You see all those movies where high school is portrayed as the greatest time in life. I grew up in a rustbelt area of New York. Got outta the sh*thole as soon as I could. All the women are morbidly obese and all the guys are a bunch of meathead douchebags who watch sports and drink lite beer. I hate sports, especially football–if you think that makes me gay, you can suck my dick….
I remember in high school there was this jerk, “Jason P.” who gave me shit on a daily basis. I’m mixed race so it was comments like “mutt” and “little faggot.” Every goddamned motherfu*kin’ day I heard that shit. Maybe he was insecure about his weight, after all he looked like Jabba the Hutt’s body double. Maybe I should be nice but I still hate his guts. I hope he has diabetes and dies of a heart attack. One day was not to be like the rest. It was just before Chemistry class. He starts in, “there’s the little faggot.” I had some congestion in my nose. I put a finger over one nostril and blew.
“That loads for you, bitch.” A green loogy landed across his pants leg.
“I’m gonna get you…” he retorted.
“What are ya gonna do? Sit on me, butterball?”
Obviously he didn’t sit on me as I am still alive writing this.
Another time on the crappy long yellow bus. (And yup, there have been many insults over the years saying I was supposed to be on the short yellow bus.) “Billy Schmidt” stood over his seat and said, “Hey mutt, you’re one ugly little faggot.”
“Who are you calling a faggot, you fu*k your brother “Carl” up the ass every night.” I fired back. “Shitty Schmidty” was another dickhead who had it in for me. He was definitely bigger than me, not so much taller, just built like a refrigerator. I didn’t see this one coming though.
He throws a punch. Doesn’t connect. He committed himself to it, he’s off balance. He’s wide open. I don’t think–I react. My hands are around his neck, I squeeze. I don’t have a plan. I’ve never strangled someone before. His face starts turning color. His face is beet red. I can’t describe what I’m feeling. Here I am peering of into the precipice of darkness as an unknown terror grips the depths of my soul–I know, I know, that just sounds like some bad Edgar Allen Poe. But I am terrified. If I let go, he is seriously gonna beat my ass, if I don’t something awful is gonna happen. I hold my grip for a few more seconds that seem like ages. I let him go. I sit back in my seat. I wait extra long for him to exit the bus first. Someone tells me I am supposed to report what happened to the Dean of Students. I ignore the advice and walk to class.
A few days later, another science class someone says to me, “Don’t sit near me, I don’t want to be near you. I heard what you did to “Billy.”
The insults are at the all time low for about two weeks….
A few years later I was visiting my mother. I was there cause I wanted to see my dog, otherwise that is an area of the world I have no use for. My cousin “Tim,” whom I did not want to see makes a surprise visit. He’s Mr. Military, Mr. Career Man-Gun for Hire for the Oil Companies but he’s a “Patriot” cause he has a flag on his truck. Picked on me since I was 4 years old. Funny how he’s got that uneducated hick/redneck accent now that he’s been in the Army for a few years. Guess he heard I was back in town and wanted to show off his new rifle and shiny F-150 paid for with government blood money.
I didn’t want to see his ugly face or listen to his stupid war stories. He goes on and on about how great he is. The only thing keeping me from losing my temper is petting my dog. As it is mid summer, he is shedding. I grab some of my dog’s fur and interrupt “Tim’s ” lame story. “My dog is so generous, he’s donating his fur since your going bald.”
“Uh, no, I don’t need that.” He gruffly states and continues with his stupid tales.
“Well atleast when you go totally bald, you’ll have a regulation military haircut.” I fire off.
“What rank are you now, a seargant?”
“No, a major.”
“You sure are a major, a major asshole.” (Stole that one from Spaceballs.)
“So, have you killed anyone?”
His face goes as red as Rudolph the Reindeer’s nose.
“Uh, no but I’ve seen guys get lit up. I ordered my guys to light up a guy loading a mortar.”
My mom interrupts at this point. “That’s not nice. He’s fighting for your freedom.”
“He’s not fighting for my freedom, he’s fighting for the Oil companies.”
“Really, what’s gotten into you?”
“Tim’s” been telling me that I’m a faggot and a sissy since I was four years old. I’m sick of this sh*t.”
Finally, my mom and “Tim” walk outside leaving me and my dog in peace….
Lately I’ve been reading things across the blogshpere. Maybe I’ve been trying to find some pieces of myself and understand my place in this crappy world. I’ve been getting angry. Apparently, according to Feminists and other “marginalized TM” people like gays, they can talk about masculinity and their theories all they want. If I post, I am accused of “mansplainin'” and told that all Het Cis Males are the same. Well f*ck them, my life experience is surely different than Brad Pitt’s. They are bigots and just try to hide it by using fancy words that don’t even have the same meaning when looked up in a dictionary. So, I’ve never really felt like a “man.” Sure, I’ve f*cked women. Sure, I’ve done shrooms in the desert. And despite what accusations might get leveled against me, I am not living in my mom’s basement.
I guess, in retrospect, what I am getting at is that if I have to pick a moment when I became a man–it was when I strangled another human being. I came closer to killing someone with my bare hands than my gruff, macho cousin. And it f*ckin’ sucked…