For the sake of argument...

This blog isn’t about caregiving or  writing. It’s about being a human being.

You wouldn’t think this would be something to write about. I mean, we are all human beings, so we should pretty much know what it’s all about, right?

But it seems to me that some are better at it than others.

I know, I know, I said in an earlier post that it isn’t my place to judge. It isn’t, so I try not to, but the one thing that I can’t tolerate in my fellow human beings is... intolerance.

I am so weary of people defining others by one aspect of their humanity. So you meet a person and they are of a particular race or sexual orientation or size or even political bent, and right away you form an opinion based on that one fact.

I pity those that choose their friends that way. They are missing out on so much that people have to offer.

I have friends that are gay, straight, thin, fat, black, white, college educated, high school drop outs, geeks, former jocks and even... yes, even Republican! (and Democrats, if you want full disclosure.)

I can’t point to a single one of them and use a single word to describe them. I have fat, gay Republican friends and thin, geeky anarchist friends. The thing they all have in common, if I count them as truly a friend, is their willingness to allow each other to be different.

I argue with my friends; this is a good thing, and pretty entertaining. It wouldn’t be much fun to hang out with people who agree with me all the time. What sort of conversation would that make, a group of folks just sitting around nodding their heads and repeating the same old doctrine, like listening to the same song over and over and over...

Dullsville, man!

I want to hear differing points of view. I want to argue my points, and even, sometimes, be convinced that my point of view is wrong. That’s how human beings develop into better human beings.

I’ve been told I’m pretty smart and creative, and there are some who like my sense of humor. I’ve been called a hippie chick and been told I have an “old soul.” I have been told I have a wicked temper that some fear, and that I have a bit of a stubborn streak (okay, I could out-stubborn Ghandi on a hunger strike, if truth be told.)  I will accept all those things as part of who I am, but I will not accept any single one of them as a definitive description of “Melody.” You want me, you have to take the whole package, folks, or just keep on going.

But if you’d like to stop and argue the point for a while... well, come on in, I’ll put the coffee on.