Not so special after all.

Recently I visited my family in Oklahoma. We didn't grow up there but my brother-in-law was stationed at Fort Sill my sister set roots there, raised children there, and my mother soon followed. That's how I have family in Oklahoma.
I've been to visit a few times over the past couple of decades. Previously they took me to the Apache Prisoner's Of War cemetery where Geronimo is buried. I saw his burial marker and those related or connected to him by tribe. Families are buried next to relatives and who a person was and who they were connected to is etched into the tombstone. For example: Thomas Dah-Ke-Ya was an Apache, son of Dah-Ke-Ya and Lulu Geronimo, 1890, 1908.
Here's another example with Zi-Yeh, wife of Geronimo.

They have a connection to others. In return, they are connected.
But I also saw several lone headstones. They stood isolated, far from the neat rows of family markers where father and mother lay next to children and their spouses. Singular headstones. The one that got my attention on my first visit was Francisco's. An Apache Woman, 1847, 1901.

My immediate thought was, who is the woman? Why is she here, isolated from the other Apache and their families? Was she an outcast? Was she unknown?
I glommed onto that last idea: was she unknown. That's because I am fixated on the fact that one day I will no longer exist. People try to tell me that I'll live on in my daughter's genes, in my writing, the memories of my friends and family. That's small comfort but it does seep into my writing.
I have thought about the idea of a character's permanence being dependent on being remembered. The more they are remembered, the more substantial their "ghost" is. And as the memories fade, so do they. But if they are remembered again, they once again gain substance. An interesting premise but one that I find some comfort in. In that even though I'll be nothing, I won't be forgotten. For a while, anyway.
So, great, I'm thinking of Francisco the Apache woman and my thinking of her gives her substance. I'm the bearer of a small torch for an unknown woman.
Then I get the glorious idea to Google her. Ah, vanity, they name is Earl. There's a decent amount of information about her at Wikitree.
She doesn't need me, she's been enshrined on the world wide web. Which is a healthy reminder that none of us (I'm looking at you, mirror) are really so special after all.

There was another singular tombstone for an Apache named John Smith. I've just included him to add a little substantiation to him as well.

Are we breaking rules or just changing out parts?

Last night at FogCon 5 I at through a conversation about breaking rules in story telling. The blurb in the conference guide suggested that the talk would be about characters not following their stereotypes. That seemed like a good idea. And there were several attempts to touch on the subject. Heck, maybe there were more but I just tuned out after hearing the word "hetero-normative" one too many times.
Yes, I'm a white, middle aged, heterosexual male, but that doesn't mean I don't care about people who don't fit in the same pigeon hole with me. Because I do. But when the discussion stays fixated on the idea that writing about transgender people or "non-tragic lesbians" in the same roles as a heterosexual male would have been in, are you really breaking rules? Personally, I don't think you are. You might be leveling the playing field, but you aren't breaking new ground. Especially if all you're doing is preaching to the choir.
A good attempt at explaining the breaking of the storytelling rule was the idea of "Flowers For Algernon." However, the story has been told before in H. G. Wells's "The Invisible Man." Both are the same story of humanities distrust and fear off those who are different. What is different is the kind of character in the same situation: you're not like us, we can't determine your motivations so you are a that to use, we will isolate you. No rules broken here, please move along. And there are probably older and newer stories that are the same, just different characters.
So whether the character is Anglo Saxon hetero, or green scaled poly sexual, doesn't matter if they are the captain of the research vessel Beagle, they're still just the captain. Nothing's changed in the story, only a part has been replaced for another part. Same rules, just different characters.
I admire those who write non-traditional characters into their stories. I think it's important that we see that the role can be played by anyone and the job still gets done. I think that's called "normalizing," making things that seem untraditional traditional. Whatever you call, it the point remains the same, the song remains the same, the story hasn't changed, only the parts have been replaced.
Rules haven't been broken.
All of which doesn't mean the conversation wasn't interest or thought provoking, it probably just needed a more relevant title. Like: If Kirk had been gay, would the universe have turned out differently? That'd be an interesting conversation.