Sleep In The Bed You Made

In the fall of 1988, I was a freshman at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. (We were also known as 4th degrees or SMACKS (Soldiers Minus Ability Coordination and Knowledge), but that was before social media and social justice warriors, but I digress.)

As a recruited athlete (football), I got some special treatment in the form of relaxed lunches and dinners.

I was excused from some of the ass-chewings my other classmates received from dweebs and geeks, i.e., “Stracts.” (Never mind the fact I was getting my head removed from my body by Mark “Hoss” Hossman, our Senior Tight End, Rodney Lewis at Fullback, Kevin Bell and Steve Wilson at Guard, and Scott Hollister and Terry Carr at Tackle. I’d gladly take two ass-chewings a day, and three on Sunday, to avoid the daily whiplashes, concussions, chopped knees, rolled ankles, and smashed forearms (we could do the ol’ “forearm shivers” back in the day), but I digress.)

Because of this “special treatment,” some of the Stracts would get their little feelers hurt and take a particular liking to me from time to time, which meant focused, intense, isolated ass-chewings and brow-beatings.

One time an upperclassman told me to report to him for some special attention, and I complied.

However, I broke one of the big rules of the military in that I reported for my ass-chewing alone.

Sidebar: There are countless stories of why men have fought so hard against formidable odds, and it was always because neither warrior wanted to let their buddy down. In the Air Force, we have wingmen. The Navy has swim buddies. The Army has battle buddies. I think the Marines just get extra Crayons. :-) Anyway…

The idea is that when one of you screws up, everyone suffers for your mistake, and I agree with that sentiment and approach because it makes you make better decisions as you consider how it might impact your buddy.

However, in this case, I didn’t screw up.

This guy had a chip on his shoulder and didn’t like a big ol’ slow-talkin’ boy from Texas “getting a free pass” in his training squadron, so he decided to light me up…and I decided to take the full brunt of his training mano a mano, which was a show of both arrogance and confidence, which only pissed him off even more, which brought a smile to my face, which only pissed him off more, which brought a bigger smile to my face, rinse…wash…repeat.

While many of my classmates did their best to distract this upperclassman with a Napoleon complex, his classmates joined the fray and kept me isolated until they eventually tired of the shenanigans, as they always do, and sent me on my merry way.

Why do I tell you this story?

Because we’re approaching what I hope is the peak of narcissism in society today, and by shedding light on this scam, this fraud, this unprecedented assholery by those who have mastered the shame game of power through victimhood, we can accelerate its peak and descent.

This weekend, a good friend shared a story with me of the training his company made them all endure so they’d know how to treat, address, and speak to certain people who decided to declare their sudden differences and were now expecting/demanding the world to cater to their every whim…or else!

Let me tell ya sumthin’.

If I decide to wear a skirt or kilt or bib overalls or dye my hair pink or grow a beard to my bellybutton or get a face tattoo or perch a parrot on my shoulder and sport an eyepatch at work, I don’t give two rat’s asses what you think about it. I welcome you to engage me about my appearance, or not.

If doing this, that, or the other is how I want to express myself because that’s how I see myself, I’m just gonna do it, and I don’t need H.R. or the C-Suite or legal or the new D.I.E. sycophants to mandate all of my peers to attend quarterly training on, “How to speak to redneck pirate formerly known as Wes.”

That is a level of narcissism and passive-aggressiveness that I can no longer allow to run amuck.

That being said, I understand that some people are bullied and harassed and even physically assaulted for their outward appearance, and that’s bullshit as well.

While I may be 180 degrees out from you when it comes to politics, religion, education, the role of government, family, marriage, how to get your freak on, and how whisk(e)y should be consumed—neat, with maybe a splash of cold water or a teeny, tiny ice cube—I will beat the ass of anyone who thinks they have to right to assault you just for being different.

All I ask is that you give me space to be myself, which might include pursing my lips, shaking my head, and simply not engaging with you when we cross paths.

Deal?

Market like you mean it.

Now go sell something.