Uber Ripple

The title of this posting is "Uber Ripple," like beaucoup effects that you don't even know. And Things You Can Do.

Yes, you snot-nosed nineteen-year-old. Sit up straight! I'm talking to you.

One time, your Uncle David, my father-in-law, and now, his new wife, then, "lady friend," went to a Phillies game, and we got to sit in these uber expensive, special section tickets provided by your Uncle David's company.

We were so excited! Phillies! "World Champions of Baseball!"

Immediately behind us were some snot-nosed twenty-two-year-old rich young men from CA. They sat for nine innings, talking loudly on their cell phones, and trashing the Phillies.

I  knew  I  should  have  done  something.   I should have gotten an usher. Something. I'm the responsible teacher, right? I am trained to know when something is going to happen. All of that special-ed experience, when a student's eyes can glaze over and reality is just choking someone next to you for no particular reason. You're attacking me! I think you're attacking me! You like look someone else, and I just hate you! Die, mother-fucker!

I saw it coming, but I sat there, hoping it would stop. Making every excuse:
--If I get up to get an usher, something will happen.
--I can't leave these people alone.
--Maybe if I just sit here, it will stop.
--I don't know the phone number to call to report an annoying fan.
--I'm overreacting.
--Nothing will happen.
--People are crazy, and this is the way it is.

All of a sudden, [at about the eighth inning] my father-in-law's lady friend answered them back, and told the young twenty-two-year-olds to stop. But in a really fresh way.

Having an older woman talk back to them only escalated the situation. One of the young men made a nasty, sexual remark about giving it back to her all night long and she would enjoy it--or something like that.

Your Uncle David got up and threw his Coke on the young, foul-mouthed asshole.

Then the young, foul-mouthed asshole threw a punch at your Uncle David. And your Uncle David threw a punch back at him.

Then, THEN, the ushers came over and escorted us out of our seats.

We had to go to some security office and give our names and information. And we had to leave.
We were not going to be charged. And, we missed the end of the game.

But your Uncle David thought he was going to get fired for the next forty-eight hours.
And I sat there, blaming myself. "This is all my fault. I should have done something. I knew something was going to happen." 

To you, my dear nephew, this is all terribly funny, and inconsequential. That is a big word that means, "it doesn't mean anything."

Would you be the a-hole sitting at a game, talking loudly, trashing someone else's team, being an obnoxious bully, speaking crudely to a female (especially an older woman), and thinking "I can do anything I want? Who gives a fuck?"

Well, you already are.

Take a really good look in the mirror.
I could say, "Well, you wouldn't shoot yourself in the face, would you?"
And you would say, "I don't care. It would be an improvement."

Snot-nosed kid.

Take a really good look at me in the mirror.

I'm the same as you.

I'm not sassing anybody. (Sassing is another old-fashioned term for dising.) But I just let it happen.
I didn't do anything.
Did you do anything?

Did you do anything when you were calling that other guy names?
Do you do anything when you give your mother a hard time and curse at her?

Are you doing anything?


Are you doing anything, um, productive?

Yes, you. Are you doing anything?

If you don't do anything, or do something stupid, all you have left is negative energy.

Now take a look at your grandmother in the mirror. Pick one.
They never did anything either. They certainly had, and still have, a lot of negative energy.
{Yes, I know, a lot of negative smells, too, but we're not talking about that.}
If you look, you can see parts of yourself in them, and in me.

Don't end up like us. Or--them--or, me.
I still have a little time left.
How about you?

I don't know what happened to those twenty-two-year-olds from the baseball game.

I just know that I must have a Dorian Gray. I have sold my soul on occasion, times when I didn't do anything. I have taken risks, positive risks, but there have been many times when I didn't. I didn't buy that house and the apartment building that went with it. I haven't invested wisely. I haven't bought bonds every week. I haven't published yet. I never went to meet my friend in Bethlehem. I have other secrets--secrets I have never told anyone. I often don't look in the mirror anymore. There's Dorian. Ugly, wrinkly, frightening, devil. Did I mention wrinkly?

I don't think you have a choice at this point. You're going to look. Because the one thing you do is make sure your clothes are ironed, and you do look in the mirror. Huh.

Take a really good look past the clothes. Do you see your ancestors? We're all there--here--right inside. It's all up to you whether you smile or not.

You told me when you were twenty-three-months old, "Mile." Take your own advice.

******************
By the way, I never did get that "Mile" story published, because one O editor told me I wasn't famous. She wouldn't publish my story because I wasn't famous.

But that's another story....
Uber Ripple....