marilize legauana (marilize) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-09-01 14:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | lgbtq culture, marijuana party |
Who: Thomas and Glibt, a bit of borrowed-with-permission!Mark, mentions of Harvey Milk. Short vacation interlude.
What: Passing along history to the next generation.
Where: Castro District, San Francisco.
When: Thursday, early afternoon.
Warnings: Language, drug references, slight allusions to past violence.
The three of them - Mark, Glibt, Thomas - had spent most of the morning in the office of the California state chapter of NORML. When they left, eventually, Thomas was beaming, wearing a NORML t-shirt and a matching cap, and clutching to his messenger bag that was stuffed with as many NORML stickers, pamphlets, buttons, mugs, shirts, and general swag, as he could have possibly carried, as he could have charmed out of the people who ran the office. It turned out that, in amongst people who all philosophically agreed with what the Marijuana Party wanted to do, Thomas could turn on the charm, could smile and join in intelligent debate, wowing those who had viewed him as a mere teenager before he had opened his mouth. And when they left the offices, Thomas wasn't only beaming, but glowing, just a tad, and only to immortal eyes. He had felt something in those offices, a removed connection to those who were using political means to fight for marijuana legalization, and he'd taken in a small amount of power from their dedication to bringing thousands of citizens the rights they deserved. Mark looked at Thomas, impressed at how the godling had handled himself with people so much older and experienced than him. Glibt, however, looked at Thomas was contemplation in his eyes and a growing sense of recognition.
But there was an awkward moment on the sidewalk when Thomas turned to both Mark and Glibt and excitedly asked if they could take him to Castro Street because a significant portion of LGBTQ history had taken place there. Thomas' excited smile started to fade in the silence, Glibt shifting his weight from foot to foot and resolutely making sure not to look at Mark. Eventually, though, Mark broke the silence and said he wanted to go buy baseball tickets for the two of them later on, which left Glibt, relieved and anxious, to smile and nod at the young god before hailing a taxi.
Glibt asked the cab driver to pull over where Market Street and Castro Street intersected and the two gods began to slowly walk in the direction of 19th Street as Glibt spoke in a low, calm voice. Thomas, of course, listened intently.
"If the Stonewall Riots were the birth of the gay rights movement, Thomas, what happened here in the seventies was its coming of age, my coming of age. At Stonewall, we had been so tired of hiding in the dark and being mistreated by the police, and society in general, that when we were met with violence and hatred, we responded in kind. It was all we could do in those days, all I could do in those days." Thomas' eyes were wide as he listened, reaching into his bag and unwrapped a brownie, taking a bit and offering some to Glibt.
The older god just shook his head with a smile, continuing as they walked. "But we evolved, I evolved, at a rather quick pace. I didn't look much older than you do now when I first arrived here, and I was still so young. I knew that history was going to be made right here, right where you're walking, Thomas. We were far more organized. Well, as organized as we could be while writing up voters lists on scraps of paper. When Anita Bryant started her Save Our Children campaign, we organized a nation-wide boycott of orange juice." Glibt would just give the highlights, of course, and not in any specific order. There was no way to tell Thomas everything that had happened, all the little victories they had won, from receiving phone calls from young men across the country who wanted to call Harvey and thank him for making them feel comfortable in their own skin, to how Harvey's smile and laugh could bring hope into the hearts of everyone who orbited around him.
"Did you know that on the night of the Dade County vote, Harvey led thousands of people on a five-mile march through the city? We were angry, but we were also elated at the response, even though we lost the Dade County vote and several others after that. We were being heard and we were being seen. And we weren't violent about it, we were simply there, loud and proud, and it was impossible to ignore us. I was a part of history that night, Thomas, marching at the front with with everyone else and I was a part of history later, when we all worked together and Harvey was elected."
Glibt paused, considering his next words. "I guess I'm telling you this because history is happening all around us and any one person can contribute to it. You can contribute to it. History is going on right here, in this city, in this state, with their vote on recreational legalization of marijuana. I mean, I'm not saying that you should drop out of college, leave your parents, and come down here and campaign, but there are ways you can contribute from New York. You can donate, or volunteer with the New York chapter of NORML-"
"Papa." Thomas' voice was quiet as he reached out to catch Glibt's arm. They had been walking for a bit, yes, and Glibt had known what direction they were heading in, but he'd tried to put it out of his mind and focus instead on passing along some sort of life lesson to the young god. Following Thomas' gaze, Glibt looked at the plaque set in the sidewalk a few feet away from them, not reading it because the words were burned into his mind and had been for decades. He glanced back to Thomas quickly; the young god stepped forward to read the plaque and was frowning in contemplation.
"There's some of Harvey under there?" Thomas finally asked, trying to understand how Harvey's ashes could be there in San Francisco while the man was walking around in New York. Glibt just nodded as he came up beside Thomas, a bittersweet smile on his face, silent until, five minutes of staring at the plaque later, Thomas asked another question. "Why did that guy kill him?"
Glibt pursed his lips for a long moment, shoving down the kneejerk thatfuckingbastardDanWhite reaction and continued looking at Thomas instead of at the plaque, or at what had been Castro Camera. "That's really the wrong question to ask, Thomas. By asking that, you put the focus on one man's hatred. Instead, you should focus on how Harvey changed lives, enriched the experiences of those around him, and how he brought people together. Forty thousand people held a candlelit vigil after his death and that's just a small fraction of the lives he touched. When he was alive, he made the world a better place. In death, his legacy lived on and inspired further betterment. And in life, again, he's continuing his work." Glibt kept his eyes focused on Thomas. "And that's what I want you to bring away from this. That you can change the world for the better, that you can bring people together like that. I'm not saying 'be like Harvey', partly because there will only ever be one Harvey Milk and partly because I know, that when you mature further, your methods will be different, you'll have your own way of changing the world."
People brushed by them, a car alarm went off, but the gods were too wrapped up in their thoughts to notice; Thomas was still gazing at the plaque thoughtfully and Glibt was still wrapped up in trying to pass along important information to his almost-step-son. "And you, your Party, you're only one organization trying to legalize marijuana. There are so many others out there. And once you've grown, gone to school, you might want to start thinking about trying to bring them all together even further, kind of like how Harvey brought everyone together here. It's something to think about for the future, kiddo."
Thomas nodded solemnly and then stepped forward, stooped, and brushed his fingers over the last line of the plaque: "You gotta give 'em hope!" Yes, he wanted to do just that, bring hope to the sick people who needed medicinal marijuana to be comfortable, bring hope to the marijuana smokers who were sick of hiding from unjust police attention, bring hope to those whose religion required the use of cannabis and who had to worry about their churches being busted...
Eventually, he stood back up, glancing at the shop briefly. "It's a gift shop now, do you want to come inside with me?" Glibt shook his head with another bittersweet smile; he hadn't set foot in the shop since the seventies and didn't want to see how it had changed. "No, I'm good out here, Thomas. I can hold your bag, though."
Twenty minutes later, Thomas came back out with a bag stuffed with purchases and stopped, frowning at Glibt, who was gazing up at the mural painted on the exterior of the apartment he'd shared with Harvey, a resigned look on his face. "Papa?" Thomas asked softly. It was enough to break Glibt out of his reverie and he started, turning to Thomas with an easy smile pasted on his face.
"Sorry, kiddo. Guess I got lost in a trip down memory lane. Want to go meet up with your father now?"
And the two gods, one moderately young and one incredibly young, one Issue and one Party, began to walk back along Castro Street toward Market, one still lost in bittersweet, but happy memories and one lost in dreams of an even happier future.