"I may be weary, but I am not weak.

I can sing a song of suffering.

Baby, someone's song is
dancing on the tip of your tongue." --
Brett Dennen, Someday

Lately, I've been thinking about conversations I've had with friends. I've been thinking about the cadence of these interactions: the revealation, denial, or disguising of an incident; the presentation of oneself as more noble or favorable than is true; the acceptance or denial of one's actions; the fear of judgment; black and white versus gray thinking; what I tend to feel versus what I say I feel. All of these thoughts have been a constant guest in my headspace within the last couple of weeks.

We, as people, are so quick to judge, dismiss, abandon, scoff at, or distance ourselves from the others. And you know who the others are! Don't you? Oh, yes, you do. They are the ones who sicken us, because they are not as noble as we are. They use drugs, have a new sexual partner every night, are the town drunks, pimp others, steal, lie, cheat, are abusive, completely selfish, shallow, and in short, they are no good! Corrupt to the core! They are not like me . . . and us.

So, I've been doing some self-reflection, putting things back into perspective, and finding myself humbled by the results. I have them all fooled. I am the worst of the whole lot, especially when I think I am so much better. I am devious; I lie. I have schemes beyond schemes, always plotting, far less noble than I may appear. I say I walked away when in reality the situation walked away from me. I tell myself to do one thing, and I find myself doing the opposite. I make escapes to avoid myself. I am weak-willed, always giving into temptation. I have secrets that I only share with myself, and that conversation happens all too infrequently. I am perverted in my concern towards others. I tell others to see themselves as beautiful, yet, I see myself as disgraced, God's nemesis. I reject love from those who want to love me, and I love those who can only reject me. I embrace shame, and have secrets that not even Vegas can hold. I am the worse offender: I don't hear the words you speak; they are mumbled, a cacophony of nails scratching on chalkboards. I wound you with my kindness. I tell you great tales of how strong I am, how things don't eat away at me, yet, I wonder what chemical treatment exists for my cancer, my poison. It's been chewing on my hope. I believe less and less. None of us are noble. You ask if I think less of you? I am darker than that, young one. I think the world of you, because that belief is about your potential. I can't think less of those I expect to fail. I am so confident of our failure. We are doomed. And when you move to or are moved by the grain, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and that makes me love you more.

And then along comes these others that say they see my beauty, my fear. You see nothing, but what I show you, and if I show you distance, do not think this is the way I operate at all times. I am distant to those who think they can solve this rubrick's cube. You claim, "I can no longer be invested in this friendship! We shared so much, and look at us now!" We shared only what I knew you needed to hear, to believe. I don't know the depths of my sickness, but I am certain, it will be the death of me.

My daughter will grow up with me as her father, and who knows what dark horses she will have to ride to take flight of my self-inflicting sword. In my path, I have left others feeling less after they have met me than they did before. And please, let me not hear the voice of your false comfort. The stench of vomit permeates your insincere words. They offer no comfort. Do you really believe you have it figured out with your fortune cookie ramblings? Do you think pretending these things are not our destiny is remotely helpful? Have you examined any of this and how it applies to your life? Am I the only one in this sinking ship? Is there not one tired soul out there who can slice away some of my skin and comfort me? These echoes are haunting me.

My daughter just asked why am I sad? Why am I crying? How do I answer her? What truth can sum up these ancient tears? I am sad, Saskia, because I don't know why I am sad.

All I can do, my friends, my daughter is to try to see the dawn, allowing it to rush over me stronger than these emotions.

"My salvation is ahead of me
I can feel it calling me
I know that I
I know that I will be ready."
-- Brett Dennen, Someday

Surviving High School (in the suburbs)

"Well, I know it isn't easy to be an adolescent
Patience is a virtue that just keeps you strong within
High school in a small town, man, could give you bumps
and bruises
The kind that could take years to heal
or even understand." -- Kevin Connolly, Marshvegas

I grew up in Toms River, New Jersey, a seaside town just off the shore. I lived there from ages 13 to 22. During my time in Toms River, I enjoyed my experience; I enjoyed the friends I had. My real friends were often the same souls that traveled with me in my church youth group, but these friends came later in my high school travels.

I saw myself as being popular, as being well known by many in my school. And though this was true to an extent, I was not in the "in" crowd. Did I believe I was a part of this group during this time? Perhaps, but I think I knew the truth deep down . I didn't fit in; my tan was too dark for understanding. It was not a summer bronze. It was centuries old. The darkness you accumalate from night, dust, and heat.

I went to a high school that had approximately 2000 students, spread throughout four grades. I was one of eight black students in the entire school. When I tell students or adults about this inequity of racial percentages I often get "oohs" and "aahs", but it really did not phase me very much . . . on the surface. My parents, (my mother more so than my father), raised me to see people as being people, good and bad, and all short of perfection. Yet, to say that I didn't take notice by the way I was treated by certain students, would be to say something false. Of course, there were students who saw my color way before they saw me. The majority? I don't know. During my time in high school, I didn't take much notice. I allowed myself to believe that most people were raised as I was raised to believe. Naturally, I lived in fantastical world, but how could I not? My teammates and others seemed to genuinely like me, while I was in school. Now, grant it, I wasn't invited to the parties, but I wasn't really interested in going to the parties.

Still, I would be willfully ignorant not to acknowledge the ways that I was made to feel different. In my freshman year (age 14), I kissed my first girl, T.R. She was a good kisser, and I had a strong crush on her early on in my young high school days. My friend Shawn set us up one night during a football game. That's the story I want to remember.

What I remember from "The Kissing of T" was that she was concerned about kissing someone black, and Shawn had to comfort her by telling her that I would be able to kiss as well as a white guy. What was she afraid of? Out of all the things I remember about my first kiss, her apprehension is what I remember best.

I will start off this next memory by saying, Beautiful Girl, I am sorry.

In my sophomore year, before my radical spiritual/religious transformation, there was this beautiful girl named ** who had a crush on me. She was a really cute, black girl who I saw as a threat to my integration into this white system of Toms River. ** and I would make the "perfect" couple . . . because we were both black. This was the pervasive thought amongst some of my "friends" who wanted me to stay clear of the white girls and date my own "kind." I've never really been good at following rules: my anarchistic thoughts are more suitable for chaos.

One night, at a football game, (are we seeing a theme here?), some of my friends wanted me to take ** into the woods and "use" her sexually because she was drunk and, according to them, "easy". I never did follow up on their recommendation, because my conscience was too shaped, in certain matters, even in my wild days, but more importantly, I chose not to pursue ** because it was what all my white friends thought I SHOULD do. In fact, the Monday following this football game, my friend Paul informed me that he and his mother had a discussion about me over the weekend. His mother told him that she thought ** and I should be a couple because it wasn't right for me to go out with a girl who is white. Paul had the audacity to tell me this.

The verbal lashing that I gave Paul that day was a build up of this underlying attitude I felt from others. Paul didn't deserve all I said, but I didn't know how to process all I was feeling at the time. It was building, and I wasn't acknowledging all that was happening.

** really liked me, but for every attempt of her trying to show me affection and kindness, I hurt her. I was cruel. I used her as a washed away game. I wanted to prove to everyone that I did not have to be with someone who was black; I wanted to show everyone that I was just as GOOD as a white guy. ** was my whipping post, my anger, my frustration at all those who wanted me to feel less than.

By the time I came to my senses the next year, she was gone, no longer attracted to me. I had hurt her enough to scar her. I heard sad news about her after I graduated, and I wonder if some of the emotional scars I placed upon her, contributed to her seeing herself less beautiful than she was. ** was and is stunning, a truely beautiful woman.

I can only say, "I'm sorry ** for mistreating you. I'm sorry for making you walk away feeling a little less than before we met. I'm sorry that I never allowed myself to be vulnerable with you. I'm sorry to fulfill the prophetic words: 'Youth is wasted on the young.'"

Years after I graduated high school, I started to believe that I fabricated my buried discontent in high school; things were not as bad as I had allowed them to grow in my brain. Then along came my high school renunion. It was a memorable experience. There were two incidents that stood apart from the rest.

I was interrupted from giving my welcome address to my classmates because J. O. needed to tell everyone that I actually graduated with the class and I wasn't the butler. Then later, Paul C. congratulated me for being married to Tessin, at the time, because she was white. If I remember correctly, the direct quote was: "Good job! We knew you wouldn't disappoint us; we knew you'd always go for the best."

What more can I say, my friends. I survived, but I still wince when I smell the fresh cut grass of football fields.

"Well, there's something about the suburbs
that will get you if you stay too long
Something about a small town
and how it keeps you in
Though every place is different,
and every place is just the same
and tension is alive and well
no matter where you live."
Kevin Connolly

Why Life Comes Without Instructions

Start with the wide end on your right. Extend it about 12" below the narrow end. Cross the wide end over the narrow, and back underneath. Bring the wide end around passing it across the front of the narrow. Pass the wide end up through the loop. Hold the knot loosely and pass the wide end down through the loop in front. Hold the narrow end of the tie and slide the knot up snug.

And that's just for tying your tie! Any questions?

Free Hugs Amsterdam

Here's my mission, as those who have seen me know as well. I love. And in return, I hope you will love as well.

On Those Days When I Doubt All That Is In Me

These are some letters from dear audience members who have witnessed my show. I am truly blessed by all of you. And I post these for you, but more importantly, I post these letters as a reminder to myself that I have been given an extraordinary opportunity to affect change; to put into practice the words of Gandhi: "Be the change you want to see in the world." Thank you all for reminding me of this lesson.

Dear Mykee:

I am a studen at D. High School (NJ). You performed at my house school last week and let me just say that you are EXCELLENT. You may or may not remember me but I came up to you after your peformance and I remember telling you that "I saw myself in those characters up there because people make fun of me and I feel that gives me a right to make fun of other people and that isn't right." And that is when I began to cry. Mykee, I haven't cried since my grandfather passed away in third grade and I am now a junior. Mykee, you made me see a totally different side of this world. I am now currently reading One Child by Torey Hayden and I am only on Chapter 7 and I can not believe the story line, how accuarate things are. It's horrible, it really is. Mykee you truly are an inspiration to so many people in this world and in honor of you I am writing a poem because I write poetry and as soon as I feel it is ready I will be sending it to you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Mykee, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Thank you,

Mykee,

I know you get this a lot, not just from the line of people waiting to hug you after your performance, but because you really did touch a lot of people in the audience: thank you. Watching you, a person gets the sense that you could make a character out of anybody because everyone has stories like that. You could have just as easily have played me, or the person next to me for all I know. Like so many people, I have felt alone for long periods of time even though I know I'm not a special case or that I am alone in feeling loneliness.

You probably don't remember me because there where so many people, but I went to Peck in Morristown for 7 years. I'm dyslexic, I'm a WASP, I'm a girl, a ice hockey player, and middle child among many things. In middle school I never really had close friends but I really became tormented in sixth grade. Boys where always cornering me, gross notebook paper porn dolls were even put in my desk and back pack, I was pushed down hills in the uniform shirt, girls would call me up at parties to let me know I wasn't invited,etc... Whenever my mom, dad, or I approached a teacher or head of school, we were always told "boys will be boys" and girls are naturally like that. (I'm a girl and I'm not like that)In seventh a teacher was trying to prove a point that the KKK want people in the world who are and blonde, have blue eyes, and are Protestant and it was quickly discovered that I was the only one with that description in the class. So to them, all of a sudden I was a member of the KKK never realizing I could help who I am as much as anyone else.

Even though I'm out of Peck now I'm still always labeled as the "Preppy WASP" which to me carries negative connotations of being snobby and exclusive. I go to Lawrenceville, so shouldn't everyone here be a prep? But apparently when they (the infamous THEY) talk about some one who's preppy, it only applies to those who are members of a yacht club. I'm a rich soiled brat? No. I actually sail competitively and I'm on financial aid here. Yes, I have had, and am very grateful for, a privileged life and great education but that doesn't make me any of those things I'm labeled as. (Not that I feel everyone should be overly PC) I love the line in the Breakfast Club where Claire says, "I have just as many feelings as you do and it hurts just as much when someone steps all over them." I mean, People tell me all the time that I don't listen to "black music", but in my favorite band (Dave Matthew's Band) 3 of the 5 guys are black. How are they any less "Black" then Jay-Z? And when I name Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Toots & The Maytals, Desmond Dekker I'm told reggae isn't "black" enough. And apparently to these people Miles Davis and John Coltrane didn't make "black music" nor did Robert Johnson. And apparently, because I'm a white girl, Richard Wright can't be one of my favorite writers or Langston Hughes my favorite poet.

Plus, growing up, I always felt stupid because I had special English classes and tutors because of my dyslexia. Not being able to read and not having friends is not a fun combination. So all I really did was play hockey which lead to a whole other set of hurdles to overcome. Even though I know now that I'm smart, I can read (I'm on the editorial board of the school newspaper), I've made wonderful friends, and am the captain of the hockey team, all those years of feeling like crap are hard to let go of.

So I guess it's no surprise that I felt I really could relate to what you said and acted. I too befriended an enemy who became a good friend for years. I've been called names, been stereotyped, cried myself to sleep. But like your last character, I've been lucky to have people who cared: a dad who told me I could skate circles around the hockey boys, a mom to fight so I could go to school without being harassed, both who've sacrificed so my sisters and I can get the best education we can...which is why I was fortunate to be in the audience tonight. Thank you. Thank you.

hi dr.mykee-u performed at my skool 2day (Pond Road) and 1st i juss
wanted to tell u that u were amazing....even tho im not rly goin thro ne
problems, u still rly got thro to me and u totally touched me....also, i
just wanted to thank you with al my heart and soul becuz,.after ur
performence, my friend tlked to me.....she told me that i was the only 1
she could tell and she told me that she was seriuosly concidering
commitng suicide.....but, after ur performence, she totally saw that it wasnt
her last chance and she still had a whole lifetime to make things rite
again.......i want to thank you for that.....i also wanted to tell u
that......well, i dnt kno if this will sound rite and u mite think im a
lil crazy but im gonna say it ne wayz.....i totally think u were sent
her by god to tell these tales and let ppl kno that they still have a
chance......i think u were blessed by an angel.....an i hope u never ive
this up and keep saving ppls lives......becuz u certainly saved my
friends and possibly many others in the room today.....thankyou so
much.......
Emily

So how are you?

Winding down this long hard road.
Thinkin bout nothing and everything.
do they know
do they hear
the tears stream, never dry even when they've stopped
i move i breathe i speak but to who and of what
does it mean anything
at times I say yes and at times I know, no
but I keep moving if only in place
Wondering what it is like on the other side
I keep watch for the future
Knowing I must learn
Life keeps circling, waiting, hoping I jump
To a new life, a new way, a place where I don't just see, but feel
I don't just breathe, but experience
I don't just speak, but I am heard
What a day that will be
I anticipate its arrival and wait
Wait for my feet to fly

Love you,
T

Dear Mykee,

As an adult observer, I attended the Prejudice Awareness Summit in Richmond, VA in November 2004. You were the keynote speaker. You were fantastic! We adults in the cheap seats upstairs were laughing, crying, and were profoundly moved. Thank you for your message, and for keeping the tough stuff in.

I have a female-to-male transgender son. I guess now he is also transsexual, since he is taking testosterone and has had his breasts removed. This has been quite a challenge for our family.

Raising children includes a succession of smashed assumptions. We think our children will be smart, or athletic, or altruistic - whatever we value. We quickly discover that those were assumptions and that their personalities are their own. We assume they will go to college, get married. Sometime we realize those are assumptions too. Most of us don't realize that we are assuming our children are heterosexual. A few years ago we came to realize that for our firstborn, that had been an assumption.

So then we find out that we only assumed our first baby was a girl.

My son, now a freshman in college, wrote about his experience in his high school Personal Anthology. Attached is an edited version of what he wrote. I don't know if you have encountered trans teens; I suspect you have. I share it with you because you will understand. Few people do. And I share it because it is beautifully written and I am so proud of my son.

God bless you and the wonderful work you do.

Martha

Thank you all . . .
with love,
Mykee

When my stomach moves

it climbs and reaches
through and up
its usual habitat, replaced by a new location

my stomach is a mountaineer
always the climber these days
it feels like magic

the way it sneaks and appears
first in my heart, then in my throat
controlled by its own laws

but i've fooled my stomach
i can gain control over it
i can teach it how to move to my heart

into my throat
those winged butterflies who carry
this stomach

can fool me no more; they are under my control
i displace my stomach
with the slightest, most delicate

thought
of
you

Young Beautiful Man

This is dedicated to Shane Gooding, a man, a singer, a humanitarian who passed away in April of this year. My sister, Joy, was a year behind him in high school; they shared a class together: World Affairs. What irony! Discussing world affairs when we can't see our death sneaking upon us.

I never knew Shane, but something burning in me would like to remember him this day. This day when I think I am immortal, as do most of you who read these words. Death is amongst us. Death becomes us. And we, let death live.

I think about Shane Gooding today because he was a voice in the wilderness, cut short of the joys of mid-life crisis', the fear of old age, love accepted and love unrequited. I think about Shane, because he was straight-edge: no alcohol, no tobacco; standing for morality and ethics and peace. I think of the irony of his path towards death: CANCER. Throat cancer, to be more specific. What irony! He lived in such a way to avoid this vermin, and his life choices became the portal for this destroyer. Oh, life! You are queer; such odd ramblings and languages you possess. You, at times, attract greatness for the wicked, and harm for our prophets.

I think about Shane Gooding today, because that could have been me; that could be me. I think about you, Shane Gooding, because you possess the knowledge of what comes next, and we, all of us, knowingly or blindly remember you today . . .

Spring Awakenings -- The Musical

I've seen Spring Awakenings twice. The first time I saw it I went with two of my friends, and we ended up being late for the show because I took the jammed pack tunnel into New York. We missed the first four songs. I was disappointed, but I did not let that delay hinder me from trying to enjoy the show. I walked away liking, but not loving it. My two friends and I sat around after the show criticizing and praising the parts we didn't and did enjoy, respectively. There were parts where we felt that they were throwing in issues that had no backing or follow-up. It felt almost random. We couldn't understand why the playwright and director would put in some of these extraneous issues. My friend, Melodic Fairy (MF), and I were annoyed by the infusion of so many issues. We just couldn't understand the flow! Even more so, we didn't understand how this subpar musical won a Tony!

A couple of days after the show, I bought the CD to Spring Awakenings. I had the opportunity to listen to the CD a number of times with MF on a roadtrip we had. We fell in love! With the music. From Spring Awakenings. It grew on us. We wanted to see the show again. Unfortunately, she, like all fairies, vanished before my eyes, and I went to see the show a second time with a whole new group of friends.

The second time I saw Spring Awakenings, I was blown away. I loved it. I still had issues with some of the choices, but not as many as when I saw it the first time. I didn't feel lost as I did the first time. I understand much more of the director's choices and the playwright's script. It was wonderful, and I highly recommend it. Go see it. But this essay is more than just a recommendation. It's prescriptive. What contributed towards my varied opinions?

Firstly, to their credit, the actors had incredible energy last night. They were on. They were in the zone. That in and of itself will change the production from night to night. But there were other factors that contributed to my differing opinions.

As I stated earlier, I missed the first four songs on my initial viewing of Spring Awakenings. This was crucial!! So much information was delivered in that early part. Also, I was familiar with the music, the second time around. Finally, I realized that even if I didn't agree with the director or playwright's choices, it was now in context of the play's entirety, not just my limited perspective.

What a lesson on life itself! How many times do we pick up a book, or an album, or have a first impression about a person, or feel a briskness with a waiter/waitress, and we sum up that book, music, or person with our limited knowledge? I've done this, and continue to do this, but my drive is to do this less. This is not to say that one should not be critical; rather, we should have more of a learned scrutiny.

I try to do this. I am not always successful, but cutting off knowledge, before knowledge presents itself, is not wisdom, but ignorance. Apply this concept to anything and it is a challenge. It's easier when dealing with books, music, movies, or plays, but try it out with people. By no means am I trivializing the weight of this approach. It is not simple, but if we are able to change, to understand, to properly put into place a person's history, and not just what appears to be "random" behavior, we will do what is best for our world, ourselves.