You like that, the Roman numeral thing? I was
thinking that maybe someday (not today, but, you know...) I'd write a really
good Friday Musings and you'd want to tell all your friends but you wouldn't
know which one, and it would get complicated. So I'd put a Roman numeral by the
title, and that would clear everything up.
Or is that just
pretentious?
Oh, Vodka Martini, up and
dry, by the way. I just might have a second. It's been that kind of
day.
And after all, it is
Friday.
No. Not all bad, not at all. Just conflicted.
Started early this A.M. with an emergent parent/teacher conference. Those are
never truly good. They don't call you on Thursday and ask you to come in at 0730
the next day just to tell you what a great job you're doing
parenting.
No.
Turns
out that the Kat had had a tiff Friday a week ago with one of her "friends."
This is one of those utterly revolting and entirely tedious pre-teen rites of
passage things that all girls go through, I guess - label it: Surviving the
Queen Bee. The Kat has reached that age, finally and alas, where the little
girls turn suddenly from beautiful children into monsters, competing among
themselves to see who can be the most monstrous to the others. It's rule of the
jungle stuff, a Hobbesian world of nasty, brutish and short people, all of whom
are female.
Turns out that her
friend, whom I'll call Betsy (isn't it bizarre that I feel compelled to use an
alias for an 11 year old girl? - It's nothing but a sign of the times we live
in, but anyway), a girl who had worked her way into the Kat's confidence, abused
that confidence by sharing certain "secrets" that an 11 year old would rather
not have had shared. And, the world being the way it is, others of her
classmates told the Kat that she was being abused, and that Betsy was the
backstabbing abuser. I think that this is probably the very first time in the
Kat's life where she realized that not everyone is nice, and that you can be
betrayed by those you trusted. In consequence, the Kat being who she is, there
was a confrontation soon thereafter in the school playground. Hard words were
exchanged, feelings were hurt and at one point actual blows were delivered -
they kicked at each-other, apparently. Pro Keds to shins and ankles, that sort
of thing.
The set and drift of it is
that my kid was the one who kicked both first and last - I guess the blows
escalated in intensity for a bit until Betsy cried off and ran to get an adult.
So the Kat was in trouble, and the 'rents were
informed.
And we were unhappy to
learn about this, there's no hitting in the family, none at all. Even the bird
dog gets a pass, although the Lord knows it is a trial, at times. So we're
unified and aligned with the "no hitting" rule. But all of this we'd had out
early in the week when we'd first discovered the malfeasance, and to tears and
emotion it was agreed that we had been across the line and that we wouldn't do
that anymore.
But the other mom
hadn't had enough yet, so we had to have a group conference. And she was exactly
the way I imagined her, and her daughter was a lifelike simulacrum, one of those
people who cannot stand to be in a position of moral superiority without
grinding it in. And the principal was all about talking it out and expressing
our feelings and although I stayed engaged and made eye contact and nodded my
head thoughtfully at all the right times, I couldn't help thinking a couple of
things to myself:
- The first is that
women never talk things out until something explodes, and then they can't stop
talking about it. A guy gets his feelings hurt, you'll know right away, and odds
are the other guy will say, "Whoops, sorry dude, didn't mean it that way," and
they'll shake hands and walk away. With women they smile and shrug, right up
until the moment where she's standing over you with the dripping butcher's knife
as you struggle into consciousness and wonder what that cold feeling is, down
there under the sheets.
And let me
just say for the fellas that I'm really sorry for that image, but there it
is.
So.
And then when the explosion finally
does occur, the ladies have to talk every last bit of it out, a simple, "Sheesh,
sorry" won't do, no, not if it was ever
so.
- And the second thing is that
while there were all the right guilt levers and such being toggled and thrown, I
couldn't help thinking that this level of "violence" wouldn't have gotten the
boys sent to their homerooms, far less called upon the principal's carpet a week
later. No - this broke the rules of the female tribe, the one in which all
levels of psychic violence are tut-tutted over, but any physical manifestation
results in dark warnings about Consequences Next
Time.
It was creepy that way - the
other girl ("Betsy" by convention) talked about her feelings and said that she'd
felt "threatened," which trust me, is not how 11 year olds talk. Moms put her up
to that, the better to skewer you with, my
pretty.
Yes, yes - I know my kid was
on the wrong side, and all violence is wrong. But she's mine and I love her and
this won't change that, and a secret, wild part of me wants to know what it felt
like to be the one (little slip of a thing that she is) that managed to make the
Queen Bee go running for the teacher because she'd been caught in her evil
machinations. And I imagine that among any my female readers a secret part
agrees with me, even if it's not allowed to speak. She stood up for herself, and
that's a lesson worth capturing, even if the technique is not
approved.
Technique we can work
on.
---------------------
So
how is that to start your weekend
off?
---------------------
My
goodness we've had a busy
day!
Some
of you are new, and welcome - rest assured, most days I don't incite rebellion
amongst the little folk. Just one of those
days.
Anyway, it's amazing - go down
and spend a pleasant hour saying hi to the troops, and swap trackbacks with the
local glitterati, and next thing you know you're having a big day.
Hope you all enjoyed your time. C'mon
back when the mood strikes
you.
------------------
The
tip jar thing is still whimsical, and I can't
help wondering who anted up to make the sum and total of my donations account to
$69.00
I would blame Eric, wicked
sprite that he is, but he's a college student and doesn't have any money. So
no.
Thanks anyway to all who chipped
in. You've cleared my Haloscan, Blogrolling and iBlog expenditures for the year
and I take that right
kindly.
-------------------
Did
that sound like a paean to provision? Didn't mean too, my thoughts just ran that
way. And anyway, I loathe a fund raising drive. The local NPR has been hitting
it hot and heavy over the last week, which has essentially made them
un-listenable. I'd donate just to shut them up, but it wouldn't make a
difference - they do these drives by the calendar, not by how many neo-con
captains they can torment into donation.
I feel, once again, a little
conflicted - I listen to NPR on the way to work and back (when I'm in the cage,
vice the bike) because, well, it's interesting. Even if I don't agree with the
programmers' all too obvious political predisposition. I think they honestly do
try to understand those of us on the right, which makes the tone deafness of
their attempts all the more
amusing.
-------------------
Speaking
of tone deaf, have you heard the complaint about red state voters "voting
against their interest"? That's usually hurled by a member of the blue state
cognoscenti, still amazed that anyone could vote for W, who only wants to take
away their social security and feed it to Bill Gates. It's the politics of class
warfare, fought by folks who honestly see the world that way. If you're poor,
you ought to vote for their list, because their guy will pay you more money,
once he's in office. It's in your
interest.
See?
But
what if folks don't see the world that way? What if most of us don't
self-organize into class strata, thinking instead that well, maybe we're going
through a rough patch right now, but that with patient dedication and hard work
we'll get through. You know - that whole "American Dream" thing. Work hard, move
up.
The folks who want to help us out
by handing out? They're really trying to do the right
thing.
It's the results that worry me.
Those things you tax, you tend to reduce. The things that you subsidize, you
tend to increase.
Even fighter pilots
know that
stuff.
-------------------
Last
weekend I went shopping with SNO for his 19th birthday. A pleasant experience,
all told. He's kind of a low-drag kid - wanted a video game. Wanted a digital
watch, to train with, for the PRT. Some inserts for his running shoes. Pretty
much it.
There was an athletic store we
stopped into, just to peek. They had those license plate frames: "I'd rather be
(fill in the post-modification noun
phrase)."
The first one that caught my
eye was, "I'd rather be running." Which would be cool, if it was true. But it's
not. I run a lot (for me - I think) these days. Twenty to twenty-five miles a
week. And I can honestly say that while I know it's good for me, and I know I
need to do it, there are so many things I'd rather be doing than
running.
Just
saying.
--------------------
Oh,
and today was a pass in review down at the U. for SNO and his NROTC crewe. Good
stuff, pomp and circumstance. Bands and color guards, rows and ranks in
precision. Fed my martial soul.
Brought the camera, and was worried
about finding the man as he marched by - shouldn't have been concerned. For all
that he's a freshman ('scuse me, Fourth Class Midshipman) he jumped right out at
me, uniform or no -
First company
guidon - kind of an honor for a
youngster.
And
afterwards, when the parade broke up he sought me out and we shared a moment or
two. He shook the stiffness out of his joints that comes from too long a period
at attention, or parade rest. We've all felt that (just not much recently, for
us older geese.) And then he went his way and I mine. But not before looking
over and seeing him chatting with his friends, and laughing hard at some shared
bit of revelry.
I envied him
that.
----------------------
Time
to "settle in."
Y'all have a great
weekend.
Posted @
10:09 PM
|
Posted in
""
|
Sendit
|
Credo
"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." - John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Ceasar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friederich Nietzsche
