For my brother Damon...
Nov 30 '00
My 100th review is dedicated to my brother Damon; little brother – there isn’t a day that passes that you’re not in my thoughts. This is for you, these words – these emotions… nothing can bring you back baby brother… not all the wishes in the world….
My little brother Damon was like my shadow. In his eyes I could do no wrong. He would sit – wide-eyed – and watch me catch chickens on Saturday morning. He’d imitate me any chance he got, regardless of consequence. He was the runt of the family but that didn’t stop him from defending me when I was teased or picked on. Damon was just like me – a misfit. Someone that marched to a different drummer and never let the social norms dictate our behavior.
I can still recall the Sunday dinner when Damon took a bold step in his life and asked for the entire family to remain silent as he stood and confessed a secret he held for years. I knew it was coming and I prayed that everyone would understand – or at least try to understand. Damon stood, with sweaty palms and a flushed face and began telling of a secret life he had been living. I wanted to close my eyes and not hear the words he was saying – not because I didn’t approve but because I knew the reactions of my parents.
What was he hiding? Did he kill someone? Did he rob a bank or have a drug enterprise? No, Damon was gay. To this day I can still hear him saying the words that ripped our family apart – and regardless of the amount of stress this put on my family they were words that needed to be said. He could no longer take the questions from my parents about “When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down?” and “What.. are you gay?” I knew long ago that Damon was attracted to man and in some ways it was an unspoken understanding.
After Damon “came out” my father took it the hardest; all of his sons were “men”. Big strapping bucks who drank beer, watched rugby and threw darts. He would sit in his chair in the livingroom and ask my mother how this happened, what did he do wrong. My father forbid Damon from coming to dinner or talking to my mother – which she did on the sly – he cut Damon out of the family little by little. It soon got to be that if you even mentioned his name you were on the outs with him for weeks. My brother regretted telling his secret – but he knew that someday our father would break down and accept him for what and who he was.
Damon struggled through college with no financial help and met his ‘partner’ Lance. Lance was a beautiful creature – tall, chiseled face, ripped body and without a doubt one of the kindest human beings I have ever met. I have never seen two people more in love than Lance and Damon; each complimented the other in every way imaginable. It was the first time I was privileged to see the true definition of love.
Both of them had to deal with the day-to-day mockery that people threw their way; from the verbal slander to being portrayed as “flaming” – nothing anyone could do or say would have even the slightest effect on them. Neither of them were effeminate or outlandish; they didn’t frequent gay establishment and they did not have promiscuous sex. I only mention this because most people have a preconceived notion about gay men.
So – how does all of this relate to “Children and Violence”? Well, five years ago my little brother Damon was talking his nightly jog with Lance in a small park known as Bisbee Run. This was their daily ritual regardless of weather or health. Every so often my brother and Lance would encounter as few “youths” that would drink and party in the woods next to the jogging path – some cruel remarks, a few tossed beer bottles and idle threats were all they had to deal with until December 23rd.
Four boys and two girls – ranging in ages from 14 to 17 – chased, attacked and beat my brother and Lance. Lance sustained a broken arm, deep puncture wounds from a broken bottle, missing teeth and a plethora of bruises and scrapes. My brother wasn’t so lucky. He was repeatedly kicked in the head and neck in addition to having the word “queer” carved on his chest. He lived on life support for three days and in that time he never regained consciousness. He never had the chance to say goodbye, to shed a tear or hear the prayers that were being said for him.
I learned of the attack from a friend who worked at the hospital; my parents were called first and then Lance’s family. Lance’s family was extremely supportive of his lifestyle and felt a great loss with Damon’s death. They sat and cried with me for hours – knowing that there was no chance for recovery. When I first saw my brother’s body – bruised and bleeding – I couldn’t move. How could someone inflict this much pain on someone they knew nothing about – other than the fact that he chose to love a man rather than a woman. I had such anger and hatred brewing inside me that all I wanted to do was scream and punch the wall – to get the pain out of me anyway I could.
For the first time in years my father spoke to my brother – he sat for hours at his bedside holding his hand – praying that he wake up – praying that he could hear the words my brother longer to hear, that he was still loved by my father. For 72 hours my father didn’t sleep or eat, he lived on coffee and faith. In those 72 hours my family changed – wounds were healed while other were created.
The youths that committed the crime were all under the age of 18 and plead guilty to committing an aggravated hate crime. While they were on trial it didn’t seem like they knew that they took someone’s life. They carried themselves with no shame – laughing and making jokes. More disturbing than any other portion of the testimony was that of the “leader”; he spoke openly about how gays were inferior and didn’t deserve to be treated the same as straight people. He talked – at great length – about how gays and ‘niggers’ should be killed and eliminated from ‘breeding’. I sat – digging my fingers into the wooden bench – hoping I would come across him in a darkened alley. This is the person that took my brother away from me, denied my children of ever knowing their uncle and killed my parents ‘baby’. He said – with no remorse – no guilt – smug and coy.
Where did his hate for gays and blacks come from? He had a history of hate related crime ranging from vandalism to passing out leaflets containing racially charged information. His brothers and father were members of the Arian Nation and made no secret of it. The father was quoted in an interview a few weeks after sentencing that he was proud of his son – that he took the initiative to eliminate the weak and defective humans from ‘mother earth’.
As a parent myself I try to keep my children from harm; and at the same time I try not to let my own personal prejudices rub off on them. By personal prejudices I mean my own likes (New Kids on the Block, Chinese food and tattoos) and dislikes (green peppers, Barney and black jelly beans). I want them to explore everything that interests them – be it music, food, clothing or education. How can I keep them from coming in contact with these people – and more importantly should I? To try and guard my children from this type of “hate” is something I can never happen – it is everywhere – on television, the news and in the social mainstream. To expose my children to this “hate” and let them know that there are people that hate based simply on a lifestyle or skin color – is to better prepare them for the real world. Some people may disagree with me but I would rather tolerate an hour documentary on hate crimes and organizations that condone such actions than have my children be sucked into one of these groups under the many false pretenses they use to lure new members.
If you are a parent I beg of you to not pass your prejudices on to your children. It’s one of the silent forms of child abuse that goes unnoticed and unpunished in the world today. I can’t say this for certain – but my brother might just be alive today had it not been for a father screaming ‘white power’ at his son. Regardless of the type of hate – racial, religious or sexual – it is thriving in the world – rearing it’s ugly head in the form of beatings, murders, intimidation and abuse.
My brother was a victim; he harmed no one is his life – but his life was taken because of his lifestyle choice. In today’s world parents are more concerned with video game ratings and what type of music their child listens to than who they are associating with. Much like cults – these hate organizations prey on the weak minded and social outcasts. They promise equality, respect and power – but what they deliver is much different. They are made to do the dirty work and take the brunt of the community’s animosity. Eventually the new members are pushed to recruit friends to make a more powerful unit; again, they are promised power and respect.
So, how do I know so much about these organizations? I’ve spoken to several self-professed leaders of ‘white power’ groups; most of which are fathers, respected members of communities and well employed. I was invited to a meeting a year or so ago – so that I could see that there were no cross burnings or hangings, but rather a modern day ‘gene pool cleansing’ rally. It struck me as odd that these people were so vocal in their cause behind closed doors but so timid and weak in the social mainstream. I listened to then talking about how the white man must remain pure – that the ‘mud people’ (anyone not white) must be stomped out by any means possible. I wonder how many of these people have traced their roots and found their family arrived at Plymouth Rock.
Hate is out there people – and no matter how nice a person you are, how much money you have, how socially acceptable you are, where you live or how you live your life – there is someone out there you can’t stand you. Pretty frightening thought isn’t it?
Nothing I can do or say can bring my brother back. That’s just a simple fact of life. What I do take comfort in is knowing that my father finally accepted Damon, however I still wish it would have been under different circumstances. I saw first hand how my fathers prejudice tore my family apart – how his words hurt more than any punishment we ever received. I will never pass that type of judgment on my children – all I can do is love them, support them and protect them.
So to my little brother Damon I say good bye. You’ll always be in my shadow when I walk on the beach; behind me in the kitchen when I make cookies and by my side when I feel alone. Memories may be all I have of you ‘little D’ …. But I will never forget you.
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