, I remember that Dickinson wrote the bulk of her poetry during the years of the civil war; another time when America was paying the price for its original sin.  It seems appropriate to share the best poem about grief I've ever read: After great pain, a forma...

my dear departed Alice and Dinah--the old guard Tomorrow will be a week since Alice died. It sometimes surprises me how deeply I feel the loss. It's probably because she was my last old girl--the last dog who knew my mother. But whatever the reason, it is a loss I sometimes experience as a pain in the chest. I first experienced that after Mom died. My therapist at the time said, "Why do you think they call it a broken heart?" And so I will grieve. As long as it takes. But I know this. There is no death. There is no end to the energy and the love that was my mother, or Dinah, or Alice. A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he.    I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.    Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropt,   95 Bearing the owner’s...

juggling  is hard I know I've recently alluded to health issues on this blog, and I've definitely whined about them on Facebook; now I will whine more specifically. I'm working on becoming healthy. And it's not working as well as I want it to.  Recently, I discovered that the medicine I was taking for diabetes was making me sick. So we tried something new. Then added something else. Then increased the something else.  I've also been walking every day that it is not raining (so I missed two days) and eating much better. And? It's not working. So I imagine, though I do not know this for sure, that the next step is insulin. I will see the doctor Thursday.  I am not thrilled about this. In some ways it feels like a failure. But a friend of mine who has two Type I children assures me that I will actually feel much better after my blood sugar stabilizes. And what the heck.  The good part of all of this is the daily walk with my dog(s). That's b...

Padre Island Sunrise 2009 I have been depressed lately. Time change, health challenges, an election I was certain was going to end in heartache (and it did). But this morning on the commute to work, my comadre, Lindsay,  told me that she was inspired to work harder, to teach her students about global warming and the environment, to fight another day. It helped. I don't feel that I have a lot of psychic energy left for the fight right now, but I will rally. I offer this photo of the ocean at 6:00 on a summer morning as a reminder that light returns. That beauty exists. Oh, and here's a baby turtle! So here's to the love we all share, to the beautiful planet that is our home, to the good people who are willing to fight. Here's to music, and dance, and art. We will survive. 

So, I am beginning the quantitative literacy project (called "Q" by those of us in the know) in my Comp I classes. I'm a little terrified and a little excited. I've recently become a convert to the importance of quantitative literacy in my own life and in the lives of my students, but numbers have not always been my friends. Hence, fear. So, I made this for my class website: and none of my students got it. I thought it would help to lighten the mood. Oh well. 

I was looking at the blog after I posted yesterday, and I realized I post once a year. That's just sad. I also realized, as I looked back at some old stuff, that I miss the women I used to read about and talk to in this format. Some of us are on Facebook together, but not all. I'm bucking the trend, I know. Just last week Mrs. G said she was done with the Manor (sad sigh). But what the heck? So I think I'm going to start writing and reading blog posts again. Who are you reading these days? Who should I add to that list over on the right hand side of the blog? Would you consider posting more, too, dear readers? Facebook is wonderful for the daily (all right several times a day) peeks into the lives and thoughts of my friends, but it is not enough. It is not a format for a real discussion of life and all its "hills and valleys" as Cheri said today. I want to know about the hills and valleys. I know I'm always making promises to myself that I don't ke...