When I stopped writing Kid Wednesday, I did so for a lot of different reasons. For one, I was hitting a major dry spell, and it had been about the fifth big dry spell in a row. The bottom line, it was feeling largely difficult to think of anything of interest to say. There were a few other big reasons, some personal things, but overall, it was feeling a lot like the cement being poured in our driveway. Finally, I came to the decision. It would be done for good. Nadda. No more. Kaput.
The very next day, topics started dropping in my lap. I think the Universe was opening up and spilling over. I wasn’t sure if it was a sign to continue, or a sign that I did the right thing. Either way, I thanked the good Universe and decided to all let it rest. But it continued. One thing after another, prodding me to go on. Don’t even get me started on the Idaho Falls Coincidence. But the things of bloggish-interest were everywhere I turned.
For instance. The very first night, out of the clear blue, Mary said, “Can we get Perry Mason?” I said, “Of course we can get Perry Mason,” and so I found a service that carried the show. We were having a great deal of fun watching Perry, and Della, and Paul, scurrying around, shuffling papers, furrowing eyebrows, and being very accusatory of people on the witness stand. To the point of tears, at times. We both mentioned that Raymond Burr had a uniquely handsome face back then.
It spiked my curiosity, as most things do. So I looked him up on the internet. And low and behold, there it was for all the world to see. Raymond Burr was gay. Della, always smiling lovingly at our good Perry Mason, and there he was, smiling at Paul.
It was a bit of a surprise to me, so I checked another source. True as true. He had a lifelong partner and they had a thing for growing orchids. And a little dog. They seemed very sweet together, and they stayed that way, until death they did part. Not that it should matter, one way or the other, if he was straight or gay. I simply didn’t know.
And then I thought about the fact that he probably had to keep it very quiet, because there are a lot of people out there, who once they DO find out your are gay, they will turn on you like a rabid raccoon. Perhaps not the kind of rabid raccoon that will foam a the mouth and rip you to shreds in the middle of the street, but the stealthy-rabid-raccoon, who smiles at your face, and then secretly tears you to shreds behind your back. The kind that will quit watching your fancy lawyer show on TV, causing your ratings to drop, and making it hard for you to find other work in Hollywood. THAT kind-of-rabid-raccoon. I thought of all the people in my parent’s generation, most who have passed away, who watched and loved Perry Mason, but who, at the same time had no room on this earth for anyone gay.
And there, you see, is the great travesty.
That thing called prejudice. And this is just one example. It comes in all forms, and while I like to say that I am not a prejudiced person, I catch myself, in certain circumstances, passing judgement because of the stereotype I am seeing, and not the person. And I kick myself when I do this. I kick me hard.
The best thing we can do then, maybe, is to learn from this. To recognize our glitch in this, and work to see every single person in who they are. As a single person, unique unto themselves, no matter the shape, size, color, religion, gender, or race. Because the Universe opens up and gives us one another. To know, share, care, and to love. Each in a unique way.
And we don’t have to like everyone. Believe me, we don’t. But at the very least, we can make that decision based on who they are, not what they are. Because, I’ll tell you. Perry Mason was as good a lawyer as they come.
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“There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Collected Works
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“Do you know what we call opinion in the absence of evidence? We call it prejudice.”
― Michael Crichton, State of Fear
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“Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends.”
― Harper Lee, Go Set a Watchman
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