Every Day is an Atheist Holiday!: More Magical Tales from the Author of God, No! Read Online Free PDF Page A

the face of the person who might be offended and ultimately got a big laugh. I grew up in Greenfield, Massachusetts, a town where most of us had the same ethnic background. I listened to Lenny Bruce and I read Paul Krassner, Abbie Hoffman and
Screw
magazine. I wanted so much to be Jewish. I wanted to be an atheist from a Jewish background. I also wanted to be gay. I wanted to be part of the New York City pictured in my mind. Lenny said that all people who lived in the city were Jewish and all those who lived in the country were goys, and I wanted to be Jewish. I wanted to be able to make ethnic jokes. As soon as I got out of Greenfield, all my friends were Jewish, gay or both. That was showbiz to me. I remember the thrill the first time I called a gay man that I loved a “faggot.” I had never used the word as an insult. I had never used that word to hurt, and when I used it sarcastically to make someone I loved laugh—when I played the part of a homophobic asshole, and my dear friend laughed—I loved the feeling of being in the inner circle. I loved that I could use something that was dangerous and painful in a way that would be understood and accepted by an outsider. It was even a bigger deal for me because of how I look. I’m enormous. I have met people who just assume I was a bully and a jock when I was young (gone to seed, you know, maybe I wasn’t always fat). In my school days, I was the one being beat up for being an outsider, but . . . I sure don’t look it. The word “big” goes before “bully” as comfortably as it does before “dumb.” And a big dumb bully is what I’ve always looked like. You should see me without my glasses.
    That feeling of using offensive terms with the people those terms were made to hurt and getting away with it was addictive. I never used any of those terms in hate. If you cut me off in traffic, I’m not very likely to notice, but if I do, and I know no one is listening, I’ll say, “Oh fuck,” or if I’m really upset, I’ll say, “Oh, man,” like Swiper on
Dora, the Explorer
(two words which do
not
rhyme, you stupid little motherfuckers!). My mom and dad never swore and never used any offensive ethic or sexual putdowns. Not once. Never. The only power those words have to me is a broad cultural power. I’m sure I heard horrible painful words in my hometown, but not often and not in my home either. I learned the slurs against Jews from Lenny Bruce. I learned African-American hate speech from Richard Pryor. All my knowledge of racism was meta. None of those words were part of my formative years. I learned everything about offensive language within the context of the arts. It wasn’t real to me.
    There were no anti-gay comments from my family either, but the insults were common in my school, and many of them were used against me. I may look like a ex-jock bully now, but back then this embarrassingly dated haircut, a little eye makeup, and a love of the arts got me beat up quite a bit. Word got out that I wouldn’t fight back because I was a stupid pacifist, and then it’s wicked fun to beat up a big guy. An average guy looks really brave beating up a big guy. I heard those anti-gay slurs, but I never used them outside comedy.
    I was raised in a time when feminism was so strong that I still pause before I use the word “girl” referring to my six-year-old daughter. I don’t use the word “lady” ever except as part of a compound word with “bug.” All the “bitch,” “whore,” “slut” stuff is either done jokingly or is used in that postmodern pro-porn feminist way. I’m the exact right age to be very careful about all of that.
    When I got out of Greenfield, I loved being around people who looked and sounded like people who were in my books and on my record player. To prove that I was accepted, I would use the hateful words and have my friends look in my eyes. They would know I didn’t really feel that way and laugh. I believed it was taking away the