Moving

I'm reading bfp again... My heart sank reading this story.

Another story: another person I know (who likes to imagine himself as the biggest baddest mo’fo Chicano out there) got kittens for his sons for Christmas. The boys were thrilled. And although Big Bad Mo’fo Chicano pretended he wasn’t impressed (too big bad and mo’fo to get all oogliy googily over kittens), he loved the black kitten the best.

One day the black kitten was hiding deep inside a lazy boy that BBMo’Fo was sitting in. When BBMo’Fo closed the lazy boy’s foot rest, he heard the tiny kitten screech and the sickening crunch.

BBMo’Fo evaporated. He jumped out of the chair and couldn’t do anything but shake. He pulled himself together enough to call his wife at work. She had to come home and pull the kitten out of the chair because Evaporated BBMo’Fo was such a mess. He couldn’t even look at the body of the kitten as his wife walked it outside. Evaporated BBMo’Fo cried when he told his sons about what happened to the black kitten.

This was the first time I understood Machismo (and as such, sexism) was a cover, a game. A front that could be taken off, just like pants or hair color. I’ve been looking for ways to deal with that reality ever since.