Erin, that is a great story. You rock, and it's great how your dad was able to change his mind.

I thought about telling some stories about my family and racism, but I think I won't. My mom, bless her, was able to accept all black people as children of God, but she couldn't accept a black man as her daughter's boyfriend. Turns out, it still kinda hurts.

Erin, you and your family rock.

ita !, yes, she's left-handed. She does have a tutorial on doing transfers, but she paints directly on her right hand.

Ah, Zen. I'm sorry for the pain, both physical and emotional.

When my sister was about 16, my mother was homophobic enough that my sister threatened to have an affair with a woman to test her, since she usually caved on anything when it came to someone she loved, in her real life.

However, my sister didn't need to, because my family is a walking talking operation-having test in queerdom, predominantly on my mother's side. My mother is 25 years later, over her homophobia enough to be calling into radio shows and yelling at people about condemning gay people (and getting teased about it (in a friendly way) by co-workers). She does admit to having a reflexive discomfort around transsexuals that's sufficient that she's worried she'll upset our FTM cousin, and she doesn't want to. She just thinks she'll say the wrong things, and she's not sure if she can learn to say "him" where she would have said "her".

She has an extensive clinical understanding of many of these issues, but it's really different when it's your sister, your nieces, your nephews, your cousins, and she's trying to default to inclusive language, and she's just not sure she can.

I feel for her, but I also feel that fuck it, just throw yourself out there and learn. It's not like you can practice at home in your bedroom and get good at it. Look at your niece-now-nephew and see how much of a he he is, and it will be so much easier. You're imagining a much more femme version in your head and thinking you can't apply masculine terms to that. It's a lot easier than you think.

Also, his sister hasn't mastered it, so...really...you'll get a pass if you try where he can see you.

Nail polish fans!

Speaking of which, are you in or out for the next round of the polish exchange?

My mother has either gotten more racist with age or just less good at hiding it. It's not really a black white thing though. About 10 years ago, when they were selling their house, my mother inexplicably started in on how she didn't really want to sell to Armenians, or at least not those kind of Armenians.

It was a long process, but the thing about my dad -- he always LISTENED.

He didn't change overnight. It took 20 years or so. And he's still not perfect, but he's trying.

Speaking of which, are you in or out for the next round of the polish exchange?

I was waffling, but I'm in. Do you have my new address?

I have a fair amount of racists, or, well shadists or ethnocentrists in my extended family. Not so much with the immediate. There's no chance of me changing it, because they're entirely self-aware, and it's a conscious decision they're perfectly happy with. I mean, when someone says "I hate the Nigerians. They're the only black people that sincerely believe they're better than Jamaicans." what the hell can I do?

I do try and point out the hypocrisy and possible irony at every turn, but get told to fuck off in response pretty much all the time.

Ah, well, so be it.

What we had thought was sexism on my father's part turned out to be a demonstration of him believing he was better than everyone. He wasn't better than women because he was a man, just because he was him. He's also better than all men minus one.

Oh, okay. It's pretty hard to argue someone out of that point of view.

Do you have my new address?

Nope! That was going to be my next question.

You know what's a really good way to feel like a failure as a home owner? Trying to turn back on the sprinklers and failing because you can't get the #%*^ box that houses the controls open. I even went out there with tools and took it off the wall of the house, and it's still stuck shut.

The day we moved into our house, we locked ourselves out in the first 15 minutes. mr. flea had to jimmy open a back window and climb in. Then we lost the cat. Shit happens.

My family does ok on race (well, except Great-grandpa, but he's a) 90 and b) an asshole anyway.) Class, on the other hand, is our downfall. I am sure my mother would have been chuffed if I'd married the young Barack Obama, but she was a bit suspicious about my (then) boyfriend who was a graduate student in engineering and had merely middle-middle class accountants for parents.

I saw this article and thought of Hecubus: [link] At least he hasn't taken it to this extreme... yet.