You Don't Speak for Me

I'm sometimes disturbed by the number of times I hear someone refer to a client or a friend or a friend's family member or a family member as b*tch or see you next Thursday. I may not have been raised in the most upper class of homes, but we were certainly warned against using foul language when conversing.
Yet I think of ALL IN THE FAMILY and remember how well received it was by so many people. "Ground breaking," was one of the critique terms of the show. The same was said about Bea Arthur's series MAUDE. Even as a young teenager I found them to be not so much to my liking. Actually, I had never found any of Bea Arthur's work to my liking.
She comes to mind as one of those persons who -- I've been told -- gave to the GLBT community. Was she a member who didn't advertise it or did she have a soft spot for those affiliated with the rainbow coalition. I recognize myself as being a G in the GLBT or LGBT. I don't necessarily feel any strong kinship with the other initials. In fact, there are many sub-variations within GM community in and of itself. People define themselves by the color bandana that they carry and in which rear pocket they carry it. And if you were not the perfect complement to the robins egg blue hankie of Mr Leatherman, then he would have no place for you in his circle of friends.
Mostly these days I worry about politicians who either try to curry favor with the non-heterosexual community or try to let the community know how repugnant they find the lifestyle. Such men (or sometimes women) don't speak for me. First of all, I am not part of some homogeneous group or community. I am older and am not seeking a mate. I do not have the coming out drama of today's youth. My job is secure. Of course, there is always the risk of running into some whack-a-doodle homophobe with a shotgun.
Life is sometimes such a crap shoot!