Caveat: I’ve taken many of the terms used in my writing from Dr. Cano, and I am using them because they ring true.
We tell kids lots of crazy things. You need glasses… 4 years later you outgrow them. How is that a thing? My all-time favorite was the removal of my wart. I was 8 years old I suppose and had just moved to South Georgia with my family as we transferred with the military. I had been dealing with a poorly behaved, somewhat recalcitrant wart. I couldn’t tell you what finger it was even on anymore. I had endured many useless applications of acid to burn it off, etc.
Once we settled in and my Granny saw the situation, we did something unbelievable. She and I cut a potato in half, her doing the active cutting. I wasn’t quite there yet. Then we took half that potato (not a whole potato… that would never work) and walked to the corner of the chain-link fence where all the delicious blackberries grew under the pine trees in the Spring.
“Throw it over the fence, right there in the corner. You are not allowed to ever look at that corner of the fence again.” She was serious. “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, using the manners I’d learned for survival as a military brat.
I have always guessed that the true power of the act was in somehow mentally tying my stress (the wart as a manifestation of same) to a location (the fence) and then ignoring it long term, defeating the stress symptom that was the wart. Or something… try saying that shit to a doctor, and you can gauge by the responses you receive why I have not discussed it.
Another thing happened in South Georgia. I was placed in a Special Education program for “The Gifted.” In retrospect, as a kid living spitting distance from the Okefenokee Swamp in 1979, that was probably some cutting-edge shit. The way I got there was unsurprising. I began making a public habit of scoring straight 100s and finishing the test first every time. It became a point of honor, and I found it morally crushing if someone beat me to hand in a paper. Success or failure – binary solutions. If you’re not first you’re last. Pretty sure that’s copyright infringement right there, but more on that later.
As I finished first, frequently, I was left with free time. Idle hands, devil’s work, blah, blah, blah. At some point burping and farting were decidedly humorous to my entire class population of boys. I had figured out how to swallow air and make myself belch. #ClassHero. Mrs. Taylor disagreed. Vehemently. South Georgia in the 70s meant any adult within arm’s reach had rights to discipline a child. Perish the thought. But the schools, they didn’t even farm out corporal punishment to the principal. He was after all, a busy man. So, each teacher had their own paddle of choice. Mrs. Taylor had a ¾ inch thick piece of hickory with, no shit, holes drilled down the center line of it. As it swung these holes produced a whistling sound, and when she took you into the hall to administer said corrections, you could hear the approaching wallop like incoming artillery rounds. As could the entire class sitting with ears peeled back inside. The early 20th century ancestor to Lucille, waiting to wreck your backside like you were the Zombie for which it was created; it was both physical and psychological punishment.
That was what my 11-year-old self willingly meddled with in an attempt to gain classroom status. Risk taking and stimulus seeking. You are going to hear so much more about this later.
So, when my position in the “Gifted” program opened, I was far from the only one interested in this opportunity I suspect. I am quite certain my teacher had a vested interest in nominating me for the seat.
Fast forward to 2005, at my commissioning program. One training cadre said it to us all outright, not even feigning the sheen of professionalism after one particularly trying day of molding former Enlisted swine into moderately acceptable Officers on the cheap: “Ya’ll think you want to be out of here? We can’t wait for you to leave! I’m gonna get so drunk I can’t see once you graduate!”
He was, after all, addressing a class of which 25 out of 60 candidates were Special Operations. We ran an insurgency on the cadre that was not only insidious and effective, but it was also textbook. It is still studied at the War College to this day. Creative and adaptive… more to follow.
Now for my attentive readers, I am sure you will find I have a bit of difficulty writing in a straight line. It’s true, and I become more aware of this trait the older I get. I don’t communicate nearly as well as I think I do. Certainly not as well as the younger me would have claimed. That is the rapid shift of attention. And while I overcame this quality in the military owing to genuinely pressing, if not actually life-threatening circumstances, occasionally I now see my writing drift across the various topics in my head with abandon. Worse, it sometimes occurs in speaking.
Another focus point in the military was the “brass ring.” Chasing a goal centered my focus. Roles were dictated, missions were generally well defined, the team was everything. You were either on the team, or you were nobody. The success, ascendant dominance, and preservation of the team drove every decision. The goal was simple if difficult: be the Apex Predator.
So, when your Commander looks at you and says those magic words, “This is a No-Fail mission,” your heart soars. You were, after all, born for this. Words have meaning, and some have a very deep impact. In Kingdom of Heaven it is asked, “Does making a man a knight make him a better fighter?” And it is affirmed to be so. The oath carries weight, more than the sword touching his shoulder. The King’s charge confirming the man into a role of honor, taken freely and in an audience of his peers, binds him to his task. Literal interpretations of binary reality, success or failure, bound to your task as duty to your team. Apex Predator. Before ADHD became the new terminology, my friend used to say, “Everyone here is ADD.”