Esoteric Bowl

I am an American. I’ve always been an American, and I have every intention of remaining an American for my entire life. A branch of my family tree has been traced back to the Native Americans, while another branch is directly linked to John & John Quincy Adams.

As proud as I am to be an American, there are times when I criticize the dealings and politics of my country. But I look upon this occasional criticism of mine as a right that has been provided by a string of family members that have bled the grounds red in the battlefields at home and abroad for generations. I also look upon my criticism as a way of keeping my own heritage alive.

I am not alone in voicing criticism of my government. Americans love to criticize our country. In fact, you can pick just about any current issue, and approximately half of the country disagrees with the other half. So no matter who resides in the White House or what party dictates the policy, you can generally expect that half the population (give or take 10,000,000 or so) will be pissed off no matter what direction it moves. This is why we always have people criticizing or complaining about one thing or another. It’s the American Way. It’s a bit strange at times, but for the 290,023,462 people that comprise this country, it works.

Strangely, Americans aren’t the only ones that participate in the craft of criticizing the United States. For the rest of the world, criticizing the United States is a pastime that they are quite fond of. Leaders of other countries have learned long ago that if they point their criticism towards the US Government, they can often direct the attention away from the ills of their own countries.

The mass-media of other countries have followed suit. They have learned that people would much rather hear and read about the ills of the United States rather than hear about their own deficiencies. Someone gets murdered in England, and the England media points out that the United States has more murders. The Canadian Government and over one hundred nations turn their backs on thousands of Tutsis being massacred, and the Canadian press charges that the United States Governemnt didn’t act quickly enough.

Governments and the media of the rest of the world have developed their criticism of the United States into an artform, so it’s not surprising that their populations would follow suit. In my travels upon the web, it is not difficult to find individuals from other countries more than willing to criticize the United States on a variety of issues, but criticism of their own nation is far and few between posts, if at all.

As an American living in a free society, I support the freedom of speech to criticize my country, whether that criticism be from my own soil or abroad. However, to those people living outside the United States, I would suggest from time to time that you give your arm a break from throwing stones at my country and take a look at your own.

The single-line builds in the 7-Eleven store. There are three clerks behind the counter, one at the register, one standing by the cash dispensing machine waiting for a roll of bills to drop, and another with her back towards the line writing something.

The line is slow moving, yet I wait patiently with my carton of eggs. Three guys in their mid-twenties or so with Big Gulps in hand, walk past those of us in line and set their drinks on the counter to pay. The clerk says nothing about their cutting into the front of the line, and instead asks them will that be all. No one says anything, but I can hear muted grumbling from those behind me.

Suddenly, from the line a voice with bass speaks out to the cashier, “Hey! No!” This causes the cashier to freeze, and all eyes in the store look upon this vocal person. Without hesitation, the voice then directs itself towards the three guys and tells them “the line begins in back.”

With a quick study of the person, two of the guys pickup their drinks from the counter and walk to the end of the line, while the third gives a dirty look and laughs to himself and pays for his Big Gulp before walking outside.

Everyone in the store seems to be shocked and surprised by the events. But no one is more surprised than me, because the voice is mine. Now generally I would just let such things slide, but for some unknown reason, this time I didn’t.

The line develops into two lines as the other clerk moves to work the register. I’m moving with the line while wondering and questioning why I said anything at all. I’ve embarrassed myself over something so very trivial. I pay for my eggs and apologize to the clerk for making a disturbance.

I walk outside the store and the guy with the Big Gulp is waiting there. I say nothing to him as I pass, assuming he is waiting for his friends. After I get about ten feet away from him, he swears at me using the F-word. I turn in my step and look at him, and he gives me a verse of “What, what, what?!?” I stop in my walk and return a single “What?”. He then walks towards me as if he is ready to rumble and asks, “What, you like say something?” I say nothing to him, but my right fist crashes into the area of his face just under his left eye and alongside his nose. His body falls back a few steps and my left fist hits him square on the jaw and he falls to the ground. He doesn’t get up, but lays there covered in a mixture of blood and Big Gulp.

People are standing around watching, including his friends. One of the friends is asking his buddy what happened, while the other comes over to me as if he is going to continue the fight but then decides not to. I pickup my carton of eggs and begin walking home. Halfway home, a motorcycle cop pulls alongside of me and asks if I was the one in the fight. He doesn’t arrest me, but he tells me that a report will be made.

I’m sitting here at home and I still can’t believe that I was in a fight. I keep telling myself I’m not like that, and then a voice reminds me that I did what I did, so I must be like that. It’s a shame, because it all could have been avoided if I would have just kept my mouth shut. Again it could have been avoided if I would have just let the cursing slide and continued in my walk. I haven’t been in a fist-fight in a long time. I’m far too old for this shit. I despise violence of any kind. And yet I must admit it felt good, real good to punch that guy out and bloody his face.