Tag Archives: Old Age


Do you know what I discovered this weekend?  I TURNED 70 FREAKIN’ YEARS OLD!

How Old Begin of Blog

WTF?!  Who and what gobbled up my life, and how did it happen so quickly?  It feels as if I was 19 just yesterday.  What the hell happened?  I woke up on June 9th with a 19-year-old’s spirit in a 70-year-old’s body that said, “Let’s go, go, go, go, go, Girl” but my old-woman body instantly responded:  “Oh, hell to the no, no, no, no, no, Girl”!!  (I had done some extra cardio the day before and everything on my body—including my earlobes and my nipples—was writhing in pain.)  But no one knew how to comfort me.  Part of the problem is that I don’t look 70 (thank God!), therefore, absolutely no one has sympathy for me.  I look good—owing to the fact that “Black don’t crack,” expensive make-up, and an unlimited supply of fashionable wigs.  I can still see well, hear well, walk several miles a day, and lead a coup against racist assholes when they try to take over my community.

I’ve started working on my fourth book, and I’m thinking of going on tour as a storyteller (move over David Sedaris).  So what’s my problem?  Why do I feel like I want to break out into a drunken sloppy rendition of a Frank Sinatra song:   “And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain…?”

Facing Death Stephane Peray Thailand

Cartoon used by permission: Stephane Peray, Thailand

I called a nonagenarian (my mentor of 54 years), and I told her I didn’t want to turn 70 years old. In fact, I was truly in a funk about it.  She replied:  “What is your alternative?”  Then she continued with her kick in the ass:  “I’m 90 years old.  I can’t see, I can’t hear without hearing aids, I can’t walk without a walker or a cane, I can no longer eat salads because they give me gas—but praise God, my mind is sharp as a tack, and for that I give him glory.  Otherwise, I’d kill to be 70 again—I was still driving then!  

“If you had told me when I met you at 16 and I was 36 that I’d still be alive to smack you upside your head and tell you to get over yourself as I did when you were young, I would have laughed in your face.  But here I am, on the phone with you, having to pee for the 5th time in an hour because my bladder no longer functions at this age.  So before I rush off (more like waddle off) to the ladies room, here’s the 911 about old age:  Lord willing, you’ve still got another decade of get-up-and-get-to-it-ness (although, none of us are guaranteed another minute of life past this moment).  It’s between 80 – 85 years old when the body starts to really drag you toward the dust, and no amount of wishing and hoping will curtail it.  All most of us manage to do during that time is get up, eat, poop, nap, remember the old days (if we’re lucky), rinse, and repeat.  Today, I suggest you put one foot in the front of the other, take each day at a time, don’t moan over what you’ve lost, but celebrate what you have left with every ounce of your being because none of us are guaranteed any tomorrows.  It’s all about the attitude, Little Girl.  Now, I’ve got to go pee.  Love you, Doll!”

what the hell happened

Birthday Card for the Aging

My mentor was right, of course.  I couldn’t let my pity party continue. Even though I felt I hadn’t yet reached all the goals I had set in life, one conversation with my kids helped me see that I had done more than I thought, and they admired me for it.  I had conquered internal demons as well as external ones.  I was a survivor of abuse—more than a survivor—a conqueror!  I was a mentor to both women and men.  According to my kids, they still see me reaching for the stars as if I were 19, and it blows them away.  They see me as someone who refuses to put up with religious stupidity and is not afraid to say “no” when others try and steer me off my true course in life.  They see me as someone who is not afraid to speak her mind.  They still see me as a fighter—still a badass in their minds with a sweet touch of Jesus.

Throat Punch Someone

Most of all, my kids see me as the love of their father’s life, and they say that we are their life’s aspiration.

On my birthday, 39 years ago, I gave myself a fabulous b-day present:  my man. Six years after the Supreme Court passed Loving v. Virginia, which invalidated laws prohibiting interracial marriage, I saw my future husband at an audition for a play, and it was intrigue at first sight.  A month later we went on our third date, and he knew he wanted to marry me.  Twelve years after the passing of Loving v. Virginia, my man and I tied the knot in front of an audience of hundreds of well-wishers in a cow barn turned into a hippy church.  It was the best choice either of us have ever made—law or no law.  When you’re a baked potato and you find your stick of butter, you lock that shit down!  Happy Birthday to me, and Happy Anniversary to the Tomczyk us.


The author and her husband (June 9, 1979): Photo credit—Bill Clarke

Anniversary pic

The author and her husband: 39TH ANNIVERSARY SELFIE

Est 1979

Best 39th wedding anniversary present ever


“To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent—that is to triumph over old age.”Thomas Bailey Aldrich

“While I am in this world, I am resolved that no vexation shall put me out of temper if I can possibly command myself. Even old age, which is making strides towards me, shall not prevail to make me peevish.”—Samuel Adams

“When marrying, ask yourself this question: Do you believe that you will be able to converse well with this person into your old age? Everything else in marriage is transitory.”—Friedrich Nietzsche

 “Old age is no place for sissies.”Bette Davis


THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOK:  “The Fetus Chronicles:  Podcasts From my Miseducated Self” is on sale now at Amazon!

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Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


Posted by on June 13, 2018 in Uncategorized


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Do you know what I discovered this week?  My body has been taken over by an alien, and it has gone into full-scale rebellion against my heart and mind.  I woke up this morning with a Charlie horse in my ass that won’t quit, and all I did the day before was squat to remove two—say it again: two—stray weeds from my garden bed.  I also have some type of weird crick in my back.  I have no idea why it happened.  All I know is that right before I temporarily turned into the Hunchback of Notre Dame, I must have pissed off the gods somehow when I had the audacity to wear my favorite five-inch heels to a social event for two hours and fifteen minutes.  (The nerve!)  Don’t even get me started about the Nazi torture that happens to me if something drops on the floor these days, and I crouch down to retrieve it.  When my brain tells my legs “You can resume standing, now that you have the object in hand, Sweet-cheeks;” my body doesn’t budge (it sticks as if frozen into place), and some demon on my shoulder falls over in gales of laughter at the spectacle of it all!  I don’t pick up anything that falls on the floor anymore.  If WW (“White and Wonderful—my husband of 36 years) doesn’t pick it up, then it will stay there until the cleaning service comes (every other week).  The last time I did try and pick up a dropped grape, I couldn’t get back up and had to do a barrel roll over to the stove and pull myself up with the ol’ right hand on the oven door, left hand on the counter, and a double-turn-grab on the freezer handle to set myself aright.  Doing so knocked my back out for hours.  OMG!

WTF people!  Can someone tell me what is happening to my body?

Getting Older

I HEARD THAT!  And I am not interested in getting older, thank you very much!  This is not what was advertised.  When I turned 65 a couple of years ago, I was told that I would be entering my “golden years.”  The word “golden” implies that one will be “rich with splendor,” “radiant,” and marked with “splendor and grace.”  Being unable to walk without a slight waddle from side to side because my joints are so stiff from sitting at a dinner table or after a long drive does not spell splendor and grace to me—I’d call it one pratfall away from disaster.  I’m only 67 years old, for God’s sake.  According to Hollywood, 67 is the new 47!  I should be running marathons, going sky diving, and leaking my chubby-ass sex tape on the Internet.  If these are the actions of my body at 67, what will it do at 87?

Old People Butts thefunnybeaver dot com

I am a Baby Boomer, and even though I “technically” know that death is inevitable, like most of my Baby-Boomer fellow travelers, I never expected it to happen to me.  Because this is where all these aches and pains are leading:  Death.  Right?  My body is slowly but surely breaking down and going back to whence it came—dust unto dust.  As the great Martha Beck says, “I knew death was inevitable, but I had hoped an exception might be made in my case.”  As I brooded over this nasty road I was traveling down, I decided to drive to Ohio and visit a friend who is twenty years my senior, and who lives in an independent/assisted living home.   At 87, my friend seems to be handling the inevitable pretty well.  I talk to her every week.  She used to be a travel agent and traveled all over the world, but now she is stuck in the independent portion of the old folk’s home.  But she never complains—is always cheerful—and I hoped she’d have some pearls of wisdom to help me with the last third of my life.  You could have knocked me over with a feather when I discovered what I discovered when I talked to her.

ME:        My friend, I am really having a hard time with this aging thing.  Every day there’s some new thing happening in my body—some breakdown no one warned me about.  How do you feel about being 87?

FRIEND:  How do you think I feel?  It sucks!  I never expected to live this long.  If you had told me when I was your age that I’d live to be 87, I would have laughed in your face.  I am legally blind, can’t completely control my bladder (when I have to go, I have to go—right then and there—there is no such thing as holding it!), and I can’t hear unless people shout (even with hearing aids).  Since my heart attack two years ago, I can no longer go for long walks.  A long walk these days is down the hall to the dining room or across the building to the multi-purpose room to play Bingo.   My everyday companions are the people who sit at my table for lunch and dinner.  Two of them are nonagenarians and the third is an octogenarian.  All three of them have lost their minds.  I think the nonagenarians are having sex—at least they invited me to their wedding on Monday because they didn’t want to continue living “in sin,” but then on Thursday, the female announced that the wedding was off because she has decided she is a lesbian.  Her befuddled fiancé looked like he was going to burst into tears and left the table to go watch TV.  The octogenarian who sits at my table hides her jewelry and then complains all through the meal—each and every meal—that the shifty-eyed nurses have stolen her stuff.  I tell her every single day right before I turn off my hearing aid:  “Ain’t nobody stole your crap, Delores!  You just forgot where you put it, again!”  My only consolation is that my mind is still sharp as a tack.   But as for all the rest of what is happening to me and around me . . .  As the kids say:  “It sucks, big time.”

Cat in the Hat on Aging Refrigerator Magnet ebay dot com

Cat in the Hat on Aging Refrigerator Magnet from

ME:  Noooooo, say it isn’t so!  But you took care of yourself.  You ate right and you exercised.  This isn’t fair.

FRIEND:  Who ever said life was fair, Kiddo?  I thought that was the number one lesson I taught you growing up.

ME:  [Sigh!]  What do you miss the most from your younger days?

FRIEND:  Everything!  Driving, reading, traveling, talking without a lisp—my dentures can’t seem to stay stuck to the roof of my mouth—a career, husband and friends (all dead, dying or losing their minds) . . . just about everything.  By the way, tell your children to take care of their teeth.  No one tells you how much you’ll miss those suckers once they’re gone.

ME:  Any advice for me on this last leg of my journey?

FRIEND:  Take it one day at a time, Baby. Count your blessings (gratitude is a great equalizer).  Do what you can do, and what you can’t control (i.e., your leaky bladder, your teeth hanging lopsided in your mouth, and people sounding like guppies talking to you underwater)—don’t fret about it.  If you can afford it, buy yourself stock in Depends, denture adhesive, and hearing aids.  And always remember:  When you wake up in the morning, and you don’t find your name in the obituaries, it’s gonna be a good day!

Senior Moments Yaakov Kirschen Dry Bones

Used by Permission: Yaakov Kirschen, Dry Bones/Cagle Cartoons

A visit with my wise friend did not help me.  I was more agitated than ever.  As I tossed and turned that night in my sleep, I kept whimpering, “Dylan, you were right: I will not ‘go gentle into that good night … I will rage, rage against the dying of the light!’”*

As I thrashed about in my sleep, I dreamt that I ran into the specter “Old Age.”  The androgynous person was seated on a park bench staring at me with an amused expression as I approached.

OLD AGE:  Hey there, I hear you’ve been looking for me.  What’s happenin’?

ME:  What do you mean, what’s happenin’?  You know exactly what’s happening!  My body is falling apart.  75.4 million Baby Boomers and I have a bone to pick with you.  Our bodies are imploding and we’re dropping like flies.  I used to be able to run long distances (three miles every day and twelve on the weekends), teach all day standing in four-inch heels, leap tall buildings, and trip the light fantastic with my man.  The last wedding I went to recently, I danced for two hours in two inch heels, and the next day I had to have a rubdown in Mentholatum Ointment and soak in a hot bath for an hour just so I could walk without doing the zombie crawl.

OLD AGEWhine, whine, whine.  Here, have a little cheese with that whine.

ME:  Shut up, smart ass.  And don’t even get me started about cheese.  Did you know that somewhere during the last year I became highly allergic to cheese but didn’t know it?  You know how I found out?  At the same aforementioned wedding, while dancing to Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk You Up” I shit my pants.  Yessiree, crapped my drawers in my fancy-dance wedding outfit right on the ballroom floor! At first I thought my husband had farted, but he didn’t have his old man fart-face look.  (You know that look old men get:  “keep on dancing or walking, honey … nothing to smell here …”) It didn’t take me long to figure out that the cheese from the reception had done me in, and it was disgusting.  I wondered why people kept breaking off conversations in mid-stream with me and moving all the way over to the other side of the reception hall in search of “some more of that delicious Vermont cheese.”  (You couldn’t have let this happen to me in the privacy of my home?)   So I can no longer eat gluten because I have Celiac disease; I can no longer eat sweets and starches because I have diabetes, I should stay away from salt and alcohol because I have high-blood pressure, and now the one thing I depended on that was safe to eat when everything around me contained gluten and sugar, you stole from me.  I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, Old Age!  You threw lactose intolerance at me—in the middle of a wedding!  HAVE YOU NO SHAME, MISTER?

Every Baby Boomer I talk to hates you too, and they all have something that ails them.  By the time 75 million and counting of us are in our 80’s, there’s not going to be enough nursing homes, walkers, hearing aids, or Depends that Social Security dollars can buy to keep us up and running.   Let me shout it from the rooftop:  I HATE THIS STAGE OF LIFE!

Baby Boomers Getting Older Cardow, The Ottawa Citizen

Use by Permission: Cardow, The Ottawa Citizen/Cagle Cartoons

OLD AGE:   Hey now—look on the bright side.  I haven’t been cruel to all the Baby Boomers.  The Rolling Stones are still performing and they are older than you.  Mick Jagger is 72 years old, 140 pounds, and still has a 28-inch waist.  He can still jerk across the stage with one leg in the air while singing “I can’t get no satisfaction” and then segue into “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” like it was the 1970s.

ME:  Oh no, you can’t fool me.  That bag of rock-n-roll bones probably has to soak his entire body in Epsom salts for hours after he performs.  I bet you that Mick Jagger secretly wears a special designed Depends under those skin tight pants, too.  Either that or he did so many drugs in the 70s that his bowels are pickled and his bones are calcified to such an extent that he feels nothing and he never poops.  But I don’t believe he doesn’t suffer from you, Old Age.  You’ve cursed him like you’ve cursed us all.  Mick Jagger’s got the old age plague of a crumbling body—we just haven’t heard about the details yet.

OLD AGE:  Well, I can appreciate your point, and I do understand your anger with me.  You have every right.  However, I am nothing but accommodating.  Since you hate me so much, I can offer you an alternative.  He’s just around the corner.  Hey, Death—come on over and let me introduce you to a friend of mine.  She’s dying to meet you.

Rolling Stones Getting Old Cardow The Ottawa Citizen

Used by Permission: Cardow The Ottawa Citizen/Cagle Cartoons



I am discovering that “life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.”  I saw this quote on an octogenarian’s suitcase at the Seattle airport recently.  It is so true.  Every age has something to hinder it—every age has something that blesses it.  When one is young, one usually has strength, beauty and power—but one generally lacks wisdom, grace, and the patience of a wizened old man or woman.  Fortunately, I am not as narcissistic as I’ve portrayed myself in my satirical and slightly exaggerated story.  I am falling apart at the seams, but I hope I’m doing it gracefully.  I do get the joke.  I know that gratitude is the key to growing old with perspective.  Living in the moment is the focus needed to keep one self-balanced, and the “serenity to accept the things I cannot change”** is true maturity.  Life is wonderful for me—not because it is perfect—but because I woke up this morning and my name wasn’t in the obituaries.  It is a great day, in fact!  I think I’ll go dancing tonight!

Old Dogs New Tricks


“You have to age gracefully. And that’s what I love about Keith Richards. That’s what I love about the Rolling Stones. They are aging gracefully. They are falling apart at the seams right before our eyes, and they are doing it gracefully. And that’s the most beautiful thing that we can do.”—Nikki Sixx

“It’s good to be here. Frankly, it’s good to be anywhere.”—Keith Richards (what he says every time he performs)

“A lot of people are living in a dream world – they want to deny that aging occurs or believe it doesn’t have to occur. They’ll hold on to this belief until the moment they die. The reality will eventually hit them.”S. Jay Olshansky

“What helps with aging is serious cognition – thinking and understanding. You have to truly grasp that everybody ages. Everybody dies. There is no turning back the clock. So the question in life becomes: What are you going to do while you’re here?”Goldie Hawn





*Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night.

** Reinhold Neibuhr, The Serenity Prayer

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


Posted by on October 18, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Do you know what I discovered when I turned 66 this month? Sixty-six is not the new forty-six.  Whoever told us that is lyin’ through their teeth.  I mean I don’t look my age because it is true, for the most part, “black don’t crack,” but my innards are falling apart.  The morning of my sixty-sixth birthday, I swear to God my boobs dropped two more inches in search of the floor, and my stomach distended four more inches making me think I might be pregnant again (generating murderous thoughts toward WW’s thingie until I remembered that I’d gotten the “snatch” 20 years ago, so a pregnancy is damn near impossible).  As to the rest of my lady bits, lately I’ve been using my iPhone to locate women’s rest rooms and planning my events around bathroom breaks with declarative statements like:  “My Potty App is showing a toilet within 10 feet—why don’t I pee while I’m still here and the going is good.”

Old Age Pinterest pin Carol Middendorf

Pinned by Carol Middendorf from Pinterest

As I was “kvetching” over the sorry state of my body, I was mourning the passing of the years and wondering if I had grown spiritually and intellectually, or was I simply deteriorating back into the dust from which I was formed.   While I was downing a pint of coffee strong enough to cause internal combustion, I noticed two news articles online that made me spew my hot coffee all over my computer screen and summarily scream:


Both news articles confirmed and reported on the second annual March for Marriage (organized by the conservative National Organization for Marriage) in front of the Capitol.  Fortunately, it was a bust with a showing of only 1,500 people (they expected tens of thousands) and one low-level elected official as one of the speakers. This “Christian” hate-filled march was such a yawn that I had no idea they were in town until I read that one of the speakers (Rev. Mike Huckabee) said something which made my head explode and prompted me to place an immediate phone call to Martin and Coretta King at “H-E-A-V-E-N-S-G-A-T-E.”

GLENDA: Heelloooo!  You’ve reached Glenda Angelina, assistant to the good Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his wife, the lovely Coretta King.  How may I help you?

ME:  Good Morning, Glenda.  I’m ET the Blogger and author of Monsters’ Throwdown, and I’d like to speak to Rev. King about an urgent matter.

GLENDA:  I know who you are.  I just ordered your book from Amazon Cloud”—it got great reviews in the Celestial Times.  Congrats.  Monsters’ Throwdown has become one of our favorite reads around here—poor black child makes good due to the courage and sacrifices of activists in the Civil Rights Movement really hits home.

ME:  Thanks . . . that’s so sweet.  I will always be indebted to Rev. King and all the others who laid down their lives for me.  Which is why I’m calling.  There has been an attempt to coopt Rev. King’s words and legacy in the name of an anti-gay movement.  Let me read you the titles of the two articles I read today that Dr. King should know about:

The Raw Story’s Mike Huckabee: Martin Luther King Jr. would agree that gay marriage is like the Holocaust” by David Edwards and Salon’s “Mike Huckabee on Martin Luther King Jr.: ‘I wish he were here today’ to join me in discriminating against LGBTQ people” by Katie McDonough.

Persecution of Gays Pat Bagley Salt Lake Tribune

Used by permission:  “Who Would Jesus Hate?” || Pat Bagley Salt Lake-Tribune

GLENDA:  Oh God, not again (remember when Glenn Beck tried to do this?).  Not only will Rev. King be appalled at how this “Rev.” Huckabee is abusing his reputation and words, but I think King Jesus will be none too pleased at how his words of love and not judging others have been twisted into actions of hate and harassment.  Haven’t the followers of Jesus discovered that in the end “love wins?”

ME:  Well, it’s not all Christians.  This Huckabee guy just has a misunderstanding of the Bible and a big mouth.  He also wants to be elected president in 2016, so he’s pandering to the African-American and Hispanic churches because he knows these denominations are still clinging to some pretty harsh anti-gay rhetoric and lack of inclusion within their churches.  Yet, I don’t know a black church that doesn’t have a ton of gay members who are hiding out in their churches’ closets (starting with the choir directors and moving on down to the deacon and mission boards), just waiting for their place of worship to be a safe haven to come out.   I’m a black Christian, and even though I was against gay marriage many years ago—like President Obama, I evolved.  During the time I was conflicted, I made a list one day of all the pathetic “Christian (heterosexual) marriages” I intimately knew about—husbands cheating on their wives, husbands feeling up other men’s wives, husbands abusing their wives and children, churches instilling fear that gay rights would ruin Christian marriages and children while covering up massive pedophilia cases within their schools and Sunday Schools  (all of them virulently anti-gay)—and I compared these vile stories to the lovely gay and lesbian families I knew (solid faithful marriages, better parents than I’d ever been, and more service-oriented toward the homeless and the disenfranchised than any Christian I had ever known).  Not to mention that their gay marriages had not hurt my marriage of 35 years one iota.  At that point I decided I was “mashugana,” and I repented regarding my ignorant stance on gay rights.

GLENDA:  Mike Huckabee needs to do his homework because he is dead wrong.  Rev. King would have been marching with the LGBTQ community in support of Gay rights because he, too, was always evolving.   Anyway, his wife knows where Martin stood on these issues because she spoke to this point on many occasions—not the least of when she spoke at an event in 1998.  If I remember correctly, Coretta Scott King said:

“I still hear people say that I should not be talking about the rights of lesbian and gay people and I should stick to the issue of racial justice.  But I hasten to remind them that Martin Luther King Jr. said, ‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.’ I appeal to everyone who believes in Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream to make room at the table of brother-and sisterhood for lesbian and gay people.”

Gay Marriage Horsey Los Angeles Times

Cartoonist David Horsey, Los Angeles Times

ME:  I know, I know . . . I am sure that Rev. King would have lead a march against the NOM organizers and made his position known loud and clear that he despised their stand on gay rights.  Can you deliver my message to him that his legacy and words are being coopted by the likes of that hater Huckabee and have Rev. King do something about this before it is too late?

GLENDA:  I’m afraid neither Rev. King nor Mrs. King can be interrupted right now.  Rev. King is watching the World Cup with Jesus, Gandhi, Golda Meir, Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin, Harvey Milk, Marilyn Monroe, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant , and a slew of Palestinian martyrs (don’t ask).  Mrs. King is having lunch with Eleanor Roosevelt, St. Teresa of Avila, Joan of Arc, Anne Frank, and Rosa Parks.  But I know what Rev. King would say to you.  He would tell you that his fight is done.  He has passed the baton of civil rights for all to you and others like you.  You must fight the good fight and never give up—build on the legacy he left you.  Can you do that?

Gay Rights John Cole The Scranton Times Tribune

Used by permission:  Gay Rights John Cole The Scranton Times Tribune


I am discovering that I may be an old fart but I am evolving into a better human being.  As I’ve grown older, I may not be able to hold my urine for more than a couple hours, but I’ve learned not to judge others and how to love those who are different than I am.   There was a time when it would have been against the law for my white husband and me to be married, and there would have been no where we could have lived together without fear of harassment and scorn. Today we live in neighborhoods where our neighbors adore us because of who we are and what we contribute to the common good.  I will not stop speaking out in support of gay rights until my gay brothers and sisters enjoy the same.

Anti Gay Agenda Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

Used by permission:  Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

We are each made for goodness, love, and compassion. Our lives are transformed as much as the world is when we live with these truths.”—Desmond Tutu

“Here are the values that I stand for: honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you want to be treated and helping those in need. To me, those are traditional values.”—Ellen DeGeneres

 “Homophobia is like racism and anti-Semitism and other forms of bigotry in that it seeks to dehumanize a large group of people, to deny their humanity, their dignity and personhood. . . .This sets the stage for further repression and violence that spread all too easily to victimize the next minority group.”—Coretta Scott King, Source: Chicago Sun Times, April 1, 1998, p.18.



Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.



Posted by on June 22, 2014 in Uncategorized


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