I'm really mad at Bill Cosby.
For the past year or so, he's been in the news for some horrible crimes against women. Which is horrible. As the owner and operator of my own vagina, the thought of someone in a position of power using that power, mixed with drugs, force and a healthy dose of fear...sickens me. It should sicken anyone who either has, or knows someone who has a vagina.
It fills me with anger that Bill Cosby leveraged his power and position, under the guise of "helping" for his own sexual benefit. It sickens me that he used drugs as a primary method for doing this. It terrifies me that anyone would mistake these crimes for what they are: rape. It's not cheating, it's not taking advantage of someone. It's rape and Bill Cosby is a rapist.
In the big picture, I am furious at Bill Cosby for his crimes against women.
But in the smaller picture, I'm mad at him for stealing from me some of my favorite family memories.
We, as in my entire extended family, grew up spending summers and other important occasions on the shores of a tiny lake in northeastern Ohio. Any number of my favorite family memories take place there.
Thanksgiving at the lake was always one of my favorite holidays. All the family, the in-laws and the out-laws would be there...as well as any other wayward soul who didn't have a place to go for Thanksgiving. It's always been a source of pride for me how inclusive my family is. There were endless seats and card tables to be added to the Thanksgiving table, always enough food and good times for any spare roommates, floor mates or friends. Looking down the longgggg table on Thanksgiving day, I could always be proud of my family and our traditions.
One of those traditions, started somewhere in my pre-teen years, included all my cousins, my mother's youngest brother (who at that time was single and took his role of "favorite uncle" VERY seriously) and an array of old Bill Cosby sketch albums. Uncle P took it upon himself to make sure that our comedy education was complete and we'd spend hours listening to Cos with his "Noah" bit and his "Buck Buck" bit.
Right now, I could call every single one of my cousins and upon them answering the phone...I could just say "Noah" and a guarantee they would respond with "WHAT"...we listened to those albums, as a group, every year. It became a time honored tradition. Even when Uncle P started bringing around his new girlfriend, who eventually became our beloved Aunt S.
I can remember the first year she was with us, they listened to one album with us and as we put on the second, they excused themselves for bed. My oldest cousin looked at the group and stated, "the torch has been passed."
Because I loved these sketches so much, I looked into and found Bill Cosby's beloved "Fatherhood" album. This became one of my sister and my's favorites. We quote it to each other, singing "Dad is great, give us the chocolate cake."
I used to watch the Cosby show, thinking that if I were to parent, I would want to parent just like the Cosbys. With a firm hand, a sense of humor and a lot of love.
A few years ago, at our family reunion, my cousins and I did carry the torch, downloading several albums onto an iPod and introducing Uncle P and Aunt S's two daughters to these sketches. The entire family sat together, around a fire and quoted them word for word. It was one of my favorite parts of the weekend.
...and so I'm mad. Because while those sketches are still funny and clever and chock full of comedic genius...now, they're tainted.
I cannot listen to the Noah sketches without thinking, "when he got off stage that night, did he assault someone?"
How on earth could a man who made a career of being "everyone's dad" actually be a monster?
It leeches into my perfect memories of Thanksgiving and of perfectly hilarious times with my family.
And while my anger is nothing compared to the army of women who truly were violated, I feel like my memories were violated, we listened to Cosby because he was wholesome and in still being wholesome, was damn funny.
But he wasn't wholesome. He wasn't anything of the sort. Richard Pryor said fuck a lot, but he didn't force anyone to actually do it. Cosby did.
So while our paths will never cross and Mr. Cosby's crimes were not aimed at me, they have affected me. Stolen from me a favorite memory and stolen from me a favorite thing to do with my family. I can't laugh at Cosby now, hearing his voice makes me think of nothing but pain that he caused countless women.
...and now the thought of Puddin Pops, just hurts my stomach.
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