Last night, I watched a filmed performance of Billy Elliot: The Musical, which is adapted from the movie of the same name. And, oh boy, I cried multiple times from joy, grief, love, nostalgia, and recognition.
Like Billy, I was a poor kid who grew up in working class poverty.
Like Billy, I left my hometown in pursuit of an artistic dream.
Like Billy, I chose a life that would be radically different from my tribe and my ancestors.
Like Billy, my loving parents and siblings let me go.
Like Billy, I've spent years in the spotlight (which has been wonderful, difficult, and devastating).
I've seen the original movie many times but I felt real anger when I watched the musical.
There are far too people out there—my leftist compatriots—who’d argue that my identity as a Spokane Indian kid raised on the reservation is radically different than that of a British kid from a mining town.
Well, I say, "Fuck that."
How about all of us poor kid writers and artists stand up and say, "I am Billy Elliot."
Growing up in poverty and an alcoholic, abusive home, I absolutely agree! I’m a white woman and understand that no matter how much I suffered at the hands of constant abuse (my mom finally fled with my sister and I, illegally, but the FBI found us 8 years later), I still retain a measure of privilege simply due to my race. Those childhood traumas though, they find a way to live in our bones forever and I’ve made peace (somewhat 😊) with that fact and today live in so much gratitude for the life I have now.💕
Thank you for this, Sherman. Beautiful! I am one of thousands of Billy Eliots. For anyone who hasn't seen it, the final scene of the original Billy Eliot film will take your breath away -- the father's tears at seeing his son dance in the National Ballet for the first time, the magnificent leap that turns into flight! I gasp every time I see it. I am compelled to add it here. Absolutely unforgettable.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=989pUycUqAg