Only Human

Here's the whole story

I used to spit “hot fire…”

And I’m not talking about the “hot fire” spat by Dylan or Dave Chappelle’s immaculate portrayal of Dylan in "Making the Band Season 2." Instead the said “hot fire” to which I’m referring is caustic and spiteful in nature, leaving third degree burns on your emotional erogenous zones. Put more succinctly, I was one MAJOR LEAGUE ASSHOLE in high school. Back then, I was one of those “Heavy-Hitting, Barry Bonds On Juice” types of A-hole. Nowadays? Not so much. I’m more of a triple-A, minor leaguer who gets the occasional call from the ‘Bigs’ to hit as a DH, but I digress.

I attended an all boys, Catholic high school where “diversity” and “brotherhood” came together as harmoniously as Kanye and 50 Cent. Anything (and I mean ANY THING) that made a person the least bit unique became my personal amo, which I could use to unleash heinous public attacks on innocent human beings. I most distinctly remember my favorite "weapons of choice" being body shapes, lisps and Hispanics, but the entire list is too exhaustive to count. In no way am I telling you all of this to be cheeky. I’m not proud of the breadth and depth of my maliciousness. More importantly, there’s a lesson in this, already drawn out, story. I had no clue I’d be writing this much, but I digress.

Upon further reflection, the roots of my causticity are traceable to one sentiment: I felt like crap. I, too, could not escape becoming someone else’s object of ridicule…for being too short, too dark, too ‘ethnic.” My peers relentlessly reminded me of all the ways I was “different,” and in high school, being different sucked. From an emotional standpoint, I would compare the worst aspects of an all boys, Catholic high school to the television drama “OZ...” if it was moved from HBO to Nickelodeon. Imagine the unabashed emotional bullying without all the wieners and poop, but I digress.

I was emotionally beat down to the point where I carried the seemingly burdensome aspects of my identity like Hester Prynne wore the scarlet letter. So instead of expending energy in feeling better about myself, I took the road MORE traveled. I fought fire with fire. I spat. And the sad reality of this whole situation was that behaving this way did not, at all, make me feel any better. It just brought everyone else around me down to my level of misery.

As I’ve grown older, I believe I’ve moved past my old behavior, but I must admit that I sometimes still feel the urge to retaliate when I feel disrespected or raise my voice when someone is yelling at me. While this feeling is still present, it’s much easier to suppress, knowing that fighting fire with fire is completely and utterly unproductive. And that's why I'm now playing in the minors folks!

So lessons learned: a) Surround yourself with people that don’t marginalized you b) Never lower yourself to another person’s level c) Be nicer than usual RIGHT NOW and try to stay like that d) Reading Herman Melville only leads to obscure analogies, but I digress.

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