I am sitting at my computer watching ground squirrels run back and forth by the windows behind my screen and hoping that the coyotes come back.  They make meals out of small minded little rodents.

I am thinking about the end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and suddenly reminded of my early life in the 50’s in that wealthy suburban neighborhood outside of Chicago.  So much of what went on, what I knew about, the boy down the street who was regularly beaten by his dad, the tremendous amount of alcoholism, the sexual peccadilloes, fell under the rubric of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.  It was so much easier, we could just pull an Ahmadinejad and say it just does not happen where WE live.  I am thinking how delightfully healthy that was for us all.

I am thinking of women blamed because someone thought them attractive enough to rape, living with cat calls and quick grabs and innuendos without the option to complain in the culture of victim blaming that prevails the world over.

I am thinking about Lieutenant Seefried, an Air Force Academy graduate creating OutServe, the Association of Actively Serving LGBT Military Personel, and how the Pentagon had to come to him on the sly.  The department “was stumped by how to interview active-duty gay and lesbian service members without having to discharge them…”  Lieutenant Seefried was invited to the White House for the signing of the repeal but the Defense Department never knew — or at least they didn’t ask, and no one told them.  Gee, how delightfully healthy that is.

I am remembering when DADT first came into law, and hearing a ranking officer in the navy talk about what might happen if openly gay men were allowed in those tight bunks on shipboard, and hoping the coyotes come back soon.

The Eroticist

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