Hey, everyone. I just wanted to say thank you so much for allowing me to share the story of my Uncle Bill with you. I'm so happy that it resonated with you.
I remember Uncle Bill had such a calm presence. I was an autistic girl in the 1980s, which was not a fun thing to be, and he didn't try to make me "come out of my shell" like so many people at the time. We just sat on the porch swing and, in his words, "watched the world go by."
He passed away when I was eight and when I was a teenager my mom shared his story with me and I cried for him. I really, really hoped my generation would be the one to change things and when I watched Stranger Things I thought maybe this was finally it. But unfortunately, I think homophobia and misogyny are very firmly entrenched in my generation for reasons I'll discuss in another post.
I'm so glad to hear that so many of you are going to write your own stories now. And always remember what one of my favorite authors, Shirley Jackson, wrote in The Haunting of Hill House:
Eleanor looked up, surprised; the little girl was sliding back in her chair, sullenly refusing her milk, while her father frowned and her brother giggled and her mother said calmly, 'She wants her cup of stars.'
Indeed yes, Eleanor thought; indeed, so do I; a cup of stars, of course.
'Her little cup,' the mother was explaining, smiling apologetically at the waitress, who was thunderstruck at the thought that the mill's good country milk was not rich enough for the little girl. 'It has stars in the bottom, and she always drinks her milk from it at home. She calls it her cup of stars because she can see the stars while she drinks her milk.' The waitress nodded, unconvinced, and the mother told the little girl, 'You'll have your milk from your cup of stars tonight when we get home. But just for now, just to be a very good little girl, will you take a little milk from this glass?'
Don't do it, Eleanor told the little girl; insist on your cup of stars; once they have trapped you into being like everyone else you will never see your cup of stars again; don't do it; and the little girl glanced at her, and smiled a little subtle, dimpling, wholly comprehending smile, and shook her head stubbornly at the glass
Brave girl, Eleanor thought; wise, brave girl.
When you write your wonderful stories, make sure you insist on your cup of stars.
