Roger, draft dodger, sneakin' out the cellar door . . .

In October of 1964 I turned eighteen. Eighteen was that magical semi-step into adulthood for young men that meant that you were still far too young to drink alcohol, except in the state of New York, and still could not vote, but you were now mature enough to spend a few years in the Army. Several weeks before my birthday I received a large envelope in the mail from the Selective Service with a nine or ten page form I was to fill out and return before said birthday. I really don't remember much about the form except for thinking, "I haven't lived long enough to have answers for this many questions." Or something like that. That is at least the gist of my reaction which was a very complex mixture of thoughts, emotions and panic which at the time got edited down to something which probably sounded more like, "Damn!"

Proud to be an . . .

It's an old F150.

The driver, 100 pounds overweight, in an old sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off. His left arm straight, wrist draped over the stirring wheel with rolls of flesh under a pale, sweaty armpit. He thinks he looks like the father on "American Chopper." His right arm is stretched out across the seat back as if practicing for the day a woman might actually be drunk enough to ride there. A spit cup dangling loosely from his fingers.

Long hair combed back in honor of The King, but not a bit of movement in the wind. A four day growth of stubble forms a patchwork on his cheeks and chin.

He's doing sixty in a forty mile an hour zone, and runs a red light thinking, "shit, it was just pink." If a car gets in front of him he rides their bumper until they get out of the way, and he gives them the finger as he passes. "Get off the road, bitch. If you were my woman you'd learn to get out of the way."

On each side of his back window is a Confederate flag, and in the middle a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Chevrolet emblem. And on each side of his bumper is a decal of the American flag and the slogan, "Proud to be an American."

Is America proud he is?

いわし雲記憶は遠きことに馳せ
The mackerel sky I think of the world Of long ago.
—Kyouhou

Happiness is a warm . . .

The other day while stopped at a red light I noticed that the SUV in front of me had a decal on its rear window that said, "I belong to the NRA/And I vote." My first reaction was, "Big, bleeding whoop." Then I tried to figure out the driver's intent when he placed the decal in his window. Was this person (In my mind's eye I pictured an overweight male with a none too clean 1973 hair cut, wearing Wrangler's that fit only because he wears them very, very low—fastening his belt somewhere in the vicinity of his scrotum. (I always want to remind these guys that belt buckles are not supposed to be horizontal.) He finds stock car racing extremely interesting, and its strategy fascinating), was this person trying to make a patriotic declaration, or was it a threat?


I suppose one could make the argument that he was telling The World, or at least the traffic stuck behind him, that he was an American who takes the electoral process and his rights under the Constitution seriously, and is willing to defend them both vigorously. On the other hand, one could read those words and come to the conclusion that he was saying something like, "One way or another I'm going to force you to do things my way."

Now, I will never know which interpretation was closest to that driver's true beliefs, or if, indeed, he had even thought the statement through and actually formed an opinion. For all I know, the decal was there when he bought the vehicle, or perhaps it was in the envelope of stuff that came after he paid his dues (along with his Official NRA Membership Card—to be carried at all times) and he just stuck it on the window because it looked cool. But I am positive that the image formed by that giant SUV and that decal is one of the major reasons we Americans are so reviled by much of the world's population. The grossly oversized SUV or pickup truck is all too often the vehicle of the road bully. The driver's intent is to intimidate those around him, and force them to give way and acknowledge his power, both physical and economic. He cares nothing about your rights, or safety, and the decal is there to make sure you get the point. Not an image to generate real respect or friendship.

I'll admit that I don't really understand why so many, especially Muslims, hate us so vehemently, but when I see a black Suburban or Tahoe or Escalade or Ford 350 with an NRA sticker I begin to see why just a bit.

人をそしる心をすて豆の皮むく
Discarding my wish To revile someone I shell peas.