Tractors, Bees and Hindsight

 

 I did some lawn maintenance work as a young lad. I also had a terrible allergy to bees and wasps. One afternoon we were mowing this large field out in front of a chemical plant up in Axis, Alabama. I was driving this really big Gravely brand mower. It had five blades on it and a large, powered vacuum bagger on the back. OK kids. Do not do as I do, do as I say. It was a three wheeled rig with a single wheel in the back. It gave zero turn a whole new name and if that single wheel in the back hit a hole it would bounce you pretty hard. It also had a kill switch in the seat so if you bounced just right it would just shut down. That being a real pain I decided to disable the kill switch so that wouldn’t happen. 

Introduce a few thousand yellow jackets. While riding along I disturbed a hole in the ground and out poured hundreds if not thousands of yellow jackets. Two or three nailed me right away and as I waved and flapped at them a few more got me, so I leapt from the tractor and took off running. Did I mention that I disabled the kill switch? You guessed it. After running about a 50-yard dash flapping my arms like a fool I realized the tractor was heading out toward highway 43. By the time I ran it down it was nearly to the highway. 

I mentioned allergies right. By that time, I was in a real-world emergency with my allergy to stings. I had been hit on the arms, legs and face. All in all, about ten stings and I was on course to full anaphylaxis. I had an EpiPen or two in my truck, but it was a half mile away. I popped a half dozen Benadryl and made it to the truck with not much time to spare. First pen done, then the second. Have you ever taken adrenaline? Amazing stuff. Needless to say, I survived. Once I could breathe again, I drank a bunch of water, paced around and bit and then I decided on revenge. I drove back to the scene of the crime, and I could see a couple of those little bastards flying around near that hole in the ground. You could have dropped a softball in that whole and never saw it again. I engaged the blades and parked the tractor right over the hole and I ran. I ran like a little bitch and kept running. I sat under a tree for about ten minutes while that Gravely made mincemeat out of a few thousand yellow jackets. It was very satisfying.  

After finishing up the job I literally had to scrape yellow jacket goo from the blade box with a putty knife. That was kinda satisfying too. The moral of the story is lawn tractors are better than bug spray, EpiPens are awesome, I hate yellow jacket and last but not least. Do not disable the kill switch on the tractor seat.

The thing about coffee

The thing about coffee

My earliest memories of coffee are of my Dad getting up very early to go to work.  I was about four years old at the time.  No more than five for sure.  Back then Dad was an iron worker and he left for work well before daylight.  Once I awoke to the smell, I knew my hero, my Dad, was about to leave for work so I would hurry into the kitchen.  I would smell what I had imagined was this wonderful potion but was bitterly disappointed by the taste even though Mom would load it up with cream and sugar.   Truth was I did not care how bad it was, I just wanted to drink coffee just like he did.  It was a brief time of sharing that I will never forget.

 Later on, I really didn’t think about coffee all that much till I was in my early twenties.  I worked at a Hilton Hotel owned by a cheapskate who wouldn’t run the heater in the lobby during the winter.  Coffee was warm and kept my fingers nimble enough to do the night audit.  I met a great friend there whose name coincidentally was Hilton, no relation to the hotel Hilton, and I would drink my coffee as he drank his Earl Gray tea.  He was a very interesting person and became a great friend and even an accidental mentor in a lot of ways.  The coffee was a prop.  It was an occasion, once the complicated part of the night audit was done, we would chat over these warm drinks.

It was there at that hotel where I picked up black coffee for the first time.  We had cream and sugar but had to go back to the kitchen to get it and get out keys to unlock the fridge and it was just too much trouble, so I went from blonde and sweet to strong and black.  There was a fellow named David who also worked the night audit.  He was a family-friend, and he, Hilton, and I had many long conversations over warm beverages on cold quiet nights in that big empty Hotel lobby.

Learning to appreciate black coffee served me well when I was in the US Air Force working on the flight line in far away locations.  The coffee, shared with coworkers who were much more than just friends; brothers, was a special part of many of the shifts we worked out on the hard stands in the Philippines.

Now, as an old man, well!  The oldest I have ever been anyway at 56.  I find myself drinking coffee while I work…  As a drink…  As a boost of caffeine.  It seems I am going to fast to drink it for what made it so special so many years ago.  I no longer pour a cup, hold it with both hands for warmth and just enjoy the aroma and place I am in.  It seems I am no longer mindful of the coffee, the friends, and those special moments that are punctuated only by peacefulness.

Maybe this is a lamentation or maybe I just had to write it down so that I could remind myself that coffee is for friends.  The cup should be taken deliberately and not as something you do while you do other things.  We all need to slow down in our daily lives and have peace, coffee, and good friends more often.  So, be still, enjoy your coffee for the old friend it really is while you sit among your family and friends or all by yourself, and don’t be surprised if I call you to have a cup with me.

 

Tony Hines
April 28, 2021

School Shooting Because of Neutered Men

Why are we so violent?  I believe it is the direct result of the feminization of American and the world at large.  Before you fly off into triggered land hear me out.  We tell boys they cannot be boys.  They cant have playground fights, no one is allowed to win or lose and we give everyone a trophy even if they do lose.

It starts well before that though with this totally destructive Dr. Spock lunacy about spanking children.  If you beat your kids there is a warm place in hell for you so please don’t conflate spanking with beating.  We have basically told our children there is no need to compete, no need for boys to be boys and there is no consequences for failure or irrational behavior.

Aggression and competitiveness are all parts of the male psyche.  I know many women who are very competitive as well but we’re talking about boys for the this exercise.  The feminization of men has told them that the last million years of evolution that made them who they are is invalid.  Who they were born and have evolved to be is irrelevant they must be passive, feminized and less, well…  Male.

The thing that made me believe in this theory even more strongly than ever before was the person who I had this conversation with who vehemently disagreed with me.  He was a successful gay man in his late forties or early fifties.  I have known this fellow for decades and he is a regular, well-adjusted and gainfully employed person.

As I exclaimed that you can’t go telling boys that they can’t be boys because it frustrates and confuses the hell out of them he was telling me that was ridiculous and then it hit me and I asked a question that cemented my theory on this forever.  It occurred to me that just being a boy and just being gay might be very similar things.  I asked him what his life was like before he came out?  Before he admitted to himself and the world who he was born to be?  He started to answer and then fell silent. Then almost under his breath he said, “Oh my god!” and repeated it three times. “Oh my god!” “Oh my god!” “Oh my god!”

He explained that when he was coming of age gay was not nearly as well accepted as it is now and it was pretty terrifying to tell family and friends so he fought it with everything he had and he tried everything from dating girls to religious conversions and all sorts of things and just became more and more frustrated and nearly suicidal.

I asked him after that if he thought telling boys they can’t be who they were born to be could be part of the problem.  He still didn’t really agree with me but he totally understood the angle I was coming from. If a man is born gay or straight he is also born with many other characteristics that should not be bottled up and suppressed any more than his sexuality. Sexuality is very close to the id and is the strongest drive in any human but what other drives are there that should be cultivated rather than repressed?

No one is advocating “Lord of the Flies” but maybe boys need to be boys.  Maybe young men need discipline, clear definition of right and wrong and they need to be challenged.  They need to win.  They need to lose and they need to know the difference.  The need to feel the pain of losing and the joy of winning.  They need to understand that when they lose it is their fault and that if they want to win they have to work harder and learn and practice. 

When I was growing up we had John Wayne.  He was the good guy.  The other were the bad guy and it was very clear what was right or wrong.  We fought like animals, we ARE animals by the way and we never really harmed each other.  We hurt each other but rarely a lasting scar.  Normally after all this mortal combat we became great friends with our momentary foes. 

In the high school parking lot there was a dozen trucks with loaded guns in the gun rack and the doors were never locked.  We never thought about shooting each other.  We knew right from wrong and we knew what consequences were.  The first time we were told no or spanked for being stupid was so long ago we didn’t even remember it but the lessons were engrained.

We were disciplined, we didn’t talk back to our teachers and god forbid our parents.  We got paddled at school and knew we were at fault and why we got in trouble.  No one came and rescued us either.  I got whipped with a belt at home if I got paddled in school.  Now we don’t paddle kids we put them in time out and they sit in time out steaming and simmering and just get angrier and angrier.

Human nature is a strong force and while it can be corralled it cannot be buried and forgotten.  It existed before there was conservatism, liberalism or feminism and it will exist when all of those theories have long gone.  Boys need to be boys and parents need to grow up and do what is right for their kids not wat is easiest and shuts them up for the longest time.

Touch the Spire

If in a country there was a central city with a magical spire in the middle and we implored all the people to come and touch the magical spire so that they could be healed would we then also deride them because they started from different places or because they chose a different path?  I see faith matters this way far too often. 

Having been around the world a few times I have seen many men seeking the truth and all form varied perspectives.  In this place I mentioned above would you tell a man who just touched the spire that he wasn’t worthy because he got there by walking from the East because you got there by taking a train from the West?  The point was to touch the spire.

Every man has a different path.  He must because no two men can truly start from exactly the same place.  Follow your own path, touch your own spire and don’t let others diminish your success.

I am a Veteran

I am a Veteran.

I have been told for the last eight years that I was illegitimate.  That everything I have was ill-gotten gains and that it was stolen from others.  I have been called the enemy, a terrorist and a bitter clinger clinging to God and guns as if that was a bad thing to do.

These were not perceptions that I gleaned from things I thought I heard imbedded in dog whistles and innuendo that is what the President of the United States said about me, my heritage, culture and belief systems.

I am not and was not bitter.  I do cling to the traditions and freedoms afforded me by my creator and guaranteed to me by my guns.  I was the enemy of those who wanted to take my freedom and my private property to include the fruits of my labor and my income.  I am still your enemy of you think you are going to steal from me.

I am not a terrorist and as I sit and watch people too lazy to vote out looting and rioting because their candidate didn’t win I kind of think they are terrorists.  I will treat you as such.  If you try to burn my stuff you will see true terror. 

We working class people are fed up with being derided for being privileged while we work 60 hours a week and a person who hasn’t worked a day in their life has the same lifestyle we do because they confiscate our earnings and redistribute them to the unworthy and ungrateful.  I don’t hate you because you are feckless and weak but you still can’t have my stuff.

You chicken shit little snowflakes need to crawl back to your mother’s basement and masturbate over those participation trophies you were cursed with as children because out here in the real world there are none of those.  It is blood sweat and tears full of busted knuckles, disappointment and grief. 

We working class people are Orwell’s rough men.  We trade that work ethic for the most rewarding and epic happiness that a man can achieve and that is communion with our God and security and fellowship with our families and friends.

The Thing About Luck

I get very tired of being told I am lucky. As was said before, I find that the harder I work the luckier I am. If you think success is too easy for some then raise the bar. They will be back there again and again.

My Father had a meager education but a monumental ambition and he turned out to be... "Lucky." My Mother grew up in the same dead end hole in the wall end of the county as my Dad and she was determined to see more and learn more and she was also, "lucky."

I do feel lucky to have grown up around that determination and ambition. Set a path and pursue it. Make your own luck and maybe you can drag the rest up the hill with you instead of letting them drag you back down it.

Tony Hines

The Old Man and the Tea

There was an old man and woman who did not know each other sitting on opposite ends of a bus stop bench when an angry and disheveled young man plopped down between them.

He went on about how he hated the city they were in and he hated the pollution and rude, selfish people. The he said he couldn’t take it anymore and was going to Chicago. The old man chimed in and said you’ll hate it there. There is lots of pollution and the people are rude and selfish. The bus came and took the young man away. The old man and woman still sat quietly.

Next a cheerful and bubbly young woman came up singing a tune and sat between them. She said hello to them and went on about what a pretty day it was outside and how excited she was to be moving to Chicago. She lamented leaving the quaint little town and the wonderful people but she was still very excited to go somewhere new.

The old man smiled, nodded and congratulated her. He told her he had lived there as a young man and that she was going to love the city, the beautiful skyline and all the wonderful people. The bus came and went taking the sweet young lady with it leaving the old man and woman.

The older lady then asked the man where he was heading. He replied nowhere really. “I just like talking to people who are heading somewhere new,”

She apologized for listening in and asked why he just told the angry young man that Chicago was awful and then told the beautiful young lady how nice it was.

Then the old man spoke. “I have been around the world several times and loved every place I have been. The one thing I have found everywhere I went was me. I had to go to places and do things I never wanted to do but ‘I’ was there with me no matter where I went and I could never leave me behind or arrive without me. That young man sees darkness and he will see it there. The young lady sees sunshine and she will see it there because his darkens and her sunshine are both within themselves.” Then he asked, “So where are you headed this fine day?”

She replied, “I was going to Chicago for a change of pace. My husband died a month ago and I can’t seem to find peace until just now. I think I will skip Chicago and have a cup of tea across the street. 

Will you join me?”

The old man smiled and said, “of ‘course. I love tea.”