Just like you--mostly

Avengetheweak, a commenter wrote that we were a bunch of social justice types itching for a fight just because we wrote a letter to the editor disagreeing with the homophobic Family Research Council & Request Foods Ad in the Holland Sentinel. This is my response:


“Those” homosexuals. “Those” gays. “Those” lesbians. We’re not some random protestors. We’ve been here all along. And mostly we’re just like you. We go to work and to school. We come home. Eat. Sleep. Shower. Shave. Do laundry. Watch a little TV. Mow the lawn. Plant a garden. Recycle. Swim at Ottawa Beach or Tunnel Park. Eat ice cream at Captain Sundae. Shop at Meijer. Donate our old junk to Goodwill. Eat pizza at Fricano’s. Take trips up north. Pay taxes. Vote. Write letters to the editor. Post comments about letters to the editor. Disagree passionately about what others may generalize about us. Because we want to defend our rights to freedom of religion, freedom of speech as well as our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

We are your daughters, sons, fathers and mothers. We are your family.

We are your doctors, nurses, nurse aides. After you had a stroke, we took care of you. We are your engineers, carpenters, electricians. The house that you’re living in, we installed the plumbing. We are your retail store clerks and factory workers. We made your rear view mirror and assembled your expensive office chair. We are librarians, baristas, landscapers, waiters, and chefs. We prepared your rack of lamb medium rare with a pomegranate reduction. We are your bank tellers, managers, and professors.

I’m the construction worker that paved the roads you drive on. I’m the fast food worker that assembled your Big Mac. I’m the police woman that gave you a ticket on 16th street.. I’m the hot gay guy in my brown UPS uniform that delivered your package last Tuesday. I’m the farmer that grew your organic heirloom tomatoes from seed.

We are as diverse as the rest of the population. You don’t even know who we are, because most of the time we are invisible. I’m sitting right next to you on the MAX bus. I’m your grandfather’s roommate at Freedom Village Inn. We’re invisible until we speak. After we speak, you complain that we are too loud, too radical and you want us to move to Africa where it’s really bad and we’ve got something to cry about.

But we’re everywhere, and we’re mostly just like you.