For the past few days I have been engaging in heated jousting with some pretty stupid people at a place I knew well who were aching for a fight...and I gave it to them, wading in like I was protecting a defenseless lady. In a way I was. I really don't want to get into the details, suffice to say that it was extremely personal for me, and I traded barb for barb with at least three individuals cut of the same cloth: idiots. I was given some good advice to quit, but I didn't realize why until Mac told me the danger: before I became one of them. My friends didn't waste words with me, they scolded me like I was a wicked step-child.
I grew up with some pretty tight discipline, administered with a smoked rawhide handmade paddle by my grandfather inside the smokehouse in the near dark. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that when you went in, the procedure was to be instructed on your failings, and that the consequences would be the following: three healthy whacks on bare buttskin while bending over with your hands on your knees. One yelp of pain brought a fourth. Grandpa was pretty strict. I only went in there three times; the second time I got four whacks. I learn pretty fast.
So when my friends told me to shut up, I figured I should. I had the same type of epiphany as I did when I was ten, although this time it took a little time to sink in without the paddle. But hey, I'm 69 years young now and it's been a long time...
How time flies, and what strange events bring back fond memories of pain and punishment to teach me a lesson. All for the better...no punishment this time, and very little pain. I must be getting wiser!
Thanks, Mac, Ralph, and Wendy!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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