While chatting about censorship with a young guy about 50, I mentioned Melanie and her roller skate key song and how several groups tried to ban it saying it was too suggestive. Noting his blank expression, I realized Melanie never made it to super stardom and he was confused. As I rattled on about her hits and career his eyes glassed over. Finally, he politely interrupted to tell me he got the singer connection, but he had no idea what a roller skate key was. I thought he was joking. The confusion was solved when he whipped out his iPod and, wonder of wonders, with a few clicks we were looking at Melanie, listening to the song and reading the lyrics (I can see how our parents put a naughty slant to them). I hate to admit it, but the machine was wonderful. I won’t be shy now about asking a youngster to do a search for me. On another level, remembering his glassy-eyed look, I was reminded of the need to keep the details minimal and relevant to the story. We seniors love to run on and on about the way things were (and should be) and bring up points only marginally on topic. Worse, as listeners, some of us are guilty of interrupting to correct minutia. Monday or Friday, 1978 or 1975, Rita or Betty – who cares? It makes no difference in the story, but it does affect its enjoyment. From now on I’ll try to accept help from the pads, pods and tablets, keep the story short and stop “correcting” (unless truth demands a teensy comment). But I still don’t know why a roller skate key is a mystery? How do you skate without one? Have I missed something?
Hiding in the library
In our wonderful LGBT Center’s library with its thousands of books for our community, I chatted with a fellow bookworm about what we were currently reading. My interests are not for everyone, so I was not surprised at his lack of interest in This Birthplace of Souls a study of a Maine woman nurse in the Civil War; not a topic destined to be on the New York Times’ best seller list. When I informed him of the great selections and recommendations at our new city library, he said he preferred The Center, because he didn’t want to publicly check out anything gay. I assured him no one would care and even mentioned the rumors that gays and lesbians were not unknown in the library world, but it didn’t matter. He confessed that even when he comes into The Center, he looks around to be sure no one is watching and then scuttles in; also he arrives late to the Guys, Games and Grub night to escape the line that reaches out onto the patio where he might be seen.
How sad, but we who grew up 50-60+ years ago understand. The lessons of shame, fear and sin of being gay/lesbian was so strongly crammed into us we can sympathize with those who are still in the closet. With so many decades of denial and hiding to counteract, I feel well-meaning friends shouldn’t do anything at this late date except give them support in the situations where they feel safe and comfortable and let them know the door is open for a companion to go with them should they dare to venture into, for them, unknown and unsettling territory.
