Ahead of the Curve
 -dedicated to my war-torn siblings

The scene of the world changes.  We can follow its course in books of history and through the stories of our ancestors.  We interpret it through cave walls, chronochrome, newsprint and video.  Throughout time you will always be able to pick out a theme.

The mass follows the few. 

Sometimes, you can be in front of the mass and not know it.  It's never comfortable.  The weight of the world will push against your existence, assuming you stand for whom you were born.   It accuses you as if you had choice.  It is painful.  It is confusing. 

As children of the 60’s and 70’s we only felt the weight of an inter-racial family.  We felt the stares and heard the taunts of being raised by a single mom.  Her blonde hair and blue eyes accused our dark hair and dark skin of being frauds.  The family did too.  The neighbors did thrice. There was no history we were allowed to inherit, no extended family who would claim us.  We fought to fit. 

I had no understanding that the world’s need for change was causing it.  We were ahead of the curve.  Born before the time of acceptance of big lips and olive skin.  We had no idea the mistrust and hatred of these differences would turn into love or envy in just 15 years.  Who would have guessed in 20 years, single parenting would be not just acceptable but a choice.  We were hated, because we were born ahead of the curve.  It is that early hate that disfigured us.   Normal pride is now always viewed through warped lenses.  I have never worn life without a little shame attached.  Some of my others have over-stated pride.  This only masks the shame.  If you look close, you’ll see.  You also would understand if you were born before your time.

 It is painful to be early on the scene.  Anyone who has been called “lucky” well after going through the pressure of world change knows this humbling truth.  No amount of words from caring adults will soften the torturous squeeze of being different.  But being different is what most people strive for as adults. I say most because this number doesn’t usually include those who unwillingly lived starkly different through childhood.  These sensitive beings just want to fit… somewhere.  Mostly they don’t.  The pressure of the mass squeezing behind them on the curve of change will always rub the most sensitive parts of their threadbare souls .  It’s never their desire but they will always be ahead of the curve.

Industrial Jewelry Artist

Beautiful Bruiser