Being Wrong, By Being Right

Some years ago I was in a stationary store with a lesbian friend and my then boyfriend. When the Middle-Eastern proprietor said something homophobic to us (I don't remember what) I said something defiant to him (I don't remember that either) and stormed out.

Seething on the sidewalk, I vowed to never again patronize the establishment owned by an old-world bigot. I comforted myself in the knowledge that I was in the right ... but not just right ... right and superior.

Meanwhile, inside the store, my far-less-quick-tempered friend was having this conversation with the man....

“They are sinning against God,” the man said.

“My God just wants us to love each other.”

“I like your God.”

My boycott of a single ball-point pen would not have brought his business crumbling down with the man crawling on his knees begging for forgiveness. Had it been the end of the encounter, my self-righteousness would certainly only have hardened the man’s position. So proud I was of my words at the time, yet how telling I cannot recall them now?

I have a deep and powerful need to be right, about nearly everything. While this attitude does allow me to conduct myself with a certain amount of confidence, make no mistake, it is a serious character flaw. Left unmoderated this need makes a person arrogant, rude, annoying, boorish and repellent.

My friend’s humility and cheerful nature opened the door to a shift in attitude ... a door I smugly slammed shut. When she told me of their conversation I didn’t tell her I was ashamed of myself in light of her far superior example.

So I try to set aside the ego of being right. It's not easy for me.

The fabulous Wildfire Retreat I attended this weekend was at a boy scout camp. I didn’t know this until I arrived and since I refuse to support organizations with anti-gay policies it made me angry. But I tried to let it go.

At the retreat’s first town hall meeting a pleasant and gregarious man stood on a table and announced he was from the Boy Scouts and 300 artists cheered. I seethed. “Really? Not one single objection? Artists should know better,” I thought and felt betrayed. I fantasized about the defiant protest I hadn’t made.

“You’re a scout? I’m an Eagle Scout,” I’d have said.

“Wonderful,” he’d reply.

“Too bad you bunch of homophobes would have kicked me out if you’d known I was gay in my teens.”

I imagined shame for him, moral victory for me and the cheers of artists who’d suddenly remember their political correctness.

Yeah, right.

My only achievement would have been to show myself to be a giant jackass. Fortunately I held my tongue, although I claim no credit for this restraint.

Toward the end of the retreat a quiet moment presented itself and I got to chat with the scout master who also turned out to be the camp chaplain. He is a warm and sensitive man. When I told him I’m an Eagle Scout he beamed with pride as he told me that brought the count to 12 for the event.

I told him how grateful I am that the crises management skills the scouts gave me have allowed me to help others need over the years. I told him about the man at the card game who needed my help and how my first aid training comes in handy every few years. And then I said, ever so gently, “I worry about what would have happened to all those people who needed help in a crisis if the scouts had kicked me out for being gay.”

He was genuinely distressed at this and after a thoughtful pause he said, “Nothing like that would happen here. Everyone is welcome here. You are welcome here.”

We went on to discuss how a New England scout camp is a very different place and that the homophobia of the scouts emanates from Texas. (The Mormons who sponsor more U.S. scout troops than anyone else have a lot to do with it too.)

I told the chaplain how I’d received an invitation from the scouts to join their new Eagle Scouts Club but how I could never do so while the policy remained.

“Nothing can take from me the achievement of being an Eagle Scout, but the badge itself, which came from the organization and sits in a box under my bed is tarnished. It saddens me. If the policy was changed, the tarnish would be lifted and maybe then I might take it out and frame it. I wish I could be proud of it again.”

The chaplain was saddened by this and also hopeful. He thanked me for sharing my story with him and said that after every event he’s required to report to his superiors. He said he tell them my story.

The chaplain showed me the prayer flags in his chapel of which he is so proud. He gave me a great, big, strong hug in his great, big, strong arms and I had my first positive feelings about the scouts in twenty years.

By setting aside my need to be right, I was given the opportunity to add one more little seed of change to the garden of progress in which so many have toiled for so long.

Wildfire Spring 2009

I can hardly put into words what an exhilarating experience my weekend retreat was. Every minute of every day was filled with art and artists, learning and sharing, awe and beauty. I'm truly blessed and humbled to have the opportunity to have such wonderful experiences.

I didn't take as many photos as I would have liked because I was so busy learning, performing and enjoying the other performances that I just didn't have the time. Here are some highlights.

Darrel, the hoopin', spinnin' cowboy and Crystal, who got me into all this nonsense. You're both awesome.

Our fearless leader, Chad. What an great guy.

A new friendship is born.

Fabulousness abounds.

Hoopers are adorable. I'm glad poi fit in a bag.

Fun with Kite Poi

My latest fabulous poi video is up from Wildfire 2009.

Go Cowgirl!