Talking last evening with a delightful friend, she challenged me about someone I labelled. Then, later, I challenged her back. Both of us, at each challenge, paused for thought. So much that dribbles out of our mouths comes from learned opinions, until, that is, we are challenged on a single word, a resolution, a definition, a dereliction. This child is…….this man/woman is…….my father was, my mother is. He can’t fit in because he is……….She is just a……… and so on. We were taught these labels by those who influenced us at an early age, and, without thought, we continue the line.

So, let us think. Let us notice. So very many of us, gazillions, I reckon, have felt out of the uniform kilter, like our underpants are showing and everyone is laughing, or judging, or turning away in disapproval. Crowd thinking, or Coward thinking. If you are like me, all you want is inclusivity, gentle acceptance, the chance to learn whom another really is, what makes them tick, because I know they have a story that isn’t mine and through their story, I can learn to be the best person I can be. Surely I am not alone in this? The current, and understandable (sort of) culture of fear around invasion on all levels, the one that throws we Ordinaries, into a big old D I Lemma, is here, whether we fight it or engage with it. We cannot stop it, and nor should we, because there is learning here, there are stories, life experiences, if shared, that can juxtaposition our ingrained thinking. We can lift above what was considered THE RIGHT WAY. I won’t fiddle in a yelling crowd. Nobody is listening to the new music in such a place, but I do believe that if just a few among the gazillions refuse to label and, thus, to marginalise, to exclude, there is hope for this blood-stained world of ours.

I spent my sentient childhood knowing I was different. Not a fitter-in. I knew not the language to speak myself out, and thereafter to stand strong, too swamped in middle class beliefs, in how girls should (SHOULD) behave, whom is acceptable as a boyo, what is okay to wear, etc. My folks I judge not. They were of their time and, with four pretty girls, they were probably fraught as hell, and for years. So I was ‘just’ a rebel’ and without cause. And, that is true. I just reacted to any confinement with an energy I could not understand, nor process. So, I was labelled. There was a relaxo parental breath around that. Difficult, is one word I remember. In other words, I wasn’t their fault.

And, yet, my mouth can still label. Although I don’t like it at all, swipe at my lips and twitch my head in fury as I hear what I just said, I cannot deny it flowed out into the evening. And how do I feel? Initially smug. Oh god, God, gods, that is so not who I am now! Hmmmm, respond the god, God, gods, and I don’t blame them.

There is a lot of something around resolution. In music, I know it well, when even a naughty musician adds an extra bar, or fricks about with an elongated ending, and, (I’m avoiding the But), it is all about finding the warm security of the finite, of the landing, and of putting an end to this thing. In my young days, nobody wanted to stand out from the safety of the crowd, and, everybody wanted to stand out from the safety of the crowd. We were longing to be mongrels. We didn’t want the middle class confines, even as that life gave us security and privilege. In my day, to conjoin (OMG) with those who were not from our ‘level’ was anathema. Not to us, but we were wild, and, I am happy to say, even in our years, we still are, but now we have learned to speak, to stand, to rejink what we say, we will not judge, we will not, we will not and, more, because of the way we have learned our lives, spat out old beliefs, and found our own voices, we will stand and fight for inclusion and acceptance.

Authentically Mongrel. Did I just label myself?