Luca Era Gay - Why The Outcry?

This morning, my sister posted a music video on FaceBook. It was "Luca Era Gay" (Luca once was gay) performed by Giuseppe Povia. This is a beautiful song about a man who at a time thought he was gay, but then met a woman and decided to transform his life to be with her.

The song was scheduled to be performed at Italy's "Festival di San Remo"; however, gay activists fought hard to block it's performace. When their actions failed, they did succeed in 'counterbalancing' the song with a reading of Oscar Wilde's "De Profundis" by Roberto Benigni and a personal message from former president of ARCIgay, Franco Gillini.

The crowd at the concert was not swayed by these measures and has been quoted as 'hissing' (Italy's version of booing) at Gillini.

My question is this: Does the gay community believe that once a person decides to be gay, there is no going back?

"Luca Era Gay" is a song about one man's journey. It is not anti-gay or judgemental. The song does not advocate in any way what people should do. It is simply the story of this man's life and a choice he made.

Why is there such an outcry against this song?

Click here to watch a video of the song with English subtitles.

Click here to read the article, "The Ex-Gay Story in the Pop Music World."

Dave's grandma passed this morning. We knew it was coming, but it's a new experience helping the kids through it. Probably just going to be a quiet day with lots of hugs. I'm glad we went to the zoo yesterday.

Intrepretation

There has been much discussion in our household over the word hippy. I use it liberally when talking about my upbringing, or my favorite music genre, or my artistic abilities.

Dave does not like the word at all; in fact, he is offended by it. Dave grew up as a military brat with a strong desire to follow in his father's footsteps and join the Unites States Air Force.

For Dave, the word hippy conjures images of loud protesters and folks who will never appreciate the sacrifices made by our military personnel. To him, all hippies are self-involved, dirty, overbearing creatures who could care less about the lives they trample in pursuit of their earth-loving goals.

In the beginning times of our discussions, I would feel slighted by his interpretation. In keeping with my creative nature, I am a very passionate person who probably takes everything much to personally. He has assured me that he does not count me in his vision of reckless hippies.

On a side note, I am still amazed that God thought it best to put us together - me being wildly creative and emotional, Dave being calculated and measured. It's almost like a real-world "Dharma & Greg", but I at least know my limitations and am not constantly pushing his boundaries.

Back to the matter at hand.

We have agreed to disagree on our definition of the word hippy. In light of Dave's reaction to the word, I have agreed to instead use the word bohemian in it's place. Honestly, I like that word better. It has character.

At one point, I had decided to do a word study on the word hippy. I found in my research, that it's use far preceded the 1960's. It is actually derived from the word hip or hipster, to mean someone or something that was "in the now". I guess that fits - in the 1960's you were "in the now" if you were protesting the war and questioning the government.

Dave loves who I am. His own father was raised on a farm, so a lot of the earthiness of who I am, he has already learned from his father. The same father who served countless years in the United States Air Force.

I still delight in grossing Dave out with my recounting of pulling steaming guts out of freshly slaughtered chickens and turkeys. I revel in the memory of passing a history exam by crafting a beautiful tribal mask instead of taking the written test.

If that makes me bohemian -- I'll take it.

The Tragedy at Safeway

The work-day began uneventfully enough. I was working in the booth that day. I got to work at 2:30 and stepped in just in time so Cindy could go home. After counting the safe I had a few customers to attend to so I came out of my booth and worked the customer service counter. Lots of people wanted money orders that day.

During a transaction a woman ran into the store yelling at me to call 911 because her husband was bleeding from the head. As soon as I lifted the receiver, she ran back out of the store. I called 911 and relayed what just happened to the operator. I calmly gave them the store’s address and phone number while another customer came to me and suggested I call emergency services. I let him know with a nod that I was on the phone with 911. The operator assured me fire rescue was on the way and then disconnected the line.

I moved on to the next customer in line. During his transaction another customer came in the store and requested I call 911. I told him fire rescue had already been dispatched. Now I’m getting the gist of how serious this is. Three requests for 911 in less than 10 minutes.

(I found out later that cell-phone calls to 911 weren’t getting through because the lines were busy—my call from the land line was the only call to successfully summon help.)

As the seriousness of the situation set in, I decided to let a manager know what was going on. Jerica was the senior manager on duty, but I skipped over her because she is pregnant and I didn’t want her around the blood. Instead, I called Tami, the assistant manager, and told her what was happening and what I had done so far. She had a clerk take over her checkstand and she went outside to evaluate the situation.

Another customer came in to tell me the fire rescue trucks had passed by the store. I called 911 again to say they missed us at the same time as the trucks made a u-turn at the light and pulled into our lot. I forgot they can’t navigate into our lot directly—they have to pass and make a u-turn. I apologized to the 911 operator who assured me it was okay that I called her again.

I kept working with customers at the service counter, but glanced out the window every few minutes to keep an eye on what was going on. There was quite a crowd of folks gathered around just staring at this poor man lying on the ground outside the store. (Why are people so attracted to blood and all things tragic?) The wife was literally clinging to Tami as the paramedics worked on her husband.

I was summoned to bring Tami her car keys. I desperately searched the manager’s office for her purse and then brought it out to her. I had to walk around the man and the paramedics to get to Tami. The wife was still clinging to her. Tami told me she was going to drive the wife to the hospital. (We never found out why she didn’t ride in the ambulance with her husband.)

After the paramedics left, Jerica told me that hazmat should be coming to clean the mess. Tami had already asked me to gather our blood cleanup kits-just in case. We had one complete kit. Ugh. It wasn’t too much longer before Jerica got the call that hazmat wouldn’t be coming and we were left with the cleanup duties.

According to union rules, blood cleanup has to be done by management level employees. Because Jerica is pregnant, I told her that I would not allow her to help. The paramedics had echoed that sentiment before they left. Mike, a second-level assistant manager, showed up about this time. Jerica suggested he could either help clean, or cover the customer service counter for me. He opted for the counter. What a jerk! I have lost all respect for him as a manager.

So, Jerica insisted on helping me clean up. We used the SpillMagic product we normally use for cleaning oil spills. It is super absorbent and actually did a great job with all the blood. Then we mopped the concrete with hot water and lots of bleach. When I left work at 11:30 PM, the caution tape was still up. I think the blood stains will be there for some time to come.

We swept all the mess into a hazmat bag, dropped in the broom head, the dustpan, mophead, our masks and gloves. The bag was then locked in my booth until hazmat decided to show up to retrieve it. That didn’t happen until after 10:00 PM, so I spent the rest of the day tripping over a bag of blood every time I needed to get in the safe.

Tami returned to work a few hours later. She was completely messed up after her ordeal. The wife’s family hadn’t shown up for quite some time and the hospital chaplain didn’t stay with the wife, so Tami stayed with her so she wouldn’t be alone. The man passed away at the hospital and the wife asked Tami to come with her to view his body. Tami told me she was horrified at the amount of blood in the room and the sight of his lifeless body. She didn’t even know these people, but everything she saw had been so overwhelming. She broke down in tears right there in my booth with me. I told her to go home and spend some time with her family.

I guess Mike didn’t realize Tami had left. A little while later someone paged Tami to the bakery. I paged back that she had left for the day. Then I heard Mike say it sure would be nice if we all could just leave whenever we wanted to. Seriously? What a jerk.

I am grateful at least for my friends and family who responded to my status updates on FaceBook during the afternoon and evening. It was all the well wishes and uplifting comments that kept me going through the rest of my shift.

I don’t know anything about the man and his wife except what the wife told Tami. Apparently, the husband had recently been diagnosed with cancer and had just undergone his first treatment. This trip to the store was his first outing away from the house.

My hope is that they know Jesus Christ as their personal savior. My prayers are that he is now in heaven enjoying a perfect body with no more pain or sadness. My heart cries out for the wife that she is comforted by the eternal hope given by our Lord Jesus Christ—that she has peace in the knowledge of where her husband is now. Of course, I don’t know… I can only pray and hope.

Mother's Day

Mother's day is just around the corner and I wanted to do something different. So, I recorded a song my mother used to sing to me when I was a child. I have sung it to all four of my children and countless other children I have been blessed to care for in my home and the church nurseries I have worked in.

The recording is pretty rough as I'm not as technologically advanced as I would like to be at present, but I did throw in some pictures of myself as a child and my children to make it interesting.

I hope you enjoy this.

Happy Mother's Day.



Of course, many of my friends know that even when I am being sentimental, I have to get a joke in somewhere. In keeping with my personality, I would also like to share the following clip. My oldest daughter sent this to me several mother's day's ago and I still die laughing every time I watch it.

Undone

This is reposted from my sister's FaceBook page. It just struck me so strongly that I had to share. How many times does God allow us to be undone, allow our hearts to stop, so that we may see His glory all around us. That we may be reminded that we are loved and can ourselves give love.

April 2009
Cape Canaveral National Seashore, early April and I am standing in the Eldora Statehouse. I am with my best friend Tracey and her daughter, Roxanne.
We are staring at a tombstone.

One word, DOLLY, is engraved in its worn surface.

“Who’s that for?” says Roxanne.

“A donkey,” I say, reading the note that is mounted beside the tombstone.

“Good grief,” says Roxanne.

The tombstone stood in the spot where the donkey’s heart stopped, exactly where she dropped dead, still wearing her harness.

“They put it where she fell,” I say to Roxanne. “It says they loved her. She was a beloved member of the community.”

“Uh huh,” says Roxanne.

She turns away, bored.

She is fourteen years old and she cannot imagine, yet, falling, failing. She cannot imagine anything stopping, ever.

Later, Tracey and I are on the beach, at the water’s edge. The sky is the color of pewter. I think about the donkey and her gravestone and I remember my mother in the hospital before she died, the nurses doing something to her that hurt.

“Would it help if you held on to me?” I asked. When I gave her my hand she held onto me so tight; and I think, now, you could put a marker there, in that hospital room, because surely I fell there, my heart undone by that small thing, the way my mother held onto me.

“Look,” says Tracey. She grabs my arm and points. “Dolphins.”

The dolphins leap out of the water, turn away from us, come back, leave again. They are so beautiful, that I have to bend over.

Here, I think.

You could put a marker here, too. I was undone here. My heart stopped here.

How many places have I fallen?

How many times have I been undone?

All I have to use as markers are these words.

I will put them here.

I will make them say:

I loved.

I was loved.

Kate DiCamillo (Journal entry from author of A Tale of Despereaux.)

I am trying something new - sending and posting a blog from my cel phone. How amazing is this?