I've taken down the most recent post, and one that I had up for about 15 minutes. Dealing with the drama of several months ago, when I was repulsed from the place I used to roll. Someone had emailed me to express a few thoughts about the matter, and to wish me well, and in the course of my response I put out an idea about how it had been precipitated, which this fella said was unlikely, offering his observation, and some things he'd heard. Vague enough? But the idea was put out that I'd been just betrayed -- someone instigated the matter, goading or provoking and manipulating. I don't know. I wasn't there. But it was bothersome, the idea that someone who had made clear claims of friendship would have played an active role in a betrayal.
So I laid it out, the observations I'd heard, and my thoughts on the matter, and emailed the guy. Of course he is outraged at the idea that someone could have a wrong opinion about his actions. Somehow, I feel I can relate to that. The point is, I would not do to him what they did to me -- form hateful opinions without giving someone a chance to respond.
K and R have a right to any opinion they want. They can hate my blog and they can hate me. They have a right to exclude me from their business. They do not have the right to damage my friendships, and not allow me a chance to respond. They do not have the right to not face the person they have taken substantial harmful action against. The fact that they've done this, slammed the door and made threats, is what makes them cowards. I will say it to their faces, if the opportunity presents itself. The fact that they know where my family lives disturbs me. That's how cowardly I think they are. One more than the other.
We hear a lot about forgiveness. It's what we should do. When they repent. When they don't repent, we should still forgive them. But we can't trust them. It's like this. I can forgive them for being bitches. But they'll still be bitches. I just won't let that fact poison me.
So this fellow I emailed, and I, we're gonna go to Starbucks. Ah. At last!
J
Showing posts with label psdn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psdn. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Poison
I was told something that could be pretty unsettling, in a harsh light. Somebody has been heard on various occasions by various persons to say, "I got Jack kicked out." Something like that. In a tone described as bragging. Manipulation, instigation, gloating. There's more, of course, odd things I've been aware of and put in the anomalous evidence file. But this is explicit.
The ultimate responsibility lies with R, and K. But if this is true, as it was understood ... well, it's only the details that can be surprising. I've never indulged in a relating of the details of my particular tragedies. Enough has been hinted at, to indicate that I do know quite a bit about betrayal. But just as death teaches us to deal with loss, betrayal teaches that trust is a valuable commodity, to be earned, rather than squandered.
There is a sort of gallows humor, where such a statement as that reported above is harmless. A tad insensitive, but I'm not one to quibble with that. What if it's literal though? What if it was what it seemed to be? Evil is doing deliberate harm for selfish reasons.
I've never seen the point of violence. I'm not really interested in hurting someone because of my emotion. Aside from pure evil, violence has only one point, to kill. Well, another, to coerce. Justice might require these, death, pain, but I don't believe in justice. What response, then? Some data collection, if I can get cooperation, then a face to face sit-down, if it can be arranged.
What purpose? What good? None. Denials only, of course. Which can have only one of two motives: truth, or deception. No real good comes of poison. But it does have to be puked out. I can't be complicitous. Integrity has a threshold point, beyond which silence is consent. There is no confession, no repentance, redemption. God has to die for that. How often does that happen? There is no honesty, no friendship. There is no trust.
These guys never knew me. Even the ones who've read this blog have no idea. I've expended a fair amount of energy in carefully revealing my weaknesses. I'm a lot more dangerous than I seem.
J
The ultimate responsibility lies with R, and K. But if this is true, as it was understood ... well, it's only the details that can be surprising. I've never indulged in a relating of the details of my particular tragedies. Enough has been hinted at, to indicate that I do know quite a bit about betrayal. But just as death teaches us to deal with loss, betrayal teaches that trust is a valuable commodity, to be earned, rather than squandered.
There is a sort of gallows humor, where such a statement as that reported above is harmless. A tad insensitive, but I'm not one to quibble with that. What if it's literal though? What if it was what it seemed to be? Evil is doing deliberate harm for selfish reasons.
I've never seen the point of violence. I'm not really interested in hurting someone because of my emotion. Aside from pure evil, violence has only one point, to kill. Well, another, to coerce. Justice might require these, death, pain, but I don't believe in justice. What response, then? Some data collection, if I can get cooperation, then a face to face sit-down, if it can be arranged.
What purpose? What good? None. Denials only, of course. Which can have only one of two motives: truth, or deception. No real good comes of poison. But it does have to be puked out. I can't be complicitous. Integrity has a threshold point, beyond which silence is consent. There is no confession, no repentance, redemption. God has to die for that. How often does that happen? There is no honesty, no friendship. There is no trust.
These guys never knew me. Even the ones who've read this blog have no idea. I've expended a fair amount of energy in carefully revealing my weaknesses. I'm a lot more dangerous than I seem.
J
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Closure
Yes, I thought I was done with it, but as I said the other night, for some weeks the matter preyed on me. Some vague uneasiness. It was that I felt a bit cowardly. I hate that feeling. I identified it finally, and immediately sat down to write the little missive of, uh, why, it was only Sunday night. That was as much closure as I needed, or expected. With my former bjj academy.
But just now I did get a phone call, from someone I really do consider a friend. Acting as a sort of intermediary. They, you see, these two, R and K, refuse to have any contact with me. Understandable. Hurt pride. That's how I understand it, anyway. I was probably a bit abrupt, getting the conversation started. I knew of course why he was calling. He was trying to warm up to it, with pleasantries, and I'm all, like, "yeah, so what's up ... fine, so what's the issue ..." But he helped lay out their position. Nice to have clarity. They'd made a brief written statement, that J read to me. Poor guy.
The biggest issue for them, as it was explained to me, was of course the blog. R was offended by the term "passive revenue generator". Well, so would I be. Even if it was true. I had been clear that the phrase was not mine. Not good enough. The fact that I wrote it at all was intolerable. J did consider it harsh. So did I. I even wrote that it was harsh. Is it true? It's not so very very passive. Just sort of. The ugly fact is that I never gave my son any input that would have given him such an opinion. It would seem that this is an opinion that students at other academies have. It's a reputation. One, actually, that I made efforts to downplay, without actually apologizing for. No matter.
That's the big thing. Smaller things? I wasn't a courteous student. The brief written statement didn't spell it out, but J was able to be specific. It has already been noted that I seem not to have said thank you. For what, I asked. For instruction, of individual techniques, from the instructor. Ah. And it is true, I don't have the habit of repeating "thank you" endlessly. I find it annoying and unnecessary when people do it to me. I nod, in what I think, thought, was a friendly acknowledgment. I must be wrong in this. I'll try to be more aware of it. And another perceived discourtesy was that I didn't warm up with the other students. I did my own thing, off to the side. My knees. I can't run in little circles. J asked if I'd ever told K this. Yes, I had. Once. Wasn't that enough? I know he heard me. Must have slipped his mind. I don't run at my new academy either. Oh oh. Better speak with the instructor. Lots of eye contact. Lots of words, repeated over several days and weeks. That's the ticket.
Something else, a bit embarrassing. And inexplicable to me. My gi smelled? I washed it every single time. One time a young man complained to me about it, in a not very polite way. I was offended and unbelieving -- not because of the information, but his manner. It seemed meant to be insulting. I don't know. Maybe a cat pissed on it. Maybe it was me. I don't know. I actually did ask several other people at that time if this was an issue. I was told that it wasn't. I asked J tonight. He said he hadn't noticed anything, but added he was "low-maintenance." Suddenly that seems less clear. If it is an issue, there's not much more I can do about it. Wash the gi twice? But I will go out of my way to ask, from now on. I've rolled with guys who sometimes have that issue. It's no big deal, but courtesy would let them know.
As for the blog, I never wrote anything here that I wouldn't have said to anyone who might have asked. I mean anything that wasn't satire. J said there were indeed some harsh things here. What, I asked? Well, that I felt that I didn't get to roll with the black belt enough. I don't see that as harsh, at all. I see it as just a bald fact. Because it is -- not so much rolling with me, as with students in general. Not a lot of that, and it would be good for the students. Am I wrong? (My issue with K in this regard was real, but I've covered that already: I would have liked to roll with a higher belt, but he simply wouldn't. Sometimes I dealt with this through satire, sometimes directly. I did speak once to K about it. No change. Should I have nagged?) It must be that the very expression of such facts amounts to harshness. How then could they ever be spoken without giving offense? Rather a double-bind, eh? I said -- and it wasn't on poor J -- that I could have been much harsher, and gave some examples of how some blunt truths could be harsh. But it's not my purpose here to be harsh with R, or to make any characterization beyond the immediate issue. I still do respect R, although certainly not in this particular. And he's allowed to be offended.
And I called someone an asshole here. I recollected using that word once. A search informs me I've used it 7 times. The instance in question is one of my hypothetical rants at a theoretical person. Someone who read this blog and didn't quite understand it and misrepresented it. Hm. I can see how it could be offensive. Ironic, though, given the context, which I won't bother to link to. Ironic. Ah well. Either you get it or you don't. And as J said, it is, after all, their academy. They make the rules for it. Blogging the way I blog breaks those rules. So be it. Think though how much sooner this collapse would have occurred, if I had spoken there what I've vented here, as I certainly would have.
I was going to ask J to make my farewells, to specific individuals. I cut myself off. It's not on him. I did say that I had no idea how much I was disliked. They did a good job, hiding it, those two. I haven't been given reason to believe that the students felt that way. Some must have. They will have hidden it well, too. Good job. You got me. LOL.
They changed the locks. They took down my medals and put them in storage. They said that if I came to the academy, they would consider it an indication that I was looking to start trouble, and they'd call the police and say I was trespassing. That's just funny. In a sad way. Ah well.
I do have regular readers, here. I've reported this in detail not to make myself seem right. There are certainly ways that I'm wrong. For example, I keep on insisting that what was offensive was satire. Well, yes -- but satire is just a slightly exaggerated offensive truth. The emotional excess I reveled in was perhaps too savage to be merely satire. J was right. I'm harsh. And he's right in saying I should have known better. I choose to remain blind to this, however. I've recorded this, at length, because I do think it holds inherent interest, as a study of human folly, theirs and mine, and because it does offer an outside perspective on the intricacy that is Jack H. A sort of external validation. Isn't it odd? What they think of me? The pettiness they think they see? We're all petty, sometimes, in our thoughts. You see it in me, sometimes. But my actions? I find it amusing.
I'll explain it, what that place meant to me. For three years, off and on, my son, in Iraq, was in daily and immediate peril of death. Bjj is how I coped with that reality. It's complicated. I came to that studio having lost two sons already, to circumstances that need not be detailed. And the son of my body was in harms way, often, or would be. So bjj and that group of men became important to me. That time is past, now. This will not be a new grief. I am better for the overall experience, and thankful, and this foolishness will not poison it.
There. I'm done. I'm feeling pretty good, now. Three weeks. That's pretty good. I like the clarity. R and K come close to loathing me, or do. One of the ways that I myself am an asshole is that I find this amusing. I'd apologize for this fact, and I'd mean it, but I'd still think it was funny. Sorry I think it's funny. It must have to do with stress. For my part, their duplicity surprises me, but I feel they are for the most part honorable men. Qualified, of course. None of us are ever going to get what we'd like. I'd like to feel that I could freely associate with people I care about. They'd like, most probably, to feel assured that they are above valid criticism. I smile. I could arrange to meet with just about any of these guys, say, for coffee. K and R could take a sober look at themselves, and correct any vulnerabilities. We are prisoners, most cruelly, of ourselves.
I do wonder about some of the fellas. Not the politics of it -- some may actually think I'm right, and some will be offended by my blog or my conduct -- but the politics doesn't really matter. I wonder if the guys that I liked, loved, even, held me in any kind of respect. I've heard from two, three of them. That was considerate, and I think it showed class. Perhaps some of the others feel the same, but don't want to involve themselves. Understandable.
Anything else? Just this:
Go in peace.
Alas. The last time that phrase was operative in my life, I was later betrayed almost beyond human endurance, and tragedy overtook me and my household as the wolf takes the lamb.
J
But just now I did get a phone call, from someone I really do consider a friend. Acting as a sort of intermediary. They, you see, these two, R and K, refuse to have any contact with me. Understandable. Hurt pride. That's how I understand it, anyway. I was probably a bit abrupt, getting the conversation started. I knew of course why he was calling. He was trying to warm up to it, with pleasantries, and I'm all, like, "yeah, so what's up ... fine, so what's the issue ..." But he helped lay out their position. Nice to have clarity. They'd made a brief written statement, that J read to me. Poor guy.
The biggest issue for them, as it was explained to me, was of course the blog. R was offended by the term "passive revenue generator". Well, so would I be. Even if it was true. I had been clear that the phrase was not mine. Not good enough. The fact that I wrote it at all was intolerable. J did consider it harsh. So did I. I even wrote that it was harsh. Is it true? It's not so very very passive. Just sort of. The ugly fact is that I never gave my son any input that would have given him such an opinion. It would seem that this is an opinion that students at other academies have. It's a reputation. One, actually, that I made efforts to downplay, without actually apologizing for. No matter.
That's the big thing. Smaller things? I wasn't a courteous student. The brief written statement didn't spell it out, but J was able to be specific. It has already been noted that I seem not to have said thank you. For what, I asked. For instruction, of individual techniques, from the instructor. Ah. And it is true, I don't have the habit of repeating "thank you" endlessly. I find it annoying and unnecessary when people do it to me. I nod, in what I think, thought, was a friendly acknowledgment. I must be wrong in this. I'll try to be more aware of it. And another perceived discourtesy was that I didn't warm up with the other students. I did my own thing, off to the side. My knees. I can't run in little circles. J asked if I'd ever told K this. Yes, I had. Once. Wasn't that enough? I know he heard me. Must have slipped his mind. I don't run at my new academy either. Oh oh. Better speak with the instructor. Lots of eye contact. Lots of words, repeated over several days and weeks. That's the ticket.
Something else, a bit embarrassing. And inexplicable to me. My gi smelled? I washed it every single time. One time a young man complained to me about it, in a not very polite way. I was offended and unbelieving -- not because of the information, but his manner. It seemed meant to be insulting. I don't know. Maybe a cat pissed on it. Maybe it was me. I don't know. I actually did ask several other people at that time if this was an issue. I was told that it wasn't. I asked J tonight. He said he hadn't noticed anything, but added he was "low-maintenance." Suddenly that seems less clear. If it is an issue, there's not much more I can do about it. Wash the gi twice? But I will go out of my way to ask, from now on. I've rolled with guys who sometimes have that issue. It's no big deal, but courtesy would let them know.
As for the blog, I never wrote anything here that I wouldn't have said to anyone who might have asked. I mean anything that wasn't satire. J said there were indeed some harsh things here. What, I asked? Well, that I felt that I didn't get to roll with the black belt enough. I don't see that as harsh, at all. I see it as just a bald fact. Because it is -- not so much rolling with me, as with students in general. Not a lot of that, and it would be good for the students. Am I wrong? (My issue with K in this regard was real, but I've covered that already: I would have liked to roll with a higher belt, but he simply wouldn't. Sometimes I dealt with this through satire, sometimes directly. I did speak once to K about it. No change. Should I have nagged?) It must be that the very expression of such facts amounts to harshness. How then could they ever be spoken without giving offense? Rather a double-bind, eh? I said -- and it wasn't on poor J -- that I could have been much harsher, and gave some examples of how some blunt truths could be harsh. But it's not my purpose here to be harsh with R, or to make any characterization beyond the immediate issue. I still do respect R, although certainly not in this particular. And he's allowed to be offended.
And I called someone an asshole here. I recollected using that word once. A search informs me I've used it 7 times. The instance in question is one of my hypothetical rants at a theoretical person. Someone who read this blog and didn't quite understand it and misrepresented it. Hm. I can see how it could be offensive. Ironic, though, given the context, which I won't bother to link to. Ironic. Ah well. Either you get it or you don't. And as J said, it is, after all, their academy. They make the rules for it. Blogging the way I blog breaks those rules. So be it. Think though how much sooner this collapse would have occurred, if I had spoken there what I've vented here, as I certainly would have.
I was going to ask J to make my farewells, to specific individuals. I cut myself off. It's not on him. I did say that I had no idea how much I was disliked. They did a good job, hiding it, those two. I haven't been given reason to believe that the students felt that way. Some must have. They will have hidden it well, too. Good job. You got me. LOL.
They changed the locks. They took down my medals and put them in storage. They said that if I came to the academy, they would consider it an indication that I was looking to start trouble, and they'd call the police and say I was trespassing. That's just funny. In a sad way. Ah well.
I do have regular readers, here. I've reported this in detail not to make myself seem right. There are certainly ways that I'm wrong. For example, I keep on insisting that what was offensive was satire. Well, yes -- but satire is just a slightly exaggerated offensive truth. The emotional excess I reveled in was perhaps too savage to be merely satire. J was right. I'm harsh. And he's right in saying I should have known better. I choose to remain blind to this, however. I've recorded this, at length, because I do think it holds inherent interest, as a study of human folly, theirs and mine, and because it does offer an outside perspective on the intricacy that is Jack H. A sort of external validation. Isn't it odd? What they think of me? The pettiness they think they see? We're all petty, sometimes, in our thoughts. You see it in me, sometimes. But my actions? I find it amusing.
I'll explain it, what that place meant to me. For three years, off and on, my son, in Iraq, was in daily and immediate peril of death. Bjj is how I coped with that reality. It's complicated. I came to that studio having lost two sons already, to circumstances that need not be detailed. And the son of my body was in harms way, often, or would be. So bjj and that group of men became important to me. That time is past, now. This will not be a new grief. I am better for the overall experience, and thankful, and this foolishness will not poison it.
There. I'm done. I'm feeling pretty good, now. Three weeks. That's pretty good. I like the clarity. R and K come close to loathing me, or do. One of the ways that I myself am an asshole is that I find this amusing. I'd apologize for this fact, and I'd mean it, but I'd still think it was funny. Sorry I think it's funny. It must have to do with stress. For my part, their duplicity surprises me, but I feel they are for the most part honorable men. Qualified, of course. None of us are ever going to get what we'd like. I'd like to feel that I could freely associate with people I care about. They'd like, most probably, to feel assured that they are above valid criticism. I smile. I could arrange to meet with just about any of these guys, say, for coffee. K and R could take a sober look at themselves, and correct any vulnerabilities. We are prisoners, most cruelly, of ourselves.
I do wonder about some of the fellas. Not the politics of it -- some may actually think I'm right, and some will be offended by my blog or my conduct -- but the politics doesn't really matter. I wonder if the guys that I liked, loved, even, held me in any kind of respect. I've heard from two, three of them. That was considerate, and I think it showed class. Perhaps some of the others feel the same, but don't want to involve themselves. Understandable.
Anything else? Just this:
Go in peace.
Alas. The last time that phrase was operative in my life, I was later betrayed almost beyond human endurance, and tragedy overtook me and my household as the wolf takes the lamb.
J
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Dead Horses
K --
It is my natural inclination to just walk away, from dead horses. The stink, you know. But that’s what you did, and I see it in you as profoundly disrespectful, and cowardly, and so at last I cannot do the same.
I won’t rehearse your complaint. I barely understand it. My blog was negative, presumably about you, or R, or the studio, or something else. I offer no defense, save that you cannot have understood what you read, if you read anything. Your lack of understanding is excusable. Tone can be hard to hear. My issue is your response. You cut my throat. It wasn’t a stab in the back, since you did come out on the phone and tell me your intention. But it was a surprise attack. That R didn’t understand it is excusable. He wasn’t around me enough, perhaps. You are without excuse. And the conduct of both of you is shameful.
After associating with me for three years, you felt it was appropriate to summarily cut me out. This tells me that I was already disliked. You would have asked for clarification, from someone you liked. You would have defended me to those who didn’t understand my meaning, even if you yourself didn't understand it. So be it. You don’t like me. It’s not uncommon. What leaves me aghast is how clueless I was to it. I am certainly clueless. I just thought that I had earned something. Clearly not. I had thought, truly, that I made positive contributions to the academy, sufficient even to buy me the courtesy of a request for an explanation. I still think I did, which is why I use the word cowardly. Your action lacks integrity. I have not merited the contempt you have shown.
At some time in the future I will be stopping by to pick up my medals. Perhaps it might even be possible then for me to say goodbye to some of my friends. At that time I will leave the key with which I was entrusted. This, unless some other mutually agreeable plan is preferred by you. I will be posting this letter on my blog.
I expect that you will forward this to R. I wish you would; I do not have a direct email address. If you do, this:
R --
I am profoundly saddened by your action. I took you for a better man. You cannot have understood the violence this has done to my soul. For the distress I unwittingly caused you, I apologize. I don’t understand it, but perhaps my lack of social grace accounts for this. I have never meant you any disrespect. The disrespect you hold for me is clear. I see this as a reflection on your character. I deserve respect, for all my flaws; I believe my qualities are clear, and you are diminished for not seeing them.
If you find any of this insulting, I will be pleased to discuss it in person, along with my blog or my estimation of your actions. I have no interest in an argument. I trust that you don’t either. I expect however that this will be the last word on the matter. Dead horses.
I will leave it with this: excluding the shoddy way I have been handled, I have seen you as a decent man. It grieves me deeply that you chose to end our association as you did. It forces me to rethink my opinion of you. Sir, I deserved better.
With Regards,
JH
It is my natural inclination to just walk away, from dead horses. The stink, you know. But that’s what you did, and I see it in you as profoundly disrespectful, and cowardly, and so at last I cannot do the same.
I won’t rehearse your complaint. I barely understand it. My blog was negative, presumably about you, or R, or the studio, or something else. I offer no defense, save that you cannot have understood what you read, if you read anything. Your lack of understanding is excusable. Tone can be hard to hear. My issue is your response. You cut my throat. It wasn’t a stab in the back, since you did come out on the phone and tell me your intention. But it was a surprise attack. That R didn’t understand it is excusable. He wasn’t around me enough, perhaps. You are without excuse. And the conduct of both of you is shameful.
After associating with me for three years, you felt it was appropriate to summarily cut me out. This tells me that I was already disliked. You would have asked for clarification, from someone you liked. You would have defended me to those who didn’t understand my meaning, even if you yourself didn't understand it. So be it. You don’t like me. It’s not uncommon. What leaves me aghast is how clueless I was to it. I am certainly clueless. I just thought that I had earned something. Clearly not. I had thought, truly, that I made positive contributions to the academy, sufficient even to buy me the courtesy of a request for an explanation. I still think I did, which is why I use the word cowardly. Your action lacks integrity. I have not merited the contempt you have shown.
At some time in the future I will be stopping by to pick up my medals. Perhaps it might even be possible then for me to say goodbye to some of my friends. At that time I will leave the key with which I was entrusted. This, unless some other mutually agreeable plan is preferred by you. I will be posting this letter on my blog.
I expect that you will forward this to R. I wish you would; I do not have a direct email address. If you do, this:
R --
I am profoundly saddened by your action. I took you for a better man. You cannot have understood the violence this has done to my soul. For the distress I unwittingly caused you, I apologize. I don’t understand it, but perhaps my lack of social grace accounts for this. I have never meant you any disrespect. The disrespect you hold for me is clear. I see this as a reflection on your character. I deserve respect, for all my flaws; I believe my qualities are clear, and you are diminished for not seeing them.
If you find any of this insulting, I will be pleased to discuss it in person, along with my blog or my estimation of your actions. I have no interest in an argument. I trust that you don’t either. I expect however that this will be the last word on the matter. Dead horses.
I will leave it with this: excluding the shoddy way I have been handled, I have seen you as a decent man. It grieves me deeply that you chose to end our association as you did. It forces me to rethink my opinion of you. Sir, I deserved better.
With Regards,
JH
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Treachery
Some years ago, there was an extended-family get-together, most likely for Christmas. Kids running around. Some money went missing. Probably some sort of gift-money -- a few small bills and some coins. We'll call it that. And each of the kids swore up and down that, no, it wasn't me who took it. Toward the end of the festivities I was playing with one of them, age 10, tossing him into the air, holding him upside down by an ankle and swinging him around, that sort of thing. And of course a wad of bills and a bunch of change came cascading out of his pocket. I took it in stride, had him gather it up, and the rest of it from his pockets, and hand it to me. And I got onto one knee the way I used to and held his hand and looked him in the eyes and said, earnestly, almost urgently, I recall, "Be honest. Be honest." And he said, "I will." And I hugged him close.
It doesn't do any good. There are no magic words. A moment cannot undo the years of damage. The point of telling that little vignette is that I kept it to myself. I was just thinking about it, and noticed that. I keep these things to myself. They are private, between one person and one other person. If anyone else needs to know, well then I'll tell them. But hardly anyone else needs to know, hardly ever. Sometimes a general word, a heads up. But if parents don't know just about everything about their kids, details aren't likely to help. All that happens is punishment, or some other brand of ineffectiveness, and that attitude is what's behind the problem in the first place.
Maybe I'm wrong.
The attentive reader may recall other instances recorded in this forum where I kept atrocities to myself.
Why am I like that?
I view it as a betrayal. It's irrational, I know. It's just that in my formative years I never got justice. Vindictiveness. So how can I trust that authority which claims jurisdiction over such malfeasances?
Today I had something that I thought someone I know should have. Someone I, uh, used to roll with. How to get it to him? I know! I could drop by and leave it! And the idea filled me with such pain.
Ah well. Let's be philosophical.
J
It doesn't do any good. There are no magic words. A moment cannot undo the years of damage. The point of telling that little vignette is that I kept it to myself. I was just thinking about it, and noticed that. I keep these things to myself. They are private, between one person and one other person. If anyone else needs to know, well then I'll tell them. But hardly anyone else needs to know, hardly ever. Sometimes a general word, a heads up. But if parents don't know just about everything about their kids, details aren't likely to help. All that happens is punishment, or some other brand of ineffectiveness, and that attitude is what's behind the problem in the first place.
Maybe I'm wrong.
The attentive reader may recall other instances recorded in this forum where I kept atrocities to myself.
Why am I like that?
I view it as a betrayal. It's irrational, I know. It's just that in my formative years I never got justice. Vindictiveness. So how can I trust that authority which claims jurisdiction over such malfeasances?
Today I had something that I thought someone I know should have. Someone I, uh, used to roll with. How to get it to him? I know! I could drop by and leave it! And the idea filled me with such pain.
Ah well. Let's be philosophical.
J
Monday, May 12, 2008
Frankness
I try to be tactful. I seem to be rather clumsy at it. I suspect that it's because, however gently I try to put a thing, I still want to have some degree of honesty in what I say. One of my standard lines, when I'm meeting someone, is that I'm not very good at small talk. It's a funny line. People always chuckle at it. It's not brutally frank. It's gently frank. Self-deprecating. Alas, part of not being good at small talk is that what I do end up saying tends to have some element of actual meaning, and meaningful things have to be felt, internalized, processed and acted upon. That's dangerous.
I'm rolling with my son now, and someone made a comment, a comparison, to me about the place that I, uh, that I used to roll. Somehow, past tense. Well I took that as an invitation for honesty. I mean, wasn't it? There was some sort of question involved, and I'm the guy who would know, after all. So I said that other place is really good with fundamentals and drills, which I really liked. "Here, we'll drill something six times. There, it would be fifty, which I how I learn. Not a criticism. Just a difference. Whereas here it's more intense, which I also really like." Somehow, the fellow to whom I said this did seem to hear it as a criticism. He got sort of quiet, and said, "Well, this is where I've been for a long time." I'm sure I tried to say something reassuring.
But sometimes I just feel like absolutely giving up.
As best I can figure, I was excluded from the place that once I rolled because my blog was negative. That is literally the only actual verbal message that was given to me on the entire topic.
Do you see my point? I stated that I'd say no more on that specific topic. This is another topic. This is about how honest we're allowed to be. If a thing is true, regardless of its unpleasantness, then where is there room for a complaint? To state a fact, or even an opinion, is significantly different than to harp on something, nagging, kvetching, endlessly. And to state something that one believes, even if it's wrong -- how should we respond to that? With irrationality and punishment and indignation?
I don't see a way out. The problem seems to be universal. One can be honest, and wrong. The response is correction, not emotionality. Trust works two ways -- we have to believe that those to whom we speak will listen with the same openness of heart that we ourselves bring to the discussion. Otherwise there can't be such a thing as conversation. Only small talk.
The way out of course is to lie. It's something I just don't seem able to do -- compromise when it comes to matters I feel are essential to my integrity. I would, truly I would, if I could get away with it. Lie, steal, manipulate, bribe and take bribes -- in a heartbeat. God knows this about me, though, and cursed me with a conscience that torments me utterly when I violate it. It's a form of mental illness. I would be the biggest slut in the world, if I could get away with it. I'd love to be able to betray you and laugh at your dismay. The desert would be scattered with the bones of my victims. I know all about cruelty. I'd do it if I could get away with it.
Because sometimes we have to make our own justice.
But I have to live by rules. I see the need for it, but I don't like it. One of my rules is to speak the truth as I understand it. Or else keep my mouth shut. But even that isn't safe. Witness this blog. This negative, negative blog.
I see honesty as an act of friendship. I see silence as a sort of courtesy. I strive to act in a manner consonant with patience and gentleness. With those who possess less of some skill than I have, I try to teach. With those who are more knowledgeable than I am, I try to learn. I think I have been consistent, largely consistent in this, throughout my adult life.
It's clearly not that way with everyone. Some people have a conscience that allows them to be cruel. We see it all the time. I understand it. I know it in myself. Sometimes I write about it, because what I write isn't the same as what I say. What we think is not the same as what we do. As for what I do, it's like this: self-control. That's what it's like. What it's also like is this: if anything were to happen to my son, all bets are off.
I actually said that once, to my boy. As he went off back to the war, I said, "Take care. If anything happens to you, all bets are off." "What do you mean?" And I just laughed. But you know what I mean, right? We are hostage to fate.
I've always been a little crazy. Not party crazy. Somehow though I've managed to stay civilized. God did that, by giving me two things. A conscience and a son. Conscience balanced out the rage, and my son taught me how to love. So you know what I mean, right? I can take it. I can take more. My capacity to absorb pain and betrayal is deep. That's the deal I made with God.
As long as I have a son, I'll take it.
Is that too honest?
J
I'm rolling with my son now, and someone made a comment, a comparison, to me about the place that I, uh, that I used to roll. Somehow, past tense. Well I took that as an invitation for honesty. I mean, wasn't it? There was some sort of question involved, and I'm the guy who would know, after all. So I said that other place is really good with fundamentals and drills, which I really liked. "Here, we'll drill something six times. There, it would be fifty, which I how I learn. Not a criticism. Just a difference. Whereas here it's more intense, which I also really like." Somehow, the fellow to whom I said this did seem to hear it as a criticism. He got sort of quiet, and said, "Well, this is where I've been for a long time." I'm sure I tried to say something reassuring.
But sometimes I just feel like absolutely giving up.
As best I can figure, I was excluded from the place that once I rolled because my blog was negative. That is literally the only actual verbal message that was given to me on the entire topic.
Do you see my point? I stated that I'd say no more on that specific topic. This is another topic. This is about how honest we're allowed to be. If a thing is true, regardless of its unpleasantness, then where is there room for a complaint? To state a fact, or even an opinion, is significantly different than to harp on something, nagging, kvetching, endlessly. And to state something that one believes, even if it's wrong -- how should we respond to that? With irrationality and punishment and indignation?
I don't see a way out. The problem seems to be universal. One can be honest, and wrong. The response is correction, not emotionality. Trust works two ways -- we have to believe that those to whom we speak will listen with the same openness of heart that we ourselves bring to the discussion. Otherwise there can't be such a thing as conversation. Only small talk.
The way out of course is to lie. It's something I just don't seem able to do -- compromise when it comes to matters I feel are essential to my integrity. I would, truly I would, if I could get away with it. Lie, steal, manipulate, bribe and take bribes -- in a heartbeat. God knows this about me, though, and cursed me with a conscience that torments me utterly when I violate it. It's a form of mental illness. I would be the biggest slut in the world, if I could get away with it. I'd love to be able to betray you and laugh at your dismay. The desert would be scattered with the bones of my victims. I know all about cruelty. I'd do it if I could get away with it.
Because sometimes we have to make our own justice.
But I have to live by rules. I see the need for it, but I don't like it. One of my rules is to speak the truth as I understand it. Or else keep my mouth shut. But even that isn't safe. Witness this blog. This negative, negative blog.
I see honesty as an act of friendship. I see silence as a sort of courtesy. I strive to act in a manner consonant with patience and gentleness. With those who possess less of some skill than I have, I try to teach. With those who are more knowledgeable than I am, I try to learn. I think I have been consistent, largely consistent in this, throughout my adult life.
It's clearly not that way with everyone. Some people have a conscience that allows them to be cruel. We see it all the time. I understand it. I know it in myself. Sometimes I write about it, because what I write isn't the same as what I say. What we think is not the same as what we do. As for what I do, it's like this: self-control. That's what it's like. What it's also like is this: if anything were to happen to my son, all bets are off.
I actually said that once, to my boy. As he went off back to the war, I said, "Take care. If anything happens to you, all bets are off." "What do you mean?" And I just laughed. But you know what I mean, right? We are hostage to fate.
I've always been a little crazy. Not party crazy. Somehow though I've managed to stay civilized. God did that, by giving me two things. A conscience and a son. Conscience balanced out the rage, and my son taught me how to love. So you know what I mean, right? I can take it. I can take more. My capacity to absorb pain and betrayal is deep. That's the deal I made with God.
As long as I have a son, I'll take it.
Is that too honest?
J
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Last Thing I'll Say About It
I did skim through the various posts of this blog that made some reference to my sport. Out of over 900 entries, I deal with it perhaps 10 or 15 times -- a bit over one percent. Certainly no more. I skimmed through them, trying to come to some understanding as to what could have caused so great an offense. I am mystified.
I seem to have had two complaints. Something over six months ago or so the vulgarity was getting to me. There were a couple of men who really played off of each other -- individually they were fine, but the combination was toxic. For some reason they toned it down, later, and my complaint went away.
What, I'm not allowed to vent, here? Fuck you.
My other issue was about a lack of intensity. Well? My needs were different than theirs. Am I allowed to notice that? It was frustrating for me, but I don't think I put pressure on anyone. That I discussed it here, in this anonymous forum, can hardly be cause for the personal offense that has been taken.
I did play rough with K, here. I went on a rant -- a satirical rant, mind you -- in which I coined the sobriquet p-hole. I thought it was pretty funny. I still do. I find the unreasonable, the selfish and self-centered to be comical. Childhood shapes our sense of humor, and much of the insanity that I work out here is a parody of my father.
As for the other gentleman, I expressed nothing but personal respect for him.
I never talked about FP, there, but it was not a secret. I was given to understand on occasion that some various men had taken a look, at least once. More than that I do not know. No one expressed a concern. I would have hoped that if anyone thought I had crossed some line, or was acting dishonestly, they would have apprised me of that fact. It's not only that none of them did, it's that I believe that each of them would have. My observation of their characters assures me that they would act honorably in an issue that touched upon our sport. Perhaps their occasional glimpses did not catch anything offensive. But it's not on them.
The attentive reader of these pages, and you are legion, will have been struck by my motifs of betrayal and injustice. I am no martyr, but these are powerful themes in my life. Is this that, again? To me, it is. I'm sure it's not meant to be. But that's what every petty despot supposes of himself.
That's what it boils down to, as I see it. The difference between greatness of heart, and pettiness. A close and jealous attention to the details of how we conduct ourselves with others, or the casual self-indulgence of expedience. I am deeply flawed, socially. But anyone who says I am dishonest is both a fool and a liar. If I am wrong, show me where. I will apologize, and mean it.
I owe no apology. I am owed one, that will never come. To misunderstand is inevitable. To lash out without an attempt at clarity is pitiful, but human. I am disappointed, and disgusted -- and perhaps you've noticed how carefully I choose my words. I find anger to be pathetic, but that doesn't mean I don't feel it too. It must be anger that wants to attribute this ugliness to stupidity. It must be anger that would have respect turn into disrespect. You know the pattern. Shock and grief and anger.
But I've been through this sort of thing before. And as I said somewhere, I've had real loss. No one's dead, no one's on drugs, no one's crippled, no one's in jail, no one's sick. This is only a five. A fairly standard betrayal of civil obligation. The veil is pulled back, and you find that where you had thought you'd been liked, you were tolerated, and for only as long as was convenient. You find that the greeting masked a sigh -- Oh, here he is, again. And you know it's true, because the bonds of courtesy snapped so very easily.
You smile and shake your head sadly. You could see it coming. I mean you, not me. I could see it too, but I always expect it. You could see it, because anyone as consumed with betrayal as I am, must want it. And here it is. You saw how I'd write about it, my sport -- how important it was, and the people -- so you knew, craftsman that I am, that I'd somehow have to weave my themes together. You knew it was coming. But I surprised you, right, about how?
What other nightmare will rise up from the pit?
It's time for another attack on my family. My son is safely returned from the wars.
Wouldn't that be rich?
I was going to leave it there. Because you really do have no idea how bitter my soul is. And I have lost sons. But we have to believe there is such a thing as mercy. There must be. We've given it ourselves, haven't we? -- and that proves it's real. There must be a mercy that isn't discovered only in the fact that something worse hasn't happened yet.
Mercy is found, then, in a thing ending when it should end.
And that's the last thing I'll say about it.
J
I seem to have had two complaints. Something over six months ago or so the vulgarity was getting to me. There were a couple of men who really played off of each other -- individually they were fine, but the combination was toxic. For some reason they toned it down, later, and my complaint went away.
What, I'm not allowed to vent, here? Fuck you.
My other issue was about a lack of intensity. Well? My needs were different than theirs. Am I allowed to notice that? It was frustrating for me, but I don't think I put pressure on anyone. That I discussed it here, in this anonymous forum, can hardly be cause for the personal offense that has been taken.
I did play rough with K, here. I went on a rant -- a satirical rant, mind you -- in which I coined the sobriquet p-hole. I thought it was pretty funny. I still do. I find the unreasonable, the selfish and self-centered to be comical. Childhood shapes our sense of humor, and much of the insanity that I work out here is a parody of my father.
As for the other gentleman, I expressed nothing but personal respect for him.
I never talked about FP, there, but it was not a secret. I was given to understand on occasion that some various men had taken a look, at least once. More than that I do not know. No one expressed a concern. I would have hoped that if anyone thought I had crossed some line, or was acting dishonestly, they would have apprised me of that fact. It's not only that none of them did, it's that I believe that each of them would have. My observation of their characters assures me that they would act honorably in an issue that touched upon our sport. Perhaps their occasional glimpses did not catch anything offensive. But it's not on them.
The attentive reader of these pages, and you are legion, will have been struck by my motifs of betrayal and injustice. I am no martyr, but these are powerful themes in my life. Is this that, again? To me, it is. I'm sure it's not meant to be. But that's what every petty despot supposes of himself.
That's what it boils down to, as I see it. The difference between greatness of heart, and pettiness. A close and jealous attention to the details of how we conduct ourselves with others, or the casual self-indulgence of expedience. I am deeply flawed, socially. But anyone who says I am dishonest is both a fool and a liar. If I am wrong, show me where. I will apologize, and mean it.
I owe no apology. I am owed one, that will never come. To misunderstand is inevitable. To lash out without an attempt at clarity is pitiful, but human. I am disappointed, and disgusted -- and perhaps you've noticed how carefully I choose my words. I find anger to be pathetic, but that doesn't mean I don't feel it too. It must be anger that wants to attribute this ugliness to stupidity. It must be anger that would have respect turn into disrespect. You know the pattern. Shock and grief and anger.
But I've been through this sort of thing before. And as I said somewhere, I've had real loss. No one's dead, no one's on drugs, no one's crippled, no one's in jail, no one's sick. This is only a five. A fairly standard betrayal of civil obligation. The veil is pulled back, and you find that where you had thought you'd been liked, you were tolerated, and for only as long as was convenient. You find that the greeting masked a sigh -- Oh, here he is, again. And you know it's true, because the bonds of courtesy snapped so very easily.
You smile and shake your head sadly. You could see it coming. I mean you, not me. I could see it too, but I always expect it. You could see it, because anyone as consumed with betrayal as I am, must want it. And here it is. You saw how I'd write about it, my sport -- how important it was, and the people -- so you knew, craftsman that I am, that I'd somehow have to weave my themes together. You knew it was coming. But I surprised you, right, about how?
What other nightmare will rise up from the pit?
It's time for another attack on my family. My son is safely returned from the wars.
Wouldn't that be rich?
I was going to leave it there. Because you really do have no idea how bitter my soul is. And I have lost sons. But we have to believe there is such a thing as mercy. There must be. We've given it ourselves, haven't we? -- and that proves it's real. There must be a mercy that isn't discovered only in the fact that something worse hasn't happened yet.
Mercy is found, then, in a thing ending when it should end.
And that's the last thing I'll say about it.
J
Friday, May 2, 2008
On the Flexibility of Rules
I've been feeling uneasy. Like I've heard a pervert pawing through the underwear drawer. Like unclean hands have moved over my body. Like I've been molested while I slept.
J
J
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Vale
I've referred to Jason, my boy from juvenile hall. I won't dig into that wound too deeply. But in the years that I knew him, not a month went by that he didn't precipitate some sort of crisis. He tried to set some car tires on fire, at one group home. At another he went on a rampage involving a knife that got him sent, finally, to the halls. In the later boot camps he spent no small amount of time in the box, as they called it. And when he came to me, he thought he'd continue the pattern.
I won't rehearse his sundry misdemeanors. Enough to say that I figured out within a few weeks that he would not learn anything from justice. Punishment would not work. So I'd forgive him. Sometimes there would be consequences, but they were far less than called for. They were never administered with emotion, and I always forgave him, in a way that he knew it was true.
He'd never lasted anywhere for so long. It's like he couldn't find a way to sabotage the situation. After a while there was a way that he could think of his lasting as a sort of success. He started to get the idea that he belonged. Of course it was all me. What, you think I'm modest? Being a father is what I was born for.
When he would succumb to his irrationality and fear and need for flight, as happened not infrequently, I knew that I really didn't have any power at all, to keep him. We are all free agents. My only path, with him, was to love him, and forgive him, and accept what came. I really do forget how many times, even with me, he ended up involved with the police, or in the halls again, or whatnot. But I kept going to court and getting him back. And the judge -- mostly the same one -- really got it, and was on the same team. A rare thing.
My point is, when these crises came, and I had to look into the empty place of his despair, that hurt me as much as it did him, even if he didn't feel it -- when these times came, I had a thing I'd say.
Jason, I'd say. I love you. With all my heart. I've taken you as my son, and that will never change. But if you have to go, then go. You'll always belong to me. I will never stop loving you. Go in peace.
One of the last times I ever saw him, he said it to me. Go in peace. He didn't mean it.
Today that phrase came back to me. There doesn't have to be drama. We can part ways without anguish. Sometimes we never do get a chance to make our final farewells. Sometimes we don't get a chance to make peace. That's what open blue skies are for. We stand in the bright sunlight, face turned upward, breathing, and say goodbye to the wind, trusting that it will carry our message to those for whom it is meant. They'll never hear it, but how much poorer the world, without the effort.
So then. Go in peace.
J
I won't rehearse his sundry misdemeanors. Enough to say that I figured out within a few weeks that he would not learn anything from justice. Punishment would not work. So I'd forgive him. Sometimes there would be consequences, but they were far less than called for. They were never administered with emotion, and I always forgave him, in a way that he knew it was true.
He'd never lasted anywhere for so long. It's like he couldn't find a way to sabotage the situation. After a while there was a way that he could think of his lasting as a sort of success. He started to get the idea that he belonged. Of course it was all me. What, you think I'm modest? Being a father is what I was born for.
When he would succumb to his irrationality and fear and need for flight, as happened not infrequently, I knew that I really didn't have any power at all, to keep him. We are all free agents. My only path, with him, was to love him, and forgive him, and accept what came. I really do forget how many times, even with me, he ended up involved with the police, or in the halls again, or whatnot. But I kept going to court and getting him back. And the judge -- mostly the same one -- really got it, and was on the same team. A rare thing.
My point is, when these crises came, and I had to look into the empty place of his despair, that hurt me as much as it did him, even if he didn't feel it -- when these times came, I had a thing I'd say.
Jason, I'd say. I love you. With all my heart. I've taken you as my son, and that will never change. But if you have to go, then go. You'll always belong to me. I will never stop loving you. Go in peace.
One of the last times I ever saw him, he said it to me. Go in peace. He didn't mean it.
Today that phrase came back to me. There doesn't have to be drama. We can part ways without anguish. Sometimes we never do get a chance to make our final farewells. Sometimes we don't get a chance to make peace. That's what open blue skies are for. We stand in the bright sunlight, face turned upward, breathing, and say goodbye to the wind, trusting that it will carry our message to those for whom it is meant. They'll never hear it, but how much poorer the world, without the effort.
So then. Go in peace.
J
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Way the World Is
Allow me to draw aside the curtain for a moment, and speak as myself. FP is an odd mating of satire and angst, disguised as news commentary. It is an exercise in hyperbole and emotion. It is performance art.
Today, just as I had finished that last silly little thing, I got a call from somebody I have liked and respected. He told me that he and someone else had seen my blog and were very bothered and offended by what I had written about them, and that they were ending their association with me.
Well. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. This time, though, it bothers me that people I care about have felt hurt. I asked what specifically was offensive, and didn't get a clear response, but I said if I was told I would remove the offending passages. Not meant as a palliative. It's just that I know the idea of things being out there can gnaw at us. And I don't mean to give offense. If I have a real problem with someone, I'll speak to them face to face. I've learned not to put it in writing.
The silly little things that I've played with in these pages were not meant to be read with sensitive, or malevolent, eyes. The conceit that I pretend to subscribe to here is that anyone who reads these posts will be in on the joke. Jack H is a vessel into which we pour everything that is egotistical, and wounded, and selfish and blind. Yet he expects to be loved. That's the joke. I guess it's gallows humor.
It bothers me, though. Shocks me, even, although I should certainly know better. I've known these men for three years. It pains me that after all that time I didn't rate enough good will to invite an explanation, rather than a dismissal. But that's how they would have felt. Cuz they took it seriously. There are real issues of course -- but these men haven't understood the excess. They don't understand that the pettiness and unfairness and self-righteousness are deliberate artifacts. So they will feel that I was utterly two-faced. I do have my pride, but that's not what's burrowing into me. It's that they are hurt, these men I respect, and there's not likely to be any way for me to fix it. There are of course real issues, as I say, which I addressed in a straightforward way. Or in a twisted way. The problem with this blog is that it's not as disjointed as it may seem. Context is everything.
For my part, I have to look now at these pages with the knowledge that someone deliberately went through them, methodically if not with understanding, taking notes perhaps, collecting and passing along things which that person meant to be taken as offensive. It would be someone I know, and undoubtedly someone I have liked. But what does that buy? There's nothing to be done about it.
The man on the phone told me that there were other things too. You know how it is. People need to bolster their case. What other things, I asked? I was looking for information. I don't argue. Oh, lots of things. What specifically? Well, you never say thank you. Oh. I thought I did. But I understood that it's not a debate. I could hear the controlled anger and offense in his voice. No debating that. And I know that, however much somebody may also add that there are things about me that are liked, they don't amount to anything, given how things have turned out. Eh?
I don't think of myself as a negative person. I make an effort to be neutral. I must be wrong. There's no irony here. Irony has to be random. If it's planned, it's just a setup for a joke. So it's ironic that I had just written that stupid little thing about searching through the archives. Cuz someone had just done that, today or yesterday, with the result we've just been looking at. But there is no irony at all in the fact that some random months ago this exact, perfectly exact scenario had already been dealt with, written about, in these very pages:
Not ironic, I say, because it must have been, at some level, planned. I recall having sent that snippet of a fantasy to K in my emailed response. Ha ha. Big joke. It only took six months to come true. Planned, I say, and the author must be me. It's not that I expect more, from people. It's that I pretend to.
I don't know if it's worth it to make an appointment with these men and make my apologies. In person. Not for anything I've said. We should never apologize for the truth, or for being misunderstood when the meaning should be clear. Apologize for the offense that I've given, no matter the cause. I know that you can't reason with emotion, so some time would have to pass. And I know that reasoning has only a small part in the matter. Ah well, we'll see.
That's it then. I am profoundly saddened. I'm not what you'd call a friendly guy, and this, given my already awkward personality, seems to pretty much slam the door on three years of friendships. How deeply sad that makes me. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
J
Today, just as I had finished that last silly little thing, I got a call from somebody I have liked and respected. He told me that he and someone else had seen my blog and were very bothered and offended by what I had written about them, and that they were ending their association with me.
Well. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. This time, though, it bothers me that people I care about have felt hurt. I asked what specifically was offensive, and didn't get a clear response, but I said if I was told I would remove the offending passages. Not meant as a palliative. It's just that I know the idea of things being out there can gnaw at us. And I don't mean to give offense. If I have a real problem with someone, I'll speak to them face to face. I've learned not to put it in writing.
The silly little things that I've played with in these pages were not meant to be read with sensitive, or malevolent, eyes. The conceit that I pretend to subscribe to here is that anyone who reads these posts will be in on the joke. Jack H is a vessel into which we pour everything that is egotistical, and wounded, and selfish and blind. Yet he expects to be loved. That's the joke. I guess it's gallows humor.
It bothers me, though. Shocks me, even, although I should certainly know better. I've known these men for three years. It pains me that after all that time I didn't rate enough good will to invite an explanation, rather than a dismissal. But that's how they would have felt. Cuz they took it seriously. There are real issues of course -- but these men haven't understood the excess. They don't understand that the pettiness and unfairness and self-righteousness are deliberate artifacts. So they will feel that I was utterly two-faced. I do have my pride, but that's not what's burrowing into me. It's that they are hurt, these men I respect, and there's not likely to be any way for me to fix it. There are of course real issues, as I say, which I addressed in a straightforward way. Or in a twisted way. The problem with this blog is that it's not as disjointed as it may seem. Context is everything.
For my part, I have to look now at these pages with the knowledge that someone deliberately went through them, methodically if not with understanding, taking notes perhaps, collecting and passing along things which that person meant to be taken as offensive. It would be someone I know, and undoubtedly someone I have liked. But what does that buy? There's nothing to be done about it.
The man on the phone told me that there were other things too. You know how it is. People need to bolster their case. What other things, I asked? I was looking for information. I don't argue. Oh, lots of things. What specifically? Well, you never say thank you. Oh. I thought I did. But I understood that it's not a debate. I could hear the controlled anger and offense in his voice. No debating that. And I know that, however much somebody may also add that there are things about me that are liked, they don't amount to anything, given how things have turned out. Eh?
I don't think of myself as a negative person. I make an effort to be neutral. I must be wrong. There's no irony here. Irony has to be random. If it's planned, it's just a setup for a joke. So it's ironic that I had just written that stupid little thing about searching through the archives. Cuz someone had just done that, today or yesterday, with the result we've just been looking at. But there is no irony at all in the fact that some random months ago this exact, perfectly exact scenario had already been dealt with, written about, in these very pages:
So as I was just finishing that last post, the little green man at the corner of my screen told me I'd just gotten an email, from K, the instructor where I roll.
This is what it's like to be me. I thought, Now why would he be sending me an email? The instant answer sprang into my imagination in this form:
Dear Jack H --
It is with regret that we inform you that we must terminate our association with you. We have received numerous complaints regarding your demeanor and conduct, and have been informed that some people have cancelled their membership on your account. This is of course costing us revenue, and as a for-profit business this present action is necessary. Your current payment will be returned to you on a prorated basis. Any personal articles may be claimed by appointment. We must ask that you not return here, however, during regular business hours. We wish you the best in life and in your future BJJ training, and we remain,
Yours Very Truly,
Etc.
I kid you not. Something like that, in inchoate form. Sort of pathetic, I know. But that's what it's like to be me. This is close to the definition of paranoid.
Not ironic, I say, because it must have been, at some level, planned. I recall having sent that snippet of a fantasy to K in my emailed response. Ha ha. Big joke. It only took six months to come true. Planned, I say, and the author must be me. It's not that I expect more, from people. It's that I pretend to.
I don't know if it's worth it to make an appointment with these men and make my apologies. In person. Not for anything I've said. We should never apologize for the truth, or for being misunderstood when the meaning should be clear. Apologize for the offense that I've given, no matter the cause. I know that you can't reason with emotion, so some time would have to pass. And I know that reasoning has only a small part in the matter. Ah well, we'll see.
That's it then. I am profoundly saddened. I'm not what you'd call a friendly guy, and this, given my already awkward personality, seems to pretty much slam the door on three years of friendships. How deeply sad that makes me. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
J
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