So does a bellowing Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men. Many former bosses and an ex-partner or two come to mind. Oh, you experienced a different version of my very absolute truth? Huh? All too often, I used my words as a sledgehammer instead of learning how to slice with intention and precision - or in my own best interest. Speaking the truth is a weapon that needs to be tempered with discernment and cradled with a grip that accommodates multiple points of view. Dunham predicted, also landed me in plenty of trouble. From learning to call out the patriarchy in women’s studies classes to petitioning on behalf of imprisoned journalists for Amnesty International to working as a professional advocate for rape and domestic violence crisis centers to writing for national publications about social issues, I figured out how to make talking out of turn a full-time career. As a Gen-Xer, I came of age as an activist when “speaking out” could become part of your identity. I fought the good fight against censorship in its many forms for years to come. I pledged that I would never be censored by a teacher, or anyone else, again, and indeed it was far from the last time I landed in the principal’s office for, as the teachers called it, talking out of turn. I regretted nothing, and that day convinced me that censorship was obviously regressive and ridiculous whereas shouting the news was right and just. Knowing the tape’s hold was tenuous, I was able to loudly say, “But what about the Bookmobile?” forcing the tape to break away from my mouth so that it flapped with my lower lip.Īs a result, I spent my library time parked in the principal’s office, slowly removing the tape that remained in my hair while my audience enjoyed the Bookmobile after it finally found a parking spot. Around it went, sticking to my hair but not truly adhering in a way that would hold my mouth shut. Dunham attempted censorship via brown tape. So while the Bookmobile looped like a man without a country, the class beheld the new spectacle of me called to the front of the class while Mrs. Dunham didn’t want to do anything except punish me for talking. What would the driver do? Why was that truck in the Bookmobile spot? It was almost Bookmobile time, so time was of the essence! Someone needed to go do something before the Bookmobile drove away! My classmates’ faces silently told me they were on my side and that I had shared news they needed immediately. My crime? Announcing in the middle of math drills that the Bookmobile was circling and circling the parking lot because its regular spot was blocked and it had nowhere to park. She pulled the shrieking roll of tape all the way around my head thrice in front of the entire class. My second grade teacher, the truculent Mrs.
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