An Ode to Spicoli; or Some More Crap About Rights

If you have some prior knowledge of my thoughts on faith, fate, and other teleological phenomena, you might suspect that I would be dubious of things happening for a reason. But from time to time, I find coincidence interesting enough to comment upon. Tonight I watched one of the first great movies I have seen in quite some time. Milk is brilliant. Sean Penn deserved the Oscar, Dustin Lance Black deserved the Oscar. The United States deserves a slap on the wrist.

I returned to Nashville, TN for the first time in over two years this week. I was flooded with memories from my time there with my wife. Most of them were good. I have no regrets from my time there. But I was also reminded of the lapses I had while there. I remembered the conversation I had on one of those first visits. Sitting outside a restaurant, discussing many innocuous things, a not-so-innocuous issue came up. I remember the words: "I would be heartbroken if my brother told me he was gay." I was shocked.

These were strange words for me to hear. At that point, I was immersed in the punk scene, where matters of sexuality had moved beyond Judeo-Christian expectations. I was used to a discourse that found homosexuality to be anything but strange. But here I was, faced with a well-educated and incredibly bright individual that saw such a lifestyle to be antithetical to happiness. This was 2003. Give or take. Milk was set in the late 1970s.

I do not know if I have anything incredibly original to say here. My point is this: my point is that prejudices of a past that no longer benefit contemporary society should be discarded. My point is that a society that allows people to flourish and be happy is better than one that imposes restrictions that benefit no one and oppress many. My point is that as long as we favor oppression over acceptance, we will fail to meet the moral imperatives of thoughtful people, be they religious or secular.

I will step off my soap box now.