A Protest

Yesterday, I attended a protest for the first time in my life, and, naturally, made a spectacle of myself. In hindsight, my original (slight)offense at being told in no uncertain terms to behave myself was completely unfounded...

I yelled at an old man, and there's a reason for that, albeit not a very good one.

When I was 17, my mother was convinced that I hated her, and didn't care about anything. She might have been right. *Shrug* One night, I was being screamed at. I don't remember everything that was said, but I do remember something along the lines of "DO YOU WANT ME TO JUST NOT FUCKING CARE ANYMORE? DO YOU WANT ME TO JUST SAY I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU?"

Well, I hadn't said much up to this point, but at the expletives, I yelled a simple "NO!" in response to her questions.

For that act of disrespect, I was seized by the throat. It was a wonderful impromptu dance that saw me spun around the kitchen once or twice.

My mother changed her tune immediately, becoming very placative in her pleas for my life.

The whole ordeal ended with me on the floor, foreign hands still firmly in place, another voice screaming at me, begging me to show -it- my "hate". I imagine so it could sup. I had no hate to show. I went limp. Denied its meal of malice, I was released. I had urinated a little. Not so much that it showed, but enough for me to feel.

An apology came shortly after, but the damage had already been done.

The protest took place at a school board candidate's meeting. At the end of it, the cause's spokesman jumped up on stage and tried to say some things. One of the candidates immediately tried to silence him, saying: "This isn't the time or place for this." He then grabbed the speakers arm and began physically directing him off the stage.

It was then that many years of unresolved outrage came unbidden to the fore of my being. I approached the stage rapidly, yelling in what I call my "command voice", "How about you get your hands off him?!?" about three times, each time slightly different, but with the same message, until one lady with the school board parroted my desire, the man let go, and I, still yelling said "Thank you! I appreciate that!" and returned to my seat, trembling.

I questioned the morality of my actions throughout the night and following day. I know that my outrage was disproportionate, and had more to do with my previous inaction, humiliation, and feelings of helplessness than the actual situation at hand.

I'd be lying if I didn't say it felt damn good, though.