Trampled Under Foot

He told me I shouldn’t hold him accountable for his actions because he was just a volunteer as if I was his priest and those few words were his confession.

I smiled at him and said I understood that to mean that he had a very limited skill set and that his capacity for instructing and helping others must be quite limited. The smile on my face when I said it didn’t hide the lack of grin in my eyes leaving him unsure about whether I was insulting him or if I was as dumb as he hoped.

He might have forgotten our history and our past but I hadn’t.

A lack of reaction to past transgressions didn’t mean I had given license to present and future misdeeds nor did indicate that I was oblivious. It just meant that for a time I was indifferent because he was inconsequential and irrelevant.

If push had come to shove and someone had asked me what I thought of him I would have described him as the kind of man who I would slap and not punch. If there is a code among men the slap is understood as being a significant insult.

You may punch a man you don’t respect but you only slap a man you don’t consider to be a man. It is as embarrassing as getting your ass kicked by a step child.

Call it the joy of testosterone

The hard edge doesn’t come out nearly as often as it once did because life is too short and there isn’t much interest or need. I didn’t always see that when I was younger but now in my older and wiser years I am less inclined to give that side time.

That is because anger is often a waste of time and generally unhelpful. But there are still moments when it is fun to let the dogs bark and to enjoy an unfiltered tongue.

And when those moments come I speak as I will and do as I want to because I am willing to accept the consequences that may come.  Consequences are part of the joy of life and younger men don’t always spend as much time as they should considering what might happen if they choose to engage in action A, B or C.

Call it the joy of testosterone.

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