Playing Fair and Being Kind

For all practical purposes I’m a high school dropout. I posted a story some time ago titled “What Time Is It?”. That describes in brief my experience with those four miserable years at Boston English High School. What I do know though is that lower math is my forte. Not much to brag about but it has kept me sane over time. Maybe I should explain.

After leaving high school I went to work at a place where all of my skills and privilege meshed to propel me forward and upward at a dizzying rate. I was a success because of my appearance and humor and ability to slide along like a chameleon. It was nothing to me to become like those around me. I fit in and I was expert at all the subterfuge required. Lucky for me that the episodes were short term in a busy world. I became a popular little shit, to be honest. I decided to take my act on the road. I joined the Navy.

I scored well on the battery of tests at the recruiting station. The recruiter designated me to be an electronics field technician. During boot camp I parleyed my adaptation skills into becoming the Company Clerk. This kept me in the good graces of our Commander. He was a salty submariner. This played a part in my career path. I moved on to Electronics Technician ‘A’ school. With no science background from high school I busted my butt to learn the physics and math required to graduate a year later with a “striker” badge as an ET.

Subsequently I progressed to a large repair ship in Norfolk, a submarine tender. A stroke of luck landed me on a submarine alongside. The sub fleet needed men badly and I was in the proverbial right place, right time. One month after being assigned to the repair ship I was on USS Sirago SS 485. I was living the dream.

I survived two years on Sirago and saw that the Navy represented a capitalist version of Socialism. I liked the prospects of living where no thinking was required. I stayed in. I ‘shipped over’ for six additional years during my fourth year. The money was pouring in and I was hardly breaking a sweat.

I made rate almost regularly and I was learning how to stay ahead of the seniority game. Again my popular privilege was my ace in the hole. Great sense of humor and race, height, and beautiful brown eyes were all I had but it was enough to hold my position in any contest. I was figuring out the system quickly and soon I was a leader in the unofficial chain of command. You do know about that don’t you? There are two organizations in any group. One is the official chain of command and the other is, well, the unofficial chain of command. Both are necessary. The one is for show and the other is to get things done on time. Simple, eh? You can guess my choice.

On one patrol (I eventually made it to the nuclear power driven submarines) I found out via message from our shore based command that I’d made Chief Petty Officer. A week later I found out that I’d been selected by a review board at submarine headquarters that I was now going to be promoted to officer; Warrant Officer.

All of these successes convinced me that with a little time spent learning and with a clean uniform and combed hair I could get anything I wanted. Over time I had conditioned myself to be informed and in touch in every direction. I could do anything I put my mind to. I thought.

My first job as an officer was in a ship yard; Charleston, SC. My bosses there taught me to carry a little notebook to keep appointments, vital information, and contacts. I used that notebook for the two years there and later as a division officer on a submarine repair ship. I was becoming an A type person with many duties and responsibilities. But I was at the top of my game. Race, height, and combed hair was really working for me. I thought it was just me. It was much more and I didn’t realize it.

My “can do” attitude was raging and winning. I was very near the top of the unofficial chain of command everywhere I went. I can remember how I could smoke two and a half packs of non-filtered cigarettes daily, chew a box of Nicoban, drink a quart of whiskey, run six miles at lunch time in one hundred degree heat, and keep the official chain of command nervous all at once. I was still a little shit but that’s beside the point. Years later I would recall that I was unable to look into my own eyes in the mirror while shaving. I was a hard charger but running scared all the time.

There came a moment of reckoning. I’d become interested in saving other people from life’s problems. A common method of seeking help, I discovered. I was chosen to train for the job of Director, Counseling and Assistance Center (CAAC) Naval Air Station Miramar, California. The training was all done by scholarly people with an alphabet of degrees. At this stage of my life I had attained a level of education didactically. I was determined to be smart but I would do in on my own terms. I completed nearly every correspondence course that the Navy offered. My education was broad but shallow. I was self-satisfied. One of the trainers I had noticed my ‘can do’ attitude and my lack of trust in others. I was unable to delegate responsible work to others. With a simple trick they were able to pull my covers and expose my deepest fear to everyone and to me. I was not fooling anyone it seems. I came to earth with a thud and decided to change to lose that fake persona and to begin to become human. I needed to do a lot of self searching and the two years I was the Director of CAAC afforded me the time and venue. This was the beginning of the end of Mr. Can Do. I learned valuable lessons, the most being this: I can anything but I can’t do everything.

There you have it. I can do anything but I can’t do everything. A simple mathematical formula that hauls in the important, immediate tasks and rejects other tasks for someone else to take care of. I no longer worry about who’s going to do this or that. It will get done with or without me. Now mostly without. I still need to remind myself because there are so many ills and injustices that grab my attention. I have to stop and consider what my energy level is and go from there. I can’t do everything. But I can do anything.

 

Well, that’s that. I want to share a story I wrote a few years back. This is about a gentleman and a helping friend. It is a true story and I will leave it at that. I hope your day is going as well as mine.

Peace out,  g

POLITE COMPANY

Francis regretted opening his mind to Gary. He regretted confessing a minor indiscretion. Gary was a new friend and Francis had needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk about a situation he was navigating with Ellen his wife of forty years. Francis and Ellen were still living in the same house but the atmosphere had curdled and putrefied. Francis needed to get a different perspective. All his available information and resources could not give him the key to ease the pain he was suffering. He needed help and it bothered him that he was unable to intellectually overcome what was happening in his house. He chose to open up to Gary. Now he was sorry he did.

Gary lived here in this summer vacation town on the coast. Francis and Ellen came here for the summer each year and Gary was a native so this was a convenient situation. Francis would be able to get this friend’s help and he could avoid disclosing the situation to his more familiar friends back in State College. It was also convenient that Gary had been in the business of counseling people. He seemed like a facilitative person and Francis was hoping to get help from him.

Gary sat in front of Francis digesting what he’d just learned. They were seated at an outside table at one of the more popular eateries on the waterfront. The deck overlooked the harbor where boats swung on moorings and other small craft moved cautiously through carrying small groups of tourists and locals out for boat rides. On the surface the summer day was glorious; sunny, and buzzing with happiness. Inside Francis’ and Gary’s heads the sounds of fear and concern and confession looped into a dreary undulation of what to say next.

Paranoia had been Francis’ companion for a few months since Ellen had discovered emails from a sophomore student of his. She read the exchange of messages between Francis and his charge until she was convinced that he was up to no good. It was devastating for her. Her husband was involved in a flirtation with a twenty something student. It killed her that he was living a life outside of their long marriage; a marriage that Ellen had been certain was comfortable and complete for the both of them. She had left his computer screen up with the damning evidence of his indiscretion so it would be clear that she was on to him. It worked. Francis had seen right away that he was in dutch and that all would be changed from here on. Francis had sought out Gary because he needed to vent and he knew that Gary had great experience in life’s issues. He also knew that Gary was incapable of ignoring sticky situations. He could count on Gary to be forthright. Gary was one of those autodidacts; had resisted academia and did not let learned people intimidate him.

Francis spoke the details of his situation with Ellen. Gary listened quietly without interruption. When Gary finally did respond Francis admired the way Gary simply stated the obvious and kept his cool while laying the contradictions out. Gary never raised his voice and he never used a tone of disrespect. Francis needed to talk to a sympathetic person who had a perspective that could separate the grain from the chaff. What he didn’t count on was that Gary could also see all sides of a discomforting situation. Nor was he ready for what Gary told him.

After an disquieting pause Gary brushed a crumb from the table with the back of his hand and looked directly into Francis’ eyes. Francis became ill at ease more for the back hand brush than for the direct look.

“You know, Franny; women have a name for men who do this kind of thing.”

The one thing that really irritated Francis was Gary’s use of the diminutive. He never called him on it. He was intimidated by Gary’s looseness and ease in conversation. He didn’t have a handle on Gary and he was never sure how to be as direct and as open as his new friend. He believed that Gary did this to irritate him and to keep him off balance. He respected Gary’s intellect. Francis had never needed to deal directly with this type of individual even though he’d risen through the ranks of university to become the head of the art department in State College.

Francis screwed up his courage and spoke in a hoarse whisper that totally embarrassed himself.

“What’s that?” he asked without conviction. His eyes held onto Gary’s but he felt his head lowering as if he were anticipating a beating.

Gary’s expression never altered and his gaze never wavered from Francis.

“Scumbag”. When the word came it came through slightly curled lips and the “bag” part was elongated. Scumbaaag.

Scumbag! Francis’ head raised and he felt angry. How dare this piece of shit call him a fucking “scumbag”. Just the same Francis was trapped. He was in a trap of his own doing. He’d done all the work to set this situation up and he’d planned it all hoping that he would have a decent and intellectual discussion. He should have known better than to trust his life problems with a goddam idiot scholarly dropout! Francis didn’t dare move a muscle. Gary was a trained counselor and was a damned good clinician from what Francis knew and he dared not give away any emotions by reacting appropriately.

Gary hadn’t moved a bit nor dropped his gaze. He sat as still as a statue watching Francis. Francis felt that Gary was looking into his heart. He suspected the Gary could read his mind.

“Yeah”, said Francis. That was all he could muster. He felt humiliated and hurt and slowly was losing his cool. He quickly took a sip of coffee and wiped his mouth and then his eyes with his napkin. He could not regain his composure. Gary continued to watch him so Francis leaned back into his chair and looked out over the harbor and a deep sigh left him. Left him slumped a bit and he felt the sting of tears start to fill his eyes. This was a shitty no good day he was thinking. He regretted ever opening is mouth to this bastard. Part of him wanted to stand up and leave the table. Walk away and leave the restaurant and walk to his car and drive away. Drive away to where? He elected to remain sitting and to pretend that he was all right. He turned and looked squarely back at Gary.

Gary was now leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his expression had softened a bit.

“What comes next?”, asked Gary.

“I don’t know”, said Francis, and he meant it.

Gary guessed this was the most honest Francis had been all day.

31 August 2015