The Purple Hours

Same Sex Parenting- And Why I Got Annoyed.

Same Sex Parenting- And Why I Got Annoyed.

Living in Brighton it’s easy to sense that the whole planet doesn’t give a damn about anything in particular. Nothing really matters- do what you like- just don’t hurt anyone. I often assume that even people who are unsure about a new liberal order simply choose to let things just pass by them.

For that reason I could face charges of ignorant innocence. Today was just such an event. Some would wrongly assume that a football forum is frequented by the more bullish and Neanderthal members of our society- that said, in some cases they may be right. The Brighton board, North Stand Chat, is one of the largest in the country and, for the most part, is quite a rational, if heated, talk shop on a wide range of subjects. Only a small percentage of its inhabitants struggle with rational discourse and tend to rather stick out.

I knew Tom Daley’s announcement of pending fatherhood would make it to the board at some stage and was a little shocked, although I shouldn’t have been surprised, by the opening gambit.

The first post read:

‘There is no way gay people should be permitted to have children by whatever bizarre means they acquire them. The incontrovertible fact is that it takes a male and a female to produce babies. If you don’t wish to participate in that activity because you prefer your own sex, then hard bloody luck. Guess what? No babies. Can’t have it both ways. Heterosexual … OK- you can have kids. Homosexual … sorry, you can’t.

‘And the guy isn’t his “husband”, he’s his gay partner’

There was something quite jaw dropping about the anger within this post- more than its content. This is what disturbed me the most. I know some people oppose same sex adoption, as an example, but there is capacity for reason. Such views oppose my ethics but fail to ignite my wrath. For what it’s worth my initial response was the following:

‘A good friend of mine has two mothers from birth.

‘She’s happy, balanced, heterosexual, and displays more social awareness than the grubby hands that started this thread.’

I returned to be more conciliatory if just as blunt:

‘Knowing two people with same sex parents, who are now grown up and very happy- and with one of them being a close friend- I’ve let this thread wind me up too much. So I’ll issue my last point.

‘I believe, and know from testimony, that all a baby is interested in is survival. That is ensured through the love and support of its parent(s). The baby has no concept on those parents biology and even less interest. It will grow up caring little for it. Until…

‘There comes a day when questions get asked and slurs get made. They could get bullied, taunted, made to feel different. (I know it happened to my friend many years back). But the problem is that they don’t understand why. They have done nothing wrong- and neither have their parents.

‘So what does this tell us? It says that the real issue at hand here is not the circumstances of birth and nurture but the opposition to it. So by opposing it the whole concept of same sex parenting is called into question by virtue of the attitudes towards it and not the fact.

‘So basically, YOU are the reason why it may not work, YOU are the reason that some get bullied and YOU are the reason why healthy and balanced individuals may be caused to doubt themselves.

‘My words sound harsh and I do not wish to make slight of your character on the basis of a simple ignorant viewpoint.

‘Perhaps if you met my friend you would understand. But you wouldn’t be in for a comfortable time. When you challenge a person’s right to exist, and meet their soft reasoning in person, it can be rather humbling’

Now, late in the evening, writing today’s entry I am wondering why another person’s view made me rather angry. I don’t normally get wound up for long. My initial response is not normally to attack a person in character.

The reason I became angry was two-fold. Firstly, and the easiest to diagnose, was that I have a friend with same sex parents who has grew up like any other child. But secondly, and more interestingly, my nest had been disturbed. Here I am, in this open-minded and engaging utopia, and someone seems to have stolen the flowers from my hair.

As I retire tonight it is the thought that society is full of contrasts and opposing ideologies that challenges me. As much as, like many, I surround myself with like minded folk it becomes easy to lose touch. For example, I thought that the UK would remain in the European Union because so many people I knew were voting as such.

I guess this is the danger of social media. One creates a collage of homogeneous patterns of thought and behaviour then reacts when this is blotted. Perhaps I am too insular and uncompromising.

Then perhaps I had every right to be fucked off.

Night night.

Radio- Someone Still Loves You…

Technology has taken over from the Almighty. Or so it sometimes seems. Communications that we once believed efficient were, it seems, fractured and most inefficient. Certainly these days we can save someone’s life simply with a call from the gadget in our hand. I did once ask my Dad how emergency services were contacted in the event of emergency in his day. It was a long run to the nearest phone.

The thing I mourn is the loss of simplicity. Lets not pretend things are worse. They are not. But I wonder how much we have at our finger tips is of proper use. The hours I have spent looking at useless crap online I’m sure could have been better deployed elsewhere. As regards social media, I often wonder if it really connects us or drives us apart. “I’ll text you” is a phrase I commonly hear. It’s like the phone, once an avenue to the outside world- and pure human contact is an intrusion and invasion. It’s as if we don’t really want to talk to each other. I ring my Dad every night- I’m so glad he doesn’t understand mobiles.

So what would happen if everything was taken away from us? What would we miss the most?

I rarely watch television unless there is something I specifically want to see. It is never ‘on in the background’. However from a young age the radio has been my comfort, my solace, a permanent companion. And so it remains.

I was given a small transistor at about the age of eight. It was often on. Especially late in the evening under the covers when the parents were in bed. The evening football commentary, those treasured European nights, will forever be etched in my heart. I wrote a specific piece about that a few years back (see below). I confess to watching football on the television now but always seem to go back to the radio. It’s in my DNA- a rebellion or so to speak. It will never change.

This evening I was being lazy. There were things to do. As soon as the radio went on progress was made. I don’t know why that is. The answer may lay in the visits to see my father. It’s the same at the family home. I would imagine that my Dad, now alone, experiences intense feelings of isolation at times. Somehow he doesn’t seem to show it when the tranny is on. It’s like a soul mate of the ages. There for you, committed, and without judgement. And so it will remain.

https://queensparkchronicles.wordpress.com/2015/08/15/a-win-on-the-wireless/

Saved By The Sky

It doesn’t take a great deal to please me although this can mean a sense of injustice when someone who doesn’t demand much is let down by uncompromising variables. Today was nearly such an occasion.

I work in the harbour at Portslade- four miles from the flat in Queens Park. I love my job, working for a conservation charity, and I have to really as the remuneration is certainly not sufficient to get one out of bed in the morning with a spring in the step. I’ve often said that I would rather do without fortune in life if I could simply be happy with the task that is set me. So I cannot complain. When one is employed in what is a largely voluntary sector it has to be remembered that full time occupation is something to be seen as a privilege. And it is. I am gainfully employed among good folk in what is probably the best job I have ever had. I’m more than happy to trade a couple of foreign holidays a year for the lack of dread that a Monday morning brings.

Following on from that is my view of the working rat race. No more epitomised by anything other than a long bus ride home where most folk look like they are sentenced to the journey. Such misery lends my environmentally tuned character to depressive thoughts. So I walk home each night simply to avoid it. And what a joy this often is.

The beach path is a simple delight- especially when sparse. I find myself lost in dreamy thought or by another splendid playlist from Spotify. Or both. The best time for walking is in spring and autumn if a person wishes splendid isolation. The only accompaniment being the committed jogger and the dutiful dog walker. In summer it can just be too busy and in winter perhaps a bit cold. Although the extra layers compensate for this and all I need to look for is a freezing wind or rain which can sometimes spell cancellation. Something I am desperate to avoid when there is much to mull over.

Tonight the Met Office suggested freezing showers around the time I was due to leave. Low and behold one squally effort arrived on cue. I was determined to ride it out although walking in it was never an option.

As I left the office so the rain abated. A quick step to the harbours edge indicated clear skies backing up and the resistance to an easy option of becoming a conforming passenger on another claustrophobic shoebox was averted. Very few were on the path tonight and the walk was once again a musical joy.

I realise how important and special such time is. Whilst, these days, I spend much of my time alone it is not something that invites loneliness often. I’ve always been that way. Nature is my favourite companion, which has caused friction is some of my personal relationships, but that is who I am. I cannot be at my best for someone else unless I am in tune with my surroundings. People like me are (un)affectionately known as tree-huggers.

On the downside, as a result of a little recent emotional upheaval, the fags have entered the house. I guess we all have our vices but having successfully banished them for six weeks I know it can be done. It’s a question of summoning the will power and convincing myself that my brain is fooled to think that such habit has any real enjoyment. I’ll get there. Tomorrow. Or the next day.

Eeyore