CHAPTER 13, Part 2: Finishing School for Fathers

From "The Saga of One F**ked Mother"

“Finishing School for Fathers” is Chapter 13 of Mother-Fucking: The Saga of One Fucked Mother. [This chapter was too long for a Substack newsletter, so the first part was posted last week and this is the second and final part.]

Dr. Blue’s novel is based on her own experience of the Post-Separation Crisis. It uniquely conveys how Family Court judges are “mother-fucking” women—a form of systemic violence directed at ex-wives—as protagonist Legion is systematically and methodically deprived of her children and money and reduced to “one fucked mother”.

In this chapter, Legion bemoans how women are the majority yet men have ruled for 12K years and made decisions that cause so much harm to women and society. She fantasizes about men being required to attend a “finishing school” before marriage—a program to prepare and qualify them for being good fathers, or as she puts it: good Ancestors, as we are all “Ancestors in Training”. In retrospect, she sees Herry had no thought of being a good father or husband, only a despot, which patriarchal society and Family Court encouraged and enabled.

Legion ruminates on how history disappears women’s contributions to the world; how male domination and wars have caused so much damage; how men have not ever really listened to women; and how even famous civil rights leaders and progressives have not promoted women’s everyday rights and needs, especially in the family.

Chapters are stand-alone interesting so you can begin reading anywhere. A Cast of Characters follows to help readers at any point. All published chapters are included in the Women’s Coalition News & Views Section: “The Saga of One F**ked Mother”. Sequential chapters are published every Wednesday. Of course, subscribers will find each new chapter in their inboxes, so make sure to subscribe if you haven’t yet!

TEASERS

The Double Standard: [Men] are fully and in all matters entitled, as are many, many liberal and progressive men like Martin Luther King, Jr, and Thomas Jefferson or regressive and conservative men like acid‑throwing Taliban fathers and clitoris‑cutting African fathers unteaching sons before Herry, to oppress and to do and to say unto any and all women whom they choose to that which they would not at all stand a second still for if it were done or said or oppressed unto themselves.

All, absolutely all, of the World’s problems, issues and situations requiring change or solution stem from and, therefore, can only be relieved and solved and their horrific impact much, much diminished by one thing:  the relinquishing of male supremacy and dominance over Not Males in all matters. 

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CHAPTER 13, Part 2

Finishing School for Fathers

“The petty despot of the man-made home is hindered in his humanness by too much manness.”

―Charlotte Perkins Gilman in Chapter Two, “The Man-Made Family,” of her 1911 work, Our Androcentric Culture, or The Man-Made World

…See, the livestock and I weren’t the only creatures Herry hosed. 

Grace loathes Herry and is one of less than a handful of people who know of three other instances of crimes and criminal behavior of Herry’s that have all gone … completely unpunished, let alone, undisciplined, untethered and which are, as far as she and I are aware, today still unchecked.  She is pretty sure she couldn’t be safe around Herry on her own terrain herself, let alone, able to guarantee the safety of her DEhuman students around him.  Even if Dr. Herod Edinsmaier were brought to campus in manacles and shackles like the ball-and-chain subject matter about which Herry’s lecturing will cover—even if he were brought to campus by that most Expert of Safety Experts on family and relationships whom Herry loathes as much as Grace does Herry, former Mennonite minister and current psychologist and therapist, Keith Log.  Grace has very much yet to be convinced of the pluses of having this particular sojourning teacher on board.  Even one time.

These criminal behaviors of Herry’s are ones that he still unleashes on society today, not the least of which humans in that society are his very own sons.  As well as when they were itty bitty.  And Grace knows this.  The first crime was that leg-brushing and thigh-stroking committed at the youth basketball game in the St. Cecil’s gymnasium, the game between Grace’s middle son, Nathan, playing opposite Jesse one Saturday morning.  The leg brushed and the thigh stroked at least three separate and distinct times when she was looking the other way down court at the ball—shooter, that is, the other way than in the direction of the guy sitting right next to her belonged to Grace.  The hand of the brusher‑and‑stroker guy sitting right next to Grace belonged to Frotteurist Edinsmaier.  And you can also bet that Herry did the sitting down next to Grace; it hadn’t been the other way around.  As, now, he would have it told.  

Herry committing the crime known in legalese and by sexual addiction experts like Patrick Carnes in Out of the Shadows:  Understanding Sexual Addiction, as taking “indecent liberties?”  Taking crimes like Herry’s—frottage and frotteurism—that is, sustaining the press of his pulsing penis up against that strange woman’s buttocks in a packed elevator when she’s forced briefly back into him or the catch‑and‑release of her breast in the crush of the crowd at the baseball stadium concession or the ever so slight brush of a thigh in the bleachers at the Saint Cecil’s youth ball court?  The wonderful and good Doctor Edinsmaier?  Doctor Herod Edinsmaier?  Herry?  Herry committing these?  Well, gosh, golly good goddam, NO! 

Grace remembers and Grace knows.  And, still, I was stupefied when this fact was taught to me after its occurrence:  that Herry had gone and done these crimes to my very best friend.  And, of course, gotten soooo clean, slick away with it!  All I could say was, “Stupid me.  Again.  Stupid me.  With my frickin’ brilliant brain, just how much of a dullard do I continue to good and goddam be anyhow?!”  What is that that Stoltenberg teaches?  “… And women who cast their lots with these men need to understand this!”  JYeee—aahh.  That’s what Professor Stoltenberg teaches all right. 

If that’s all I could say about Herod’s assault upon Grace, imagine what Lionel had to say about it when he was taught?!  More correctly, more accurately and most importantly, imagine what Grace herself, on whom these crimes were committed, thinks?!  More on that laaaater …

The second behavior Grace abhors was a teaching Herry had done at one of the schools his sons were attending not much later than when they’d been playing basketball in St. Cecil’s gymnasium.  Not exactly a public school and very much a private school, too!  the Home-Schooling school.  Herry, always-a‑teacher Herry, wrote what he considers the book on relationships with women in the family and presented much of it to that School’s students, his sons, over the course of their own entire adolescences.  Part of one chapter in The Textbook states therein, “Fannie and I had one of our fights again; but, fortunately, she’s quieted down again.  Our shouting matches are way worse than your mom’s and mine ever were.  I hope my experience doesn’t poison you three on women.  Instead, I hope it emphasizes the importance of knowing someone well before tying yourself to her.  Sometimes your self‑respect will not let you abandon a burden which you have accepted.  I’ll probably have to wait quite a few years to find out if that’s me being a fool or me with my usual brilliance and genius.” 

Genius?  Herry’s not been, if ever an Ancestor in Training, too mother‑fucking concerned about his genius and brilliance I am thinking.  And what a word “poison” is, huh?  About like “envenom” as an action verb.  Hhmmm, a real tasty choice of his when teaching on family, women, loveliness and loving, huh?  “Tying” as in ‘hobbling’ and ‘binding’?  Yeah, ditto as in teaching on family, yada, yada, love, huh?  “Burden”?  “Abandon”?  We are soooo not even going to go there.  Incensed, marching, demanding whose undoing for what racism?  Racism?  O, no.  So not racism this venom is.  Sexism.

The Textbook manual continues, “One of the reasons I have enjoyed being a father so much is that the affection came naturally and didn’t require any effort.”  Whooooa!  Like that we didn’t notice? 

That, Dr. Edinsmaier, everyone noticed.  All the mother‑fucking time, we all noticed it.  All the sons, all the girlfriends and all the wives.  All the work and college and middle school student subordinates and allegedly equal‑level colleagues.  All the sisters, even the itty bitty two or three of them that ya’ fucked and were indecently free with when they, at their ages of five or six years, sat on your and your older brother’s 16‐ and 18‑year‑old frotteurizing laps!  Because you and your Bro Atwater were such great teachers, Dr. Edinsmaier, everyone noticed and everyone learned.  Because you and he and the Home‑Schooling Headmaster, Mr. Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier, were all such fine and thorough teachers.  Master teachers, really.  The affection came ‘naturally’?  As incest, by definition, does? 

It came easily, I am thinking.  Didn’t require any work.  No, I’ll just bet it did not require any at all.  All it took was what Juggern was perfect at and, you, Herry, gained from him, the teacher who came before you, perfect mastery in yourself:  conspiratorial and complicit Silence. 

That chapter of Herry’s relationship textbook ends with his describing Keith Log and the entire host of all of the relationship masters—all of them other than narcissistic Herry, that is.  “I despise these so – called family experts who say that to maintain a relationship you have to work at it.  Both Fannie and your mom were envious because they thought I should like them the best, but it was obvious that the real objects of my affection were you three boys.  I told your mom once but it was fruitless.  I never have found the kind of connection with a woman I wanted and now, for a little while at least, I’m not out there looking.  No big deal.  I like being around women and have met some that are most pleasing.  In the past I think I knew some like that several times but didn’t appreciate them because they weren’t exciting.” 

Textbook this is?  Textbook case, you mean, on Sexism this is!  And, what’s really funny is that even as this male wrote what he considers is the treatise on it, he knew it for nothing more than that:  Herod’s wanting attention and privilege and power and control some more.  The focus of attention off of her, the majority, and onto him.  Only and Always.  His idea on ‘handling women’, his ‘telling them explanations of how it is’, his ‘telling the experts off’, his sorrow over not connecting.  JYeah, rrriiiggght, Edinsmaier.  Ya’re makin’ me cry here!  I’m so tore up for ya’!  And then, they’re just so good, goddam “not exciting” enough for him.  I am left thinking, “No wonder Dr. Edinsmaier never did sheep.”

That third criminality which Grace loathes involves Herry’s voice, ya’ know, that voice about which we discussed a lot earlier.  Well, Grace is afraid he’d used it again in her classrooms.  As recently as just into the newest millennium of those past 12 or so, that is, in January 2000, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier used that voice of his to laugh at a rape and the subsequent pregnancy with, now, a born child, who resulted from that rape.  And Dr. Edinsmaier let rip that snide guffawing of his not only to me but also at my very same encounter with it to his own kin.  To his own kin.  Just like The Textbook on fathering sons through narcissism seeps into his Boys—and all of them, the males then, getting taught to treat any girls and women the sexist way they tell ‘em it’s gonna be and when.  That snide guffaw in that syrupy slop of his, commenting as it was on the rape of a woman with all of its life‑altering consequences, seeped in to the ear and in to the brain and in to the heart of Herry’s very own first daughter‑in‑law now married to his second son.  Not known, Herry is, for uttering unguent.  Not even with those soooo smooth vocal cords o’ his.  Ever.  Not even after a rape perped on his own daughter‑in‑law.  The Good and Wonderful Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, over the telephone, actually laughed … after his being told of a rape.

So, see, Grace may not be constructing this master’s program whatsoever—if the likes of Dr. Herod Edinsmaier or anyone of his parlance, demeanor, countenance, innards and brain has to be invited to teach some of it.  Grace has the highest degree of empathy developed through her Listening for nearly all other people I have ever seen her with or known her to acknowledge.  This I’d said earlier. 

Well, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier isn’t one of those people.  Nowhere near at all.  And also because of the finished products of Herry’s teaching.  Grace has seen the fruits of his teaching up close firsthand.  Two of those student sons of his, Mirzah and Jesse, are experts now at double standardization when it comes to females and are quite out loud about it most every day.  The two of them, for their entire lifetimes ahead now I am thinking, are most well untaught with regard to that one universal commandment Herry abhors.  Ya’ know the one:  The Universal Value.  You knew it well when you were five, six, seven and eight years old no matter what ‘culture’ you were those ages in:  The Golden Rule. 

That unteaching by Herry went into making the two of them excellent, actually ‘constitutional’‑like, defenders of the Double Standard.  It is their right, they state.  They are fully and in all matters entitled, as are many, many liberal and progressive men like Martin Luther King, Jr, and Thomas Jefferson or regressive and conservative men like acid‑throwing Taliban fathers and clitoris‑cutting African fathers unteaching sons before Herry, to oppress and to do and to say unto any and all women whom they choose to that which they would not at all stand a second still for if it were done or said or oppressed unto themselves.  Furthermore, Grace gravely wonders if these sons of Herry have put in to their lives, as Herry himself has with Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive, wives who are two of those women Professor Stoltenberg describes who cast their lots with this type of double standard‑wielding, ACLU bible‑thumping, my rights/my rights/I’m‑entitled‑to‑my‑rights kind of guy.  

*     *     *     * 

Takers Grace calls all of these men.  Not workers.  Noooooo.  No workers they.  Entitlement and oppression rule so they take.  They start out as moochers, freeloaders taking from and off their young friends.  Then they move into more adult manners of taking and taking and taking all the while smooth talking and o‑so righteous and selfish talking and on into just outright mother‑fucking talking—to their mothers on the telephone, for example.  The women who have taken up with the men who are like this do the same and encourage it in themselves and in their boyfriends.  It’s funny, it’s cutesy.  They, those women, are so cutesy, too, and fawning.  Certainly servile and how was it that Herry’d taught Mirzah?  “Some that are,” he’d intoned in The Textbook, “most pleasing to me.”

“It’s Legion,” she said as she handed the telephone receiver to Mirzah.  Not, “It’s your mama.” 

Not, “O, Hi, Legion.  Say, I want to apologize about that picture thing last summer and repair the awful damage I did to you and your acting aspirations when I so mother‑fucked with your heart and told you lies about me and my talents at photographing head shots.  I feel so ashamed and have known since your explaining your feelings to Mirzah how unfair I was to not only do that but also to then not say I’m sorry for such a long, long time afterward.  Please know … yada, yada, yada.” 

Not, “O, Hi, Legion.  Well, did I ever screw you up, huh?!  Mirzah also thinks that I did, and I truly owe you reparation for that fuck‑up of mine besides an apology.  What do you think I can do to … yada, yada, yada?”  Instead, “It’s Legion.”  And the telephone is handed away to Mirzah as, in whispers, I hear the following discourse.

“Huh, yeah. It’s me, Mom.  I’m kinda busy.”  Noise of video games in the background.  Along with whispering noises.  And, yes, he did have ‘company’ about which Herry could have taught him to say, “May I call you back at 8 o’clock?  Right now is not such a good time to talk cuz I have company and need to complete this computer thing.” 

But Herry instead taught him, “Huh, yeah.  It’s me, Mom.  I’m kinda busy.”  Then nothing more but the sort of Silent Treatment unto others that Mirzah wouldn’t stand a second still for if done to him by me or by anyone else and that Grace is so concerned would be what Dr. Edinsmaier will model in the Silence graduate program for the master’s degree in Listening.  The Not‑Quite‑Whispers Barbs and Quills I Want You to Hear But I Haven’t Said Them Out Loud So They Don’t Count As Me Being Mean Saying Them;  I Just Whispered Them treatment.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  What else?  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Nah, nah, nah. A‑huh, a‑huh, a‑huh.”  Then.  “I know but she won’t get off the phone,” whispered aside to the woman in the room and with Mirzah’s hand not covering the phone terribly carefully.  And not meant to either.  Mirzah’s rights here.  To speak this way.  Unimpeded.  With the casting‑lots woman goading him from the background. 

Not quite as Silent is she though as the woman, Dr. Mi Sprision O’Revinnoco, who is Mirzah’s aunt and whom Daddy Herry made certain Mirzah and his two brothers, over years, were well taught by in the ways of women casting their kismet with progressive and liberal although actually Stoltenberg’s ordinary men such as himself, her doctor bro.  Dr. O’Revinnoco is Herry’s very, very quiet and o‑so fabulously famous MD pediatrician / PhD cancer researcher/blood sister and daughter of ol’ Juggern Aut Misein E. himself.  Somewhere around the fourth, fifth or sixth child to Detanimod and Juggern.  Born to Juggern the Sire reproducing, at the least, 11 breathing ones, one not‑breathing one at term and two other ones who miscarried out of Detanimod much earlier on.  Born to Juggern whom I have never, ever seen throw his arms around and embrace Mi Sprision one time, let alone, give a peck to on her cheek, much less do the same to his wife, Detanimod.  Much less to any one of his three younger daughters, Kay, Celeste or Murielle.  Certainly not to the wife, Detanimod, whom his own mother, another one of those lot‑casters known as that just by her own words alone to Juggern, said was just fine pregnant and most certainly could work as the horse Juggern Edinsmaier wanted her to be—at any time and in any place—and was not at all to be coddled, babied or handled in any way, much less, gently.  Including, Detanimod could—Juggern was told by his own mom—get up in the mulberry tree and pick those mother‑fucking berries, right alongside the rest of the non‑pregnant population she could.  No matter that she slipped, no matter that she pulled, that she pulled badly, truly, truly badly, so badly that … she miscarried.  And this was just her first pregnancy … with 13 more of them … by him, by his literal mother‑fucking  … yet to follow.  No matter that particular little thing there.

Now as we all recall, people who are pediatricians are of a certain group of folks out there in society called ‘mandatory reporters’.  When any one of these workers sees or hears or knows of abuse and violence and crimes done to children, they are required by The Law of Allah’s Land to report it to all of the ‘proper’ authorities charged with the immediate ending of the child or children’s terror.  Including Sister Doctor Mi Sprision O’Revinnoco and her quiet manner and her lot‑casting with Brother Doctor Herry.  So Silent she didn’t quite, in all her brilliance and genius,—she didn’t quite manage to report the violence that was the invisibility of the Truemaier Boys’ own mother to them—to them, the ‘proper’ authorities.  For years and years and years.  When she knew of it from its start.  Casting her lot she has.  And still does. 

The offense, the crime of hers actually?  Concealing knowledge of treason—according to Black’s Law Dictionary.  Of treasonous mother‑fucking and treasonous child abuse by one who has not accomplished it outright, outwardly or blatantly herself but by one who has done it, nevertheless.  Through her Silent participation and assistance in it.  Through her complicity in the acts of her brother and ‘the courts’.  Where have we all heard of this same complicity before?  Cowards all.

For shame. 

I did.  I did feel shame.  I felt shamed by Herry’s freeloading.  Herry’s taking.  Great shame.  That’s the difference though—I felt it.  Not Herry.  That certainly doesn’t ‘help’ Herry change, my feeling the shame for what he does.  Herry was such a moocher off of his ‘friends’.  Even after he married me and we had kids and they had kids.  I cannot begin to count the number of times I left his friends, Abby and Devin, who had two little girls and were so struggling to make their ends and themselves meet, with the absolutely extreme abashed and mortified feeling that Herry and I, because I by my Silence had allowed this, had just fucked these people.  We would leave but we would return again another time.  To their apartment.  Not to ours.  Not ever to ours.  We would return all right … but not the favors. 

Favors for others, doing unto others?  That involved work on Herry’s part.  Or, in reality here, only mine since Herry wasn’t going to lift a finger to prepare for company or for taking a hot dish over for someone’s supper who’d just walked away from a car crash or do the weekly grocery gathering or the shoveling of someone’s drive while his hip or his mind healed.  O.  Herry would grandly whip out the ol’ checkbook and donate gesturing and posturing sympathy.  Grandiose bucks, too, the displays.  But not the work.  Never the labor.  Let alone, sustained, day in/day out, get‑on‑with‑the‑work‑of‑breathing work when someone rather needed that.  Not Herry.  And not the other men of the Edinsmaier brotherhood either.   Like ol’ Juggern Aut Misein preached to that fraternal clan, “That might mean you loved someone, and then you’d be wanting to have sex with ’em, wouldn’t ya’, since that’s how we’re all raised up to believe ‘love’ of someone means.”  Cold, hard cash was so much more … well, cold and hard.  And certainly … detached.  With a check there’s no getting up close and personal—as by doing the actual work of breathing.

Herry was ashamed, too, of course.  But he, as was Mehitable, was ashamed of what we weren’t!  As in—we weren’t wealthy enough to lavishly splash our materialism in front of his bookoo rich and prestigious doctor friends.  So they were not invited to our humble abodes.  We went there.  To theirs.  

Except for the one time, and only the one time ever in 12½ years of mother‑fucking marriage to this freeloader, this taker.  Dr. Freddie Goldstein, one of Herry’s boss pathologists during his residency, came  to our duplex apartment for a small August birthday party which I gave for either Zane or Jesse, I don’t remember which.  Dr. Goldstein stayed four, maybe all of five minutes, not even long enough for, and refused, my offered piece of homemade birthday cake.  He never sat down.  Nor did Herry invite him to either.  He was out the door pronto.  But, hey, next weekend we were there.  Standing in Freddie’s expanse of a kitchen at its massive food prep island snarfing down and gargling his and Ella’s sandwiches and wine and sparkling juice after we’d, all five of us, dripped water in on its floor from where we had just come by way of the living room, then den and then hallway, Ella’s and Freddie’s hot tub.  

No Golden Rule‑practicing by Herry, Legion, Mirzah, Jesse and Zane there.  Not a stitch of it off that well‑worn sampler hanging on so many children’s bedroom walls.  Well, Mirzah learned this well.  He can take.  And not even utter a thanks.  “The man, he is especial,” they say in Mexico.  He does not even need to think about thanking anyone for anything, let alone, a mere woman, his servant.  Who should anyhow, that woman, be so grateful to da’ man for takin’ such good care of her.  Whether related to him or not related to him.  “What’s Mexico got to do with it?” you ask.  My point exactly.  It doesn’t matter where you are in the entire Globe, one thing truly is universal.  Whether you want it to be or it is bloody inconveniently impinging upon your entitlement rights and, well, narcissistic selfishness:  treatment of all others—including the DEhumans who are the majority—as you yourself would want to be treated all day every day.  Period.

*     *     *     *

To graduate out of any of Grace’s programs at all levels and with the ability to work in Ancestoring, all students will need to successfully complete the Final Course, Breathing.  One thing and one thing only will be taught in this course:  The Relinquishing of Male Supremacy.  The nowhere that Professor Stoltenberg alludes to in the Dances With Monsters course outlined earlier. 

And I am the professor of this, the Final Course.  

All, absolutely all, of the World’s problems, issues and situations requiring change or solution stem from and, therefore, can only be relieved and solved and their horrific impact much, much diminished by one thing:  the relinquishing of male supremacy and dominance over Not Males in all matters.  Whether the problem or the issue is family and personal relationships, religion, poverty (hunger, warmth), war, energy, media, environment, money and power, law, government and (in)justice, education, entertainment and sports, business, science and technology, health care and research, population, ad infinitum.  

Why is it that there is not absolute and constant outrage over honor killings and cripplings and slavery in every area of Allah’s Lands?  Why is there not, now, in all these places zero tolerance for this behavior?  Why is it that TIME Magazine, just one of many, many examples of the Earth’s media, chose as its “person” of the entire 20th Century Albert Einstein—and did not choose as its “person” of that Century Rosa Parks or Elizabeth Cady (Stanton) or Matilda Joslyn Gage or 24‑year‑old Harry Burn’s mama, Phoebe, from East Tennessee, or Margaret Sanger?  

The courage Ms. Parks managed to muster one ordinary day in the literal face of one very specific male bus driver whom she personally individually knew and by whom she had been terrorized for quite some number of years!  Or the undaunted perseverance of Ms. Cady (Stanton), a married woman with seven babies of her own over whom to mother but who still took over 50 years of her very own breaths to bring literal liberty to 17,000,000 other humans when they finally—some eight million of them—walked into United States voting booths for their very first time ever 02 November 1920—is mind‑staggering.  

Then there’s my personal favorite—Ms. Margaret Sanger.  She spent a half a century—and many, many … many nights of it in jail herself—to finally bring to over 53 percent of the ENTIRE Earth freedom from the violence that was their prison sentences wrought since TIME and sex ever began:  freedom for her from the fifth and the sixth and the seventh and the eighth and the ninth and the tenth and the eleventh and so forth and so on … pregnancy.  When Sanger brought to you and to me … the Greatest Invention Over All of Time Throughout All The World:  The Pill.  To be sure, what Einstein did was remarkable, too.  But.

True this is:  What any one of these other three people, Sanger, Cady (Stanton) or Parks did, was soooo much more impacting.  Someone else, possibly even a Not Male would have come along and done, in the last Century, what Einstein did.  Other Not Males, for decades and for centuries and for millennia before Sanger and Parks and Cady (Stanton) had been trying to do but not getting it done, what these three women did get done.  Those billions of people, over the last 12 millennia or so, were not succeeding.  And these three “persons” did.

Not until these three DEhumans, Parks and Cady (Stanton) and Sanger and their Not Male might, moxie and minds, did so, so many others benefit.

Still.  TIME Magazine, other media and male people, in general, on a regular, consistent, daily, usual basis do not even bother to recognize this.  Much less, loudly and long celebrate this.  And to celebrate this over and over and over.

Instead, these male people announce how tired they are of even just Hearing of these accomplishments and so tired, these men are, of even just Hearing from us Not Males that we want appropriate recognition for our heroism.  Let alone, our accomplishments and heroism consistently elaborated upon and heralded daily within every textbook and throughout every elementary‑through‑graduate school course Worldwide.

Itty bitty illustration:  New Year’s Day, Newest Millennium 2000, New York, USA–ABC TV ‘programming’ consisted of three football games, noon, 4:30 pm and 8 pm Eastern.  What is that?  In this course called Breathing, that will be taught as nothing more than male privilege and dominance in all of the areas that are everywhere every day!—family and relationships, technology, business and entertainment.  At least.  Again. 

Because what the majority of the Earth may want to be entertained by instead on this, their day off from work too, simply … does not matter.  And hasn’t—hasn’t mattered since the very beginning of television—some 60 years now.

The IMPACT of androcentrism on breathing everywhere:  that is what my Breathing course will cover:  “Androcentrism = a perspective on society and social life that discounts and ignores the separate social experiences and social situation of women and views culture and social relationships exclusively through male eyes.” [from Our Androcentric Culture, or the Man-Made World]  

Women and girls, the gender and the majority, are simply not into warring, dominating, coveting, consuming, lying to get whatever, Your Honor, ignoring the lives and plights of children or other adults.  Not when they become enlightened about other people’s lives.

Breathing will cover then in its Willingness laboratory practical Roles Reversed Right Now:  The Flip/Reverse.  The lab’s essence will focus on Not Males doing unto Males now exactly what it is that males do and have done unto females and females’ children.  Right now.  Everywhere.  As well as for all those 12,000 other years.  And … in the same proportionality. 

In the laboratory, we will consider and explore how males worldwide would handle it if they were told, over and over and over and over, just … how tired all of us females are of Hearing of their accomplishments or watching them given accolades and ‘honors’.  Like the honors they have been awarded after they’ve killed their sisters, scissored off the clitorises of their own daughters, thrown acid into the faces of their own nieces, abandoned and starved to death their own grandmas, stunk up breathing DEhuman bodies with over 1,000 years’ worth of rotting, three‑inch feet … and stolen away their ex‑wives’ children.

The trophies and prizes awarded, all of them along the same line as these same male honors now given out worldwide, will be reversed.  Right now.  And not just 53 percent of the New York Stock Exchange celebrants on the lab theater’s stage at the pretend New Millennium’s Eve will be female but 100 percent of them will be.  As was the real case with the real males on the real platform there on the real 31 December 1999.  Not just on the itty bitty boys of any and all races will 53 percent of their penises be cut off but    100 percent of their penises will be cut off wherever in the World this is now routinely and religiously perped on itty bitty girls.  Not just 53 percent of the men will be fucked by ‘the court’ and ‘the appeals courts’ but 100 percent of them will be father‑fucked because of their absence of privilege, control, wealth, power and the right stuff between their legs.  Not just … Well, you get the idea again, I’m sure.

The males in the role‑reversal lab exercises will be told, in soft, whispering tapes running at all times day and night in the classroom and the laboratory and the library and out of all the computer terminal speakers, that females are not only tired of Hearing of these shitfuck honors but that we are also choosing to ignore the males themselves.  As they have chosen to ignore women, children and all of these issues by their male Silence, male complicity or outright male loathing and enmity in all its 12,000 years of hating forms for things female and things child‑like.  One lab assignment will be for every student to entitle their report, and then recount her or his grasp and understanding of “Males’ Endurance:  Living Day to Day Like This.”  All examples of Double Standardization and The Golden Rule Untaught will be covered and included in this laboratory report.  It will take a long, long time to complete.  It will be a long, long report.

The next to the last assignment will be a lab report on the immediate, constant and daily reactions, uproar and outrage everywhere to males having to live day to day like this—with roles reversed, with the females treating the males day to day in all such manners as DEhumans are treated in reality—the likes of which uproar and outrage has been seen unmatched anywhere since, O, at least 10,000 years before some male called christ.  This particular lab report will be very short.  Probably consisting of only one sentence—the likes of which complete, turned sentence will go something like, “Fuck, NO!”

The last lab assignment will be the student proving their sincerity about and their Willingness to Do The Work (that’s the lab report title) to bring about the outcome of drawing one’s daily quota of BREATHS.  Kind of a three‑word mantra the Breathing Prayer begins with, a beginning that just came to me the very next morning, about 5 am over coffee whitened with no‑fat milk and brewed, well, reheated actually, in the Radarange monstrosity of a microwave in that rented, not‑so‑mammoth Land of Allah’s that was the Havencourt Drive apartment with the massive orange and brown chunks for an itty bitty kitchen instead.  The beginning that just came to me at that hour after da’ judge‑like men ‘dealt with me’ in their one‑sentence ruling for their very last time. 

The Breathing Prayer does not begin with ‘Free At Last’, not even close.  Has nothing to do with ‘I Love You’ or ‘Love Your Whatever’.  Not even that Shawshank Prison one of ‘Keep Hope Alive’ either because, ya’ know, as a female, I’m just frankly tired of Hearing it, so, and literally now, mother‑fucking tired of Hearing about hope myself.  Hope doesn’t do The Work of anything.  Hope kills us.

Working does The Work.  Hope is like Herry’s talk, talk, talk—and No Work.  It certainly isn’t ‘Let It Go’.  Letting It go without an accounting, without accountability by the parties accountable means only that the It goes nowhere.  The It really only continues, is allowed to or that It is gotten clean, slick away with.  With no consequences.  So where’s the learning accomplished then?  Nothing is let go of when there hasn’t been accountability and remorse for the It.  And The Breathing Prayer isn’t even ‘Deal With It’ although that one is nearly my favorite mantra now.

But is, instead, way, way simpler and easier than these.  In fact, Grace pointed out to me just recently, with her Listening mastery and all and I still learning Listening from AmTaham and her myself, that AmTaham must’ve somehow Prayed it long before.  When an itty bitty three‑footer was looking Blue Skyward to the man and his Allah.  She said My Prayer must’ve come from Hearing it from My First Ancestor a half century ago and his Hearing it from the Allah in his Ancestors given them from the Allah in ... and so forth and so on.  Back.

Even though only some male’s hand got to write it down, there it is in Ecclesiastes 1:3–5:  What profit hath a being of all its labour which it taketh under the sun?  One generation passeth away; and another generation cometh:  but the Earth abideth forever.  The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down and hasteneth to its place where it arose.

Sun Comes Up.  Sun Goes Down.

Sun Comes Up.  Sun Goes Down.

Zero Tolerance Now.  I Will Work.

I, The Ancestor.  Zero Tolerance Now. 

Sun Comes Up.  Sun Goes Down.

First Surgeon Koop was wrong.  Purposefully.  So he knew it—that he was stating wrongly.  The three diseases—in order of their destructive power—which will, in my lifetime, annihilate the Globe—if not, right now, immediately stemmed:  i) sexism, ii) abrogation of personal accountability and iii) greed.

 Amazing Grace and her Listening College.

*     *     *     *

Curriculum‑building is fatiguing.  But.  Nowhere near as exhausting as being a mother fucked, we have learned.

Soccer ended.  With the parents in a scrimmage the last practice date.  Mommies and daddies versus the six‑ and seven‑year‑olds.  It was no contest.  Parents lost, of course, 4 to 1.  In goals scored.  But not in their itty bitty opponents’ eyes and hearts.  The end‑of‑the‑season kids‑versus‑the‑parents scrimmage became something known among families the Globe over as a … tradition.  Not for lack of truly, truly trying, we never got any better.  We parents never won.

That’s what something small can do.  Something itty bitty.  She or he teaches.  That last day Mona showed me a watercolor inking done by someone named Brian Andreas that she had purchased in Des Moines at an art fair, an abstract of two humans, one an Ancestor in the Making and the other an itty bitty being inside her belly with these words next to her, “In my dream, he told me to hold the secret of his birth safe and teach him when … he forgot.”

* * * * *

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dr. Legion True: One Fucked Mother

Dr. Herod (Herry) Edinsmaier: ex/“Sperm Source” [“re: I am snide” backwards]

Jesse Truemaier: Legion’s son

Zane Truemaier: Legion’s son

Mirzah Truemaier: Legion’s son

AmTaham True: Legion’s father [Mahatma backwards]

Mehitable True: Legion’s mother [Me hit-able—i.e. she was abusive]

Ardys and Endys: Legion’s sisters [names backwards]

Sterling: Legion’s brother [mother’s planned name of next son (who never came)]

Mi Sprision O'Revinnoco: Herry’s sister [misprision: concealing knowledge of treason]

Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier: Legion’s father-in-law [juggernaut; aut = 0; misein = “to hate (misogyny)”]

Detanimod Edinsmaier: Legion’s mother-in-law [dominated backwards]

Fannie Issicran McLive: fawning enabler of ex [narcissis(t) and Mc(Evil) backwards]

Legion’s Friends: Yanira, Grace, Stormy, Lynda, László, Jane, Kincaid, Joseph, Sheryl

Jim Cornball: Herry’s friend from AA and realtor

Loser Lorn: Insurance agent referred by Cornball

Judge Harley Butcher: Family Court judge

Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor: Family Court judge

Judge Barry Crowrook: Appellate Court judge

Judge Pansy Shawshank: Appellate Court judge

Jazzy Jinx: Legion’s Family Court lawyer who sold her out

DEhuman/Not Male = woman

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