You Can Have My Gun...

Do you remember the campaign rally where John McCain was finally forced to confront the escalation of the hateful rhetoric that seemed to plague his campaign? In the weeks after Sarah Palin was named the VP candidate, certain bad seeds began to whip the reactionary crowds into frenzied mobs, and there was some shady invective being tossed about. McCain had to reassure an old biddy that Obama did indeed love his country, and that he wasn’t a Muslim, nor was he a terrorist. I remember feeling the bad juju in the air, and there was a period when I felt a palpable fear that the future president would be attacked, and maybe even killed. Fortunately a combination of effective security and cooler heads prevailed, and our man was sworn in without incident (other than a John Roberts gaffe during the administration of the oath).

I realized at that time that there was a sizable minority in this nation that would never accept the legitimacy of his ascension. Granted the same thing applied during the Bush terms, but I don’t ever remember any reporting of credible threats against his life. The man just didn’t inspire as much hatred among the groups likely to engage in politically-minded violence. He was an anti-tax, flag-waving Christian. And he never made the extreme right worry that he would take away their guns. Obama, on the other hand, had few qualms about stating his support for gun control. He even publicly expressed his support for the handgun ban in DC (overturned recently by the Federal Supreme Court).

Within the past few months firearms purchases have spiked dramatically. Some of this increase has been due to a growing wave of gun smuggling flowing from the United States to Mexico, a nation currently in the midst of chaos caused by violent drug wars. But I believe that political paranoia and insecurity in-country is the driving force behind the bulk of this activity. For some reason, it seems that there will always be a segment of society that believes that the Democratic Party seeks to eliminate the Second Amendment Rights ensured by the government. No amount of logical reasoning or patient explanation seems to allay the fears of this group. They trend toward the extreme. And because they think that knock on the door could come at any time, they stockpile weapons and ammunition.

Such appears to have been the case with 22-year old Richard Poplawski. A dishonorably discharged Marine, Poplawski killed three police officers who responded to a domestic dispute call early this past Saturday morning. Apparently his mother (who he lived with) got into an argument with him after his cat pissed on the floor. After mama called the 5-0, Poplawski donned his bulletproof vest, brandished his illegally acquired AK-47, and waited for his moment of confrontation. Those cops never had a chance. And to add to the senseless tragedy of this event, there seems to have been evidence that Poplawski was insane, despite the denials of his friends and family. He also carried a record which included disorderly conduct and protection from abuse orders.

No doubt there will be additional information about the sad life of Richard Poplawski filtering out into the media in the coming week, and during what is sure to be a highly publicized criminal case involving capital crimes. A quick internet search reveals possible ties to a Neo Nazi white supremacist group called Stormfront. If you want to have a look at that stuff… do your own research. But you don’t have to track down the Aryan brotherhood to hear alarmist wingnuts sound the clarion call. Just tune into any number of conservative hack radio hosts like Limbaugh, Hannity, and/or Glenn Beck. They are not at all shy about provoking hate to advance their own selfish aims in their sick games. Unfortunately, they aren’t about to be held accountable for unsettling the deeply disturbed... people like Richard Poplawski. I think we’re going to see a lot more of this stuff over the next couple of years.

To shelter children?

Somehow the subject of impending fatherhood just keeps popping up. I have a couple of friends that (even as I write) are facing the inevitable adjustments of parenthood. One specific aspect of change that I've given a lot of thought to concerns the censorship I'm going to have to bring to the modes of entertainment that I indulge in. For instance there are many DVDs on my shelf that won't be appropriate viewing material for a younger child. It's going to be tricky to figure out what I can expose my offspring to, and at what age. I've had occasion to speculate a bit on that subject previously. A couple of months ago I even wrote a post on the subject. Today I went out for lunch with a buddy of mine, and his twelve-year-old son. The kid is right on the cusp of that non-communicative age wherein it becomes progressively impossible to extract any useful information. So I figured I'd grab the opportunity to find out what type of stuff he's interested in.

Not surprisingly this preteen boy is into skateboarding, videogames and anime. He has seen Spirited Away and a few other Hayao Miyazaki films. His gaming tastes run toward the more hyperviolent shoot-em-ups that require a game console to get the most out of. He's interested in the new Transformers movie, but he enjoyed the 1985 version as well. Of course anything with superheroes has a possibility of engaging him. And he's into the martial arts, so he has found his way to a few Bruce Lee Films, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and Ultimate Fighting (which seems to me to be the updated version of the professional wrestling I was so enamored with as a kid). Beyond that I really can't say what holds his interest. But I guess that's a good foundation to build upon.

I don't know how useful it is for me to consider the things I was into when I was his age. Technology has introduced a whole new set of possibilities for the current generation. By the time I have a child in his double digits I expect that the times will have brought even more inconceivable things. Yet it's still kind of fun to think back and remember what I liked. The completion of my first decade on earth saw the introduction of the very first home videogame systems. Up until that time, I recall spending a lot of quarters in the video arcade. The machines back then were less realistic, and thus the depicted violence was less graphic. Double Dragon and Karate Champ were a lot more like cartoons than anything you'd experience in reality. And the box-like images on the Atari 2600 were almost completely unrecognizable. It would have been ridiculous to suggest that Space Invaders could lead to maladaptive social behaviors.

We did get into our share of shenanigans. Fireworks were a source of almost limitless fascination. My friends loved to blow up whatever toys they had outgrown. We played playground sports. I still see kids outside in my neighborhood doing the same. But our indoor options were much more limited than today. The only pay channel we could get in our area was HBO. Network television was still king. There was no internet. Eventually MTV was introduced, and things began to change quickly. Up until then we lived for Saturday morning and afterschool cartoons.

My family did have a VHS player fairly early. Between the brand new movie channels and videotapes, I did have access to a wide array of movies. Interestingly both my adult buddy and I were exposed to the slasher genre by our parents, and at a pretty young age. My mom loved watching horror, and I joined her in front of the TV. We watched Friday the 13th, Halloween, Amityville Horror, Altered States, The Shining, Jaws, etc. When the sex scenes came onscreen I was instructed to cover up my eyes. But I watched all the kill scenes with rapt attention. I had a high threshold for that stuff. However there was one movie that gave me nightmares for years- Terror Train with Jamie Lee Curtis and David Copperfield. That actually put me off scary films until I was in college.

I'm not sure if I should have been watching that stuff as a preteen. But I liked doing it, and I suppose I turned out "alright". Well... I'm not a serial killer, anyway. Yet I am still enthralled by the darker material of life. I suppose that any consideration of sheltering a child must take into account his/her individual personality. Undoubtedly people reach the capability of handling different subject matters at varying points in their lives. Like so much else when it comes to child-rearing, I guess it makes the most sense just to wait and see.

Friday... out with the "boyz".

It's pretty easy to lose sight of the possibility of "random chance" rising up to bite one in his/her own ass. If you know me personally, you might have heard a story about where else you can get bit when you least suspect it. I'm not going to get into that one on this forum- at least not today. But I will relate a little anecdote that illustrates my point.

Last night after I wrote my post I ventured once again out into the warm Friday night air to meet up with a few buddies at a friend's relatively new bar. I didn't go to my usual haunt because I was in the mood for something different, and so were my companions. So I get to this neighborhood joint and settle in with a stool right along the bar. I quickly fall into conversation with a recent acquaintance, and eventually I'm surrounded by other people I know. For a weekend night the place is relatively empty, and so it takes only minutes until I drop my customary alertness and settle in to a comfortable pace. It's as if I'm at a small private party where I've known all the attendees for years.

But the problem is that I am not in a private sanctuary, but rather in a public drinking establishment. It wasn't completely appropriate to drop my guard. This dive is in the center of a neighborhood that is steadily getting gentrified, but still has a gritty and violent edge that can pop up like a target in the "whack-a-mole" at Chuck E. Cheese. Compounding the problem is one of my friend's rather stubborn penchant for finding trouble. So in the midst of a relatively engaging conversation about politics and literature, I sense a shift in the energy charge of the establishment. I tune in to what is now a fairly heated argument down the length of the bar, complete with name-calling and blustery threat. I watch as the conflict escalates until the proprietor is telling my volatile Italian-Irish pal to vacate the premises. Meanwhile a drunk female patron, who still has her wits about her, is interposing herself between him and his challenger.

So my buddy comes over to our little group and asks if any of us are carrying a knife. We aren't, and he eyes a bottle which is quickly taken away by the alert barmaid. He's pretty sure that he's going to be followed out of the door and jumped. But eventually, with further prodding from the staff- he leaves. Just as suspected he is followed by the diminutive adversary who called him out in the first place. I look at my drinking partner, and without speaking we go outside to see if we can minimize whatever violence is about to take place.

Out on the street we are greeted by the sight of two rutting males, chest-to-chest and posturing, and exchanging promises of imminent mayhem. We are really just out there to ensure that it's a "fair fight". Of course our friend's challenger has now been joined by one of his own boys- looking recently incarcerated, and assuring his "dawg" that he can handle the two of us. Instead of taking the bait I stare at his jailhouse eyes and ask him if he can defuse the situation. He says, "No... I can't do shit." Somehow I figured as much, but it was worth a try. But despite their primate displays, these boys are making no real moves to initiate a fistfight. And all the while that same drunk girl is coming to the rescue by continually hanging on our friend, making it easy for him to retain his manhood without throwing out more insults. So what happens? These fools start talking about "blasting" us, and reaching into the back of their saggy-assed jeans, as if they are going to pull out their "gats".

Now if you are a suburbanite, you probably piss your pants at this point. But this new level of threat actually alleviates the tension just a bit. Because the way we interpret this situation is that these boys really have no intention of actually fighting. They want a quick way out that preserves whatever sense they have of themselves as a couple of bad-ass homeboyz. So we hold our tongues, refusing to escalate the situation by calling them out further. In fact nobody really wants to get in some silly streetfight over nothing, and soon everyone gets in their cars and drives home without harm.

Despite our intuition, there's always a chance that those kids could have been armed. An ordinary Friday night could have erupted into some sort of violence. We went home relieved that the night's drama had a happy ending. All of us are in our thirties. We have the benefit of experience and even a bit of wisdom. We can quickly assess the best possible outcome, and how to arrive at it. Had this set-up occurred ten years ago it might have turned out real bad. But ultimately no one got bit last night.

Hard-Earned Maturity Tempered by Lingering Youth.

It's strange how the passage of time gets revealed as we age. When I was in my twenties I remember hearing older friends and family members discuss aging. I guess I believed that I could understand it in some abstract way. But really I was only fooling myself. Now I'm in my thirties and I'm beginning to get a concrete sense of what they were talking about. I'm just going to assume that I have no clue what living through my forties, fifties, etc. is going to be like. It's mere folly to believe that I can truly empathize (about age-related topics) with my elders. Of course there is an ever-increasing mass of people that I can empathize with based upon having had personal experience of living through my 36 years. Mostly I sit bemused through their observations as they struggle through their youth.

Last night I had a palpable lesson in aging. I still enjoy going out to a bar and having a few drinks and conversations with friends. But the establishments I choose to frequent are substantially different from what I would have chosen in my twenties. I don't want to be around loud music and horny post-adolescents. I prefer mellow lighting and a clean environment. Instead of pounding ten Pabst Blue Ribbons, I sit and sip on a few craft beers (umm... most of the time). I'm generally not interested in meeting anyone new. It's enough to meet up with people I've known for years. I like to develop the bar staff into casual acquaintances that I can chat with while I'm waiting for whomever to show up and join me. It's relaxing and mildly stimulating, and usually all I have the energy for. I absolutely abhor crowded spaces, and I choose not to remain if there is no seating available.

So basically I pick a few spots that I'm comfortable with, and stick to them. Anyway- last night I ran into a younger couple who I have recently befriended. I enjoy their perspectives and always make it a point to join them for awhile whenever I see them. They've been together for a bit over a year, and are very relaxed and open among others. They will often go off by themselves and make the rounds with their respective friends- there is no hint of jealousy or possessiveness between them. So I found myself sitting and chatting with the girlfriend for an extended period of time. She (let's call her E1) is especially amiable and cheery, with an inviting manner. We were sitting next to each other at a table, obviously engaged in conversation. A short, swarthy, and squat bar patron (with some sort of wireless receiver for his cellphone implanted in his ear) stood by the empty table adjacent to us, and pretended to look at a painting on the wall. I noticed him directing leering glances at E1 for some time. She eventually looked over, and he made a gesture with his hand- a "come here" motion with his fingers. E1 is almost excessively courteous and she obliged. I kept an eye on the guy, and watched as she disengaged from his talk, and came back to sit down again. He had ostensibly called her over to get her opinion about the painting.

But after she resumed her place at our table, this cretin remained standing about two feet from us... staring at her with a suggestive smile on his face. He kept making that same motion with his fingers as she tried to ignore his presence. Her expression told me that she was getting increasingly uncomfortable. He glanced at me, the creepy smile lingering, and I glared back at him. After ten more seconds with no change in the situation, I asked him what he wanted. I could see him mouthing words, but I really wasn't trying to hear them. I kept repeating, "What?... What?"- my voice rising and my face growing more angry. Then he clearly said, "Go Fuck Yourself!" I paused for a moment, not breaking eye contact. I could feel the blood rush to my chest, warming me with a cocktail of adrenalin and testosterone. I replied slowly and evenly, "Go... fuck... myself... huh?" He said, "Yeah." I scowled at him, and he walked away backwards trying to maintain eye contact, until he reached a barstool. I tried to relax and maintain self-control. E1 attempted to stimulate a conversation to distract my focus. But all I could think about was hitting him.

The cretin kept looking at me from his place at the bar, and I was about to boil over. At that moment the doorman stepped up, and I pointed out the wannabe predator and said, "If that idiot keeps looking at me, I'm going to take a shot at him." The doorman (who I know and have developed a cordial interaction with) had seen the entire incident, and he went over to resolve the situation. Shortly he returned and told me that the creep wouldn't look at me anymore, and I shouldn't look at him, and everything would be "cool". I directed the doorman's attention back to the cretin, who was still posturing with his own hard stare. That was it. The guy got ushered out of the bar, and I was left to slowly calm down. I thanked the staff, and tried to resume what had been an enjoyable evening.

Now here's the thing... I was most frustrated by the fact that I didn't simply beat that guy to a pulp immediately after he challenged me. I had about an entire foot and 75 pounds on him. He was stupid, drunk and out of shape. But I let him escape without serious consequences. That would have NEVER happened in my twenties. Granted most of my fights back then resulted from my efforts on behalf of my friends... never from some retard's attempt to call me out. I had a difficult time processing yesterday's events. I couldn't believe that a guy that slight dared to start that crap with me. I was amazed that he would be so disrespectful with a woman who could have been MY girlfriend or wife. I definitely do not look like an easy target. But yet it happened. And my adversary walked away unharmed.

I know that many people would assure me that I did the right thing. Deep down I know my decisions were a sign of maturity. I am a married homeowner with a good career that could be ruined if I hurt someone in a bar, or had criminal charges brought against me. It would have been the depth of folly to retaliate physically when there really was no genuine threat posed to myself or a friend. I've reached the age of emotional restraint. I acted methodically, rather than impulsively, and imposed the best possible resolution to the situation. Yet it still bothers me. I had a hard time letting go of my anger, even after it was all over. It's a great illustration of the growth and wisdom that I have left to attain.