“i have met brave women who are exploring the outer edge of human possibility, with no history to guide them, and with a courage to make themselves vulnerable that i find moving beyond words.”
-gloria steinem
the other camp
holiday lights were bright, we were being served the most excellent meal at Libby’s restaurant.
Gifford was sitting beside me, we were all talking about being kids, dinner tables, styles of sitting down for supper, who managed the
table manners, etc. it was below zero outside. we could hear the blues band in the lounge. Gifford was explaining to Steve and me how all the town came to his Kansas childhood home for meals, tea and gatherings.. he turned to me, when he reported the priests and nuns constantly being invited by his mother for tea at their house, “you know what i mean, right?” he asked. “no,” i answered.
i had no idea what that would be like.. having a priest come to the house meant someone had died. . if a nun would ever leave the school or convent to come to your house in my neighborhood, you were in big trouble, something would have been very wrong indeed. he asked why. i had to stop and think, why indeed?
i was startled he had such traffic at his childhood home. he was visibly surprised we were not joined in that shared experience.
i paused to consider. we lived in a family where everyone worked for someone else, even if they were foreman, managers, or bosses, it was in someone else’s company. the owners, the entrepreneurs, the teachers, the nuns and priests were somehow in another camp. no words were said to enforce that idea, it was subtle, but solid; there was us and there was them, we were not them. we were not the teachers. we were not the hierarchy. we were not the owners. we were not the clergy. we were not the wealthy or the powerful. we were other than that.
well then, Gifford wanted to know, “how did you get to be where you are?”
i stopped short. what did he mean? what was he asking?.. how did i get to the other camp? how did i get to be the other?
i couldn’t believe the question. “why of course i am not the other. i am me, i am the same,” i thought.
but nothing seemed to have changed. i was still in the camp i grew up in. nothing could change the past..
but, i saw now the current reality which had eluded me: i had gone over the border. i had left the camp. .
gone beyond the boundary between the us and the them. i became a them. this was true,
but i knew, i had never seen this before so exactly. Gifford said,
“of course this is a big problem for your family, they are ni the camp that you left.”
they sent me out as a scout for possibility but i had never been given permission to become the possible human. i was pointed that way and sent.
permission would have been a role model in the family. someone who already walked the road of business owner, trainer, writer, poet, entrepreneur. there was no one who had stepped outside the invisible marking between them and us.
in this conversation at dinner, it became apparent that i was in severe violation of camp rules. ti was clear, i never noticed it. ..
