Commie

Commie:(n) a communist

Growing up, there were three great insults we used repeatedly to decimate the character of those around us, while greatly inflating our own sense of self-importance: retard, gay and Commie

Although they were often used interchangeably for all seasons and all reasons, there were specific times when “retard” was applied. Whenever anyone did anything that inconvenienced us he or she was a retard.

When anyone did anything the least bit unusual, and we were afraid they would ask us to do it, too, they were gay.

And when our parents told us that certain children had mothers and fathers who were questionable in their politics–well, those kids were Commies.

You could probably survive being a retard, as long as you didn’t get too upset.

You could flee from being gay.

But once you were identified as a Commie–an enemy of the state–a Ruskie–a member of the Soviet Union–a sympathizer with killers–well, it was just a little hard to shake that off.

I remember once when two friends and I refused to listen to a girl who came to school wearing jeans and a t-shirt (which was unheard of at the time) and spouted opinions on such things as ecology, civil rights, and even, God forbid, anti-war. She was especially upset with the war in Viet Nam.

In our freshman year, we had one view of this girl–but by the time we were seniors, the national opinion on civil rights had changed, ecology had been honored by the creation of Earth Day, and because of the Pentagon Papers, the Viet Nam War had been exposed as an unnecessary exercise in futility.

We were uncomfortable about it. The Commie had been proven correct.

So to compensate, we just started calling her gay.

 

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Bend

Bend: (v) to shape or force something straight into a curve

Dictionary B

I cannot tell you how many nibbles I have in my ass from all the things I’ve taken for granted, which have now come back to bite me.

I think it’s probably the greatest lesson I’ve learned–since everything in life is basically temporary, don’t allow yourself to become permanently smug.

When I was much younger, I was very athletic–not in the conventional sense of playing for organized teams, but I was pretty proficient at most games.

This was especially significant since all of my life, I have struggled with obesity. So I always heard the phrase, “You really move good for a big man.”

This caused me to puff up my chest, believing that my present prowess, provided by my youth, would continue on into my later years.

I never stopped to thank God for the parts of me that bend, because I assumed they would continue their vigil.

They didn’t.

First my ankles bothered me, then my knees, and I will stop there because I don’t want to encourage further sympathy from body parts which have not yet given up.

I am in awe of bending knees. What a magnificent joint.

So since I have not retained the ability to bend all of my human physical parts with as much efficiency as I once did, I have decided to compensate by bending my will and mercy in directions that establish … my greater flexibility.

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