Place sporting heroes on a pedestal at your own risk, kids

patti dawn swansson

There was a time, I must confess, when the wide-eyed wonder and freshly scrubbed innocence of youth directed me to the misguided notion that professional athletes, much like movie and singing stars, were, by default, role models.

Larger-than-life, almost mythical creatures, it was not unreasonable to place them on a pedestal, from which they did not look down upon us mere mortals as much as we looked up to them.

Among my heroines was Wilma Rudolph, the sleek African-American sprinter whose long, lean legs and gazelle-like elegance on the track was surpassed only by the quiet grace, regal bearing and championing of civil rights that framed the afterglow of a running career that included three Olympic Games gold medals in Rome 1960. She fascinated me. Inspired me. I thought her then to be—and still do more than 20 years after a brain tumor took her away—a wonderful role model.

The graceful Wilma Rudolph.

I harbored similar admiration for Floyd Patterson, a gentle gladiator who, given his shy, soft-speaking, almost apologetic demeanor, was miscast more so than any other man whose name appears in the lengthy lineage of world heavyweight fist fighting champions.

I was just three days beyond my sixth birthday when Patterson won his boxing title for the first time, and I remember nothing of it. I was 11 when he lost it for the second and final time, at the cruel, crushing hands of Charles (Sonny) Liston, and I reflect upon that occasion as the undoing of my misplaced mythology of the athlete as other-worldly.

Sonny Liston could not be my role model. I failed to see how he possibly could be any kid’s role model. An unsmiling, menacing thug prone to egregious acts of violence in and out of the ring, he had a rap sheet as long as a Winnipeg winter and ties to the Mafia. He was behind bars the day I was born.

I recollect the adults speaking of Liston, the men in loud, combustible expressions of reverence and/or vilification, the women in whispers companioned by looks of horror upon a sighting of the great beast. No parent with so much as a smattering of sense for acceptable civility dare turn to a child and say, “Dear, I want you to grow up to be just like that man Sonny Liston.”

Oddly enough, Liston yearned for that very thing, to use the loft of his heavyweight throne as a pulpit from which he might influence impressionable youth.

“Colored people say they don’t want their children to look up to me,” he told James Baldwin in a superbly sculpted piece in the February 1963 issue of Nugget. “Well, they ain’t teaching their children to look up to Martin Luther King, either. I wouldn’t be no bad example if I was up there. I could tell a lot of those children what they need to know—because—I passed that way. I could make them listen.”

Liston, of course, was not the first bad actor in boxing, nor has he been the last. History records that there always has existed saints and sinners across the sports landscape, although today dalliances with the devil appear to far outdistance the trespasses of yore.

It therefore seems to me that the default position of role model vis-a-vis our athletes is a bit of a fool’s play that ought not be automatically applied. It is, after all, one thing to hope sportswomen and men wrap themselves in the garments of prim and proper, but to expect it is to expect toxic levels of disappointment.

An example would be Tyson Fury, freshly minted king of the ring. An oafish, seemingly spoof-like lad with a galloping gob, few lent an ear to his reckless ramblings a month ago, but since his plunder now includes the heavyweight boxing crown, which he purloined from reigning titleholder Wladimir Klitschko on this weekend past, people are paying attention with ears wide open. And certain of his spewings, such as his dim view on homosexuality, are rather rancid.

Thus, certain of the rabble demand that he conduct himself in the manner of a respectful role model. Well, good luck with that.

“You don’t like it, change the station,” Fury says with matter-of-fact defiance. “It’s none of my concern what other people think or what other people want me to say.”

So there.

It is not unwise to place our sporting heroes on a pedestal because they might fall, or be knocked off. It is unwise to do so because they are, first and foremost, human beings with the same frailities and flaws as us mere mortals. They might be better than us on the scoreboard, but they are not better than us at life.

 

Is it possible to be a homophobic homosexual?

I have been called many unflattering things in this lifetime. Bitch is the first one that comes to mind. I’ve also had a couple of people drop the C-bomb on me when I was the weekend cover girl at a gay bar.

But homophobic?

I suppose I should be offended at such a slur. I mean, I’m homophobic like the Pope is an atheist. I am, however, not offended. I’m puzzled.

I am a girl who likes girls. I believe that qualifies me as homosexual. I have 24 Facebook friends, 16 of whom are gay. Two gay men have been signing my pay cheques for the past six years. I have won an award for my writing about the LGBT community. I did volunteer work at a gay-owned and operated boutique. I have counselled transgender youth. I have done promotional work for Paparazzi Nightclub, which is recognized as a gay venue in Victoria. I have written three gay-themed books and I am working on a fourth.

So, how is it possible that I am homophobic?

Well, the very notion that I am homophobic is a misguided bit of blarney, of course, yet, at the same time, I must be homophobic because someone perceives me to be homophobic and perception is reality.

I can assure you that I’m quite comfortable in my rapidly wrinkling skin, so I won’t get my knickers in a knot because I am accused of homophobia, nor do I feel an urgent requirement to present a vigorous defence. Were I to rage against this charge, it would open a window to a second accusation—thou doth protest too much.

Thus, rather than a rousing rant, I am given pause to ponder. Is it possible, I wonder, for a gay person to be homophobic?

I know gay men who are offended if another gay man speaks and acts “too gay.” That these “too gay” men propagate the notion that all gay men are limp-wristed, lisping divas. I know gay women who are put off by other gay women because they “aren’t butch enough.” That they’re too femme. It’s as if lipstick lesbians are lepers.

In the minds of some gay men, I have two strikes against me. I am transgender and I am a female who likes females. So, they would rather that I not share their oxygen.

For example, a few months ago I was the sole patron in Paparazzi. A gay man of my acquaintance walked in and asked if he could join me. Of course. We engaged in a rather pleasant tete-a-tete for approximately 10 minutes, then he lost the plot.

“I wish this bar was for gay men only,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I responded.

“I wish this bar was for gay men only.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t want me in here. That I shouldn’t be allowed in here.”

“That’s right. I would prefer it that way.”

This, I hasten to emphasize, was not a one-off. It’s happened on numerous occasions. Is this not homophobia by homosexual? Or do we call it lesphobia? Or transphobia?

By any term, it is homophobic.

I mean, if some lout in a mainstream bar stands up and announces that “gays aren’t welcome here,” he’s immediately branded a homophobe. Does it not follow that a gay man doing the same is homophobic?

I like to think of the gay collective as the vegetables in the garden. There is a row of peas, a row of carrots, a row of green beans, a row of lettuce, a row of onions. Each has its own identity. Yet, once tossed into the salad bowl, the vegetables are as one and they do not reject the boiled egg that joins them.

Why, then, do we reject another within the LGBT community?

Pride Week 2014 is upon us in Victoria, and I find it most discomforting that homosexual homophobes walk among us. We’re all in this thing together, people. We should act like it.

God is a lesbian, so why should I care what Jesus said or didn’t say about homosexuality?

I have not read the Bible.

Reading the Bible has never been on my things-to-do list. It isn’t on my bucket list, either.

Yes, I have a bucket list. You know, things I wish to do or see before I cease taking in oxygen and move forward to discover what is on the other side of this lifetime.

The bucket list, understand, is a product of aging. It is not something to which we grant substantial thought during our youth because, until we arrive at a station in life whereby we recognize our mortality, we seldom give credence to the notion that none of us gets out of here alive. I have arrived at that station in life. Thus I have a bucket list. Included are items such as singing the song Summertime with a live band. I would like to write a song that is recorded, not in search of fame and fortune but to just say I did it. I would like to watch a daytime ball game at Wrigley Field in Chicago. I would like to write something that will change another’s life forever. I would like to find a life partner, just to see if I can finally get love right. But reading the Bible? Not going there.

It’s not that I am uninterested in what people were saying and thinking 2,000-plus years ago. Quite the contrary. I subscribe to many of Jesus’s life offerings. More to the point, I recently drew the Stephen Mitchell tome The Gospel According to Jesus from my bookshelf and began re-reading it for perhaps the sixth time. Fifteen years after I initially opened it, I am still rendered dewey-eyed when reading the teachings of Jesus. Some of them are truly beautiful. So, my reluctance to read the Bible is not the child of a distaste for things biblical.

My difficulty with the Bible rests in the interpretation. It seems to me that people pick and choose passages simply to prop up their agenda while, at the same time, pooh-poohing the notions of another. It’s as if they are at the market shopping for groceries. I like this tomato so I shall place it in my bag, but I don’t like the look of that other tomato so I shall reject it.

For example, it has come to my attention that there exists a debate with respect to Jesus’s teaching on homosexuality. This to-and-fro has been heightened due to 21st century matters such as the legality of same-sex marriage, now the law of the land in Canada and gathering momentum in the United States. The gospel sharks tell us Jesus made it abundantly clear that the act of homosexuality is a sin. They quote scripture to support their belief. Many in the gay community, however, insist that Jesus never once spoke for or against homosexuality. They insist his silence on the issue indicates it is, in fact, a non-issue. Therefore, it cannot be a sin.

I ask this of you (and I know it will sound blasphemous): Why do we care what Jesus said or didn’t say about homosexuality? Must we rely on someone from 2,000 years ago to tell us what to think about, and how to act toward, our gay brothers and sisters in the 21st century? Can we not think for ourselves?

This is not a rebuke of Jesus. As I have written, I’m a big fan. I do not, however, care if Jesus viewed acts of homosexuality as a sin or not. In this area, I don’t need him to tell me what to think.

Here’s what the Buddha taught about matters such as this:

“Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.”

There are bigots among us not because they were born bigots. Bigotry is the offspring of the words and actions of others. When we are children in the playground, we care not if our playmates are black, white, Christian, Muslim, gay or straight. We are just happy to have playmates. It is not until we observe and listen to our parents and other adults long enough that we developed notions and concepts. Eventually, however, we are old enough to process what we have learned and make decisions, as the Buddha suggests, with our own reason and our own common sense.

That is why I say I don’t need Jesus to tell me anything about homosexuality.

The majority of my dear ones are gay. I love them. If they are sinners, it is only in the sense that each of us is a sinner because each of us has performed misdeeds. But the love between two human beings who have arrived at an age of reasoning and common sense is not a misdeed. It is love. And to act on that love is not a misdeed. It is an act of love.

If your god tells you these things are sinful, then shame on your god.

I prefer the interpretation of God as submitted by my favorite teacher, the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. At a Dharma talk in Plum Village, France, in 1998, Thay was asked what Buddhism says about homosexuality.

“Sometimes those discriminating against us act in the name of God, of the truth. We may belong to the third world, or we may belong to a particular race, we may be people of color, we may be gay or lesbian, and we have been discriminated against for thousands of years. So how to work on it, how to liberate ourselves from the suffering of being a victim of discrimination and oppression? In Christianity it is said that God created everything, including man, and there is a distinction made between the creator and the creature. The creature is something created by God. When I look at a rose, a tulip, or a chrysanthemum, I know, I see, I think, that this flower is a creation of God. Because I have been practising as a Buddhist, I know that between the creator and the created there must be some kind of link, otherwise creation would not be possible. So the chrysanthemum can say that God is a flower, and I agree, because there must be the element ‘flower’ in God so that the flower could become a reality. So the flower has the right to say that God is a flower.

“The white person has the right to say that God is white, and the black person also has the right to say that God is black. In fact, if you go to Africa, you’ll see that the Virgin Mary is black. If you don’t make the statue of the Virgin Mary black, it does not inspire people. Because to us the black people, ‘black is beautiful,’ so a black person has the right to say that God is black, and in fact I also believe that God is black, but God is not only black, God is also white, God is also a flower. So when a lesbian thinks of her relationship with God, if she practises deeply, she can find out that God is also a lesbian. Otherwise how could you be there? God is a lesbian, that is what I think, and God is gay also. God is no less. God is a lesbian, but also a gay, a black a white, a chrysanthemum. It is because you don’t understand that, that you discriminate.

“When you discriminate against the black or the white, or the flower, or the lesbian, you discriminate against God, which is the basic goodness in you. You create suffering all around you, and you create suffering within yourself, and it is delusion, ignorance, that is the basis of your action, your attitude of discrimination. If the people who are victims of discrimination practice looking deeply, they will say that I share the same wonderful relationship with God, I have no complex. Those who discriminate against me, do so because of their ignorance. ‘God, please forgive them, because they do not know what they are doing.’ If you reach that kind of insight, you will no longer get angry at that person who discriminates against you, and you might have compassion toward him or her. You will say: ‘He does not know what he is doing. He is creating a lot of suffering around him and within him. I will try to help him.’ So your heart opens like a flower and suffering is no longer there, you have no complex at all, and you turn to be a bodhisattva in helping the people who have been discriminating against you. That is the way I see it, out of my practice of looking deeply, so one day I made the statement that God is a lesbian, and this is my insight.”

I like to think Jesus would agree with Thay.