When we were on our way out our neighbours, the swedish couple were out front with their kids. Husband says to me something like: "Oh you're going to caribana? That's going to be fun."
I look at him and smiling say something like: "No I won't. It's like visiting with half a million relatives."
We went. I plotted a trajectory that would allow us to enter gradually on foot as if aimlessly strolling from the direction of the city's urbanized cemented under lakefront park lands.
When we got close enough to see the throng, but not be overwhelmed by it, we stopped. I waited with Shmolee fast asleep in his stroller while Papi and Stinkapee went to mill among the "relatives".
They came back about fifteen minutes later. Stinkapee was over tha MOON! She liked seeing all the Black people and hearing the music.
We took family pictures and then strolled back the way we came.
As we walked I realized that I hadn't interacted with any of the festival goers. I saw one boy with very queered looking hair done in ponytails. I knew he wasn't queer but I complimented him on his style, anyways.
He responded with a grunted monosyllable or two. It reminded me of one of Papi's friends who seems to model herself after the men of the hip hop nation in all things including the (non)development of her communication skills and (seemingly) of her intellectual faculties. Gender bending and androgyny - good. Actually becoming those you seek to aesthetically emulate by internalizing their backwards belief systems, ways of communicating and oppressive power over STOOpid behaviours without bending, gutting or irreverently queering them - not...very...revolutionary...not at all smart. ;)
His response, whatever it was he said, put me in mind of her and the image she is attempting to copy/cultivate.
In any case I said to Papi: "Did you understand what he said?"
Papi said: "eaSY!"
I said: "Oh, he thought I was coming onto him." hee, hee
Not. :)
Clearly he didn't know about my personal desire based prohibitions regarding interactions with male middle passage sibs hailing from the islands. Nah, he couldn't have known.
A little while after that a group of men walked by and I think they tried to give Papster some alpha male, we're bigger and stronger than you, energy. Papi missed it. I saw it and told him about it. He shrugged it off. He's not particularly interested in doing masculinity based territorial pissing matches with backwards boys. I appreciate that about him.
Then we got into a conversation about the fact that we hadn't engaged with anyone while walking at all, though lots of people had looked both boldly and surreptitiously at us and the kids.
The wimmin, although they did send heavy lidded glances Papster's way when they thought I wasn't looking (little idiots), understood me and my bright red lips, carefully made up eyes, hoisted chestesseses and red belted daytime frock as competition. The men, understood my crotch as being Papi's sovereign property. Most probably saw "Mother" with children and stroller.
Papi and I both agreed that the culture feels limited and limiting in a lot of ways, completely eliminating choice in the ways we can interact with people of the same or opposite (or other) genders. There just wasn't/isn't/hasn't been space.
I said that I had way more fun cruising men at Pride. Later on Papi said that I could go out at night and roam. I said I'd pass because without the children and him there to serve as buffers, I'd go from no play, to having to cuss people who don't believe they should be keeping their hands to themselves when in the presence of an openly sexual woman out alone.
That sucks.
It's way too polarized.
Not enough place space in between those two extremes for my liking.
(So instead I'm home blogging and getting ready to watch season two of the 4400.)
Anyhoo...
I'm home. (Not) Thinking of going bike riding (anymore).
The tantruming song at the end of this post was what I heard this morning as I thought about blogging and contemplated picking an outfit, doing my hair and heading down to the parade...as I revisited all the completely FUK'd interactions I've had with fellow caribbean sibs over the years, right up until just a few weeks ago.
But did you notice? Did you pick up on something?
Even the fact that I waiting until the morning of to figure out a suitable outfit, hairstyle and general tone I'd like to set for the day, spoke volumes about how much of a non-event caribana actually is for me at this particular point in my life, given my relationship to diasporic community in this city.
I do really like to show Stinkapee, who is SEVEN, who needs to see lots of Black folks gathered together (later I'll explain what happens when we do...) I mostly just wanted to show her the gathering...like this past winter when I sent her "back home" (with Papster) to see my biological relatives...without me...yup, definitely without me. :)
Ick.
Thinking about what it means to not experience common culture, music and ways of speaking and seeing with ease.
Thinking about belonging...or rather...thinking about not belonging.
Thinking about rage and difficulty and distance and alienation.
Thinking about christianity as a tool of racist oppression embraced by so many caribbean people.
Thinking about what it means to do a jig when ordered.
Thinking about what it means to dance on our own graves...while we're still alive.
Thinking about what it means to be pushed to the edge of the downtown city limits and to think of this as progress and acceptance.
More thinking about what it means to dance a jig on our own graves and to pay through the teeth for the right to do so.
More icky-poo.
Mood music, anyone?
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