something about the rain in San Antonio, or maybe the ground--in that it (the rain) doesn't soften the ground--something about that whole tableaux (the rain hitting the ground for days and the ground resisting it's ability, it's physical duty, to soften under such treatment), well, it speaks to the nature of the people who live here. Surely, it can be explained by the lack of the sky's perspiration, sweat, over such a dry-hot clime, and the resulting stubbornness of the earth, like a hungry, overtired child refusing a peanut butter sandwich and a nap.
stubbornness, me so humbly thinks, is the key word. a resistance devoid of logic, given the situation. ignorance, some call it. intolerance, others. but a simple replacement of empathy, as an instinct, with stubbornness, is a fair way to explain some observable behaviors of the people one encounters in this city. so much for southern hospitality.
let me now, for specific reasons, give you reason to disregard my judgment of the ground and people of San Antonio, Texas. I have only been called a 'faggot' once in San Antonio. I have many times been called the same in the Chicagoland area. even since middle school. as recently as last spring, i was waiting for a bus when a car occupied by two young men drove by, the passenger with no provocation (save for some insecurity and maybe a need to be distractingly cruel in front of the driver, whom he may or may not have been secretly attracted to, though it's not my place to speculate) shouted 'faggot' at me. it's something i have grown accustomed to, sadly. i guess i just have that face.
when, though, now, today, i was driving by on base (Fort Sam Houston, home of the Combat Medic), at a required and strictly enforced speed of 20 MPH, i was called a faggot by one of two men, walking side-by-side on the sidewalk to my right, i had greater consternation. i was dismayed, though not surprised, anyway.
i suppose my judgment of those more 'stubborn' in Illinois is more focused on the people and not the place, because i love the place, and i am able to cast them off as rude or bad seeds or whatever cliche gets the comment to roll rain-on-duck-like off my back. and the fuck me part of it is that the people who insulted a stranger, me, today, are likely not from Texas. They are displaced soldiers, likely in training, i pray (because such immaturity can not, please, go past training into those who kill or save lives for us). but my lack of attachment to this hard earth part of the world causes me to cast a wider judgment on the place itself. a silly reaction stemming, in some don't-analyze-me-you're-not-my-shrink-so-drop-it way, from the hurt i like to think doesn't penetrate me but obviously does if i'm writing all of this just because someone called me a faggot.
21 days, a half hour ago. that many days before we head home, then to a new home.
it rolls off the tongue in an artful way, the word. you need a northeastern accent to pull off the term 'queer.' but faggot stings. especially if said in the bumpkin way, sharply: 'fay-git.' and it's sad how much it affects me in such an obvious way. i present myself as unhurt and flaccidly, yawningly, above such a pitiful attempt at insult. inside, i fume. it can last days, has lasted years cumulatively, the amount i am upset. it gives potency to a term used by such people who can easily be called insecure and more harshly be called inbred yokels.
i wish that my armor could only be penetrated by those who criticize real attributes of mine. but an off-hand shout by a stranger serves, here, to display how easily i am penetrated. my rant denouncing this behavior, well, it shows something. my own insecurity. my frustration over wanting to stop the car, put it in reverse, kick back to drive, hop the curb, and show the young man the power of the word he so loftily uttered. or is it my unwillingness to stand up for myself because of some over-intellectualized excuse that responding is just giving the man what he wants, even though that is just a bullshit way of masking my fear of physical confrontation?
but shit, who knows. who is the bigger man? the one who swells up in his chest when he belittles a stranger? the one who shrinks densely with anger when belittled? mostly, and most obviously, neither. it's something that has no bigger man. it, the name-calling, the stubbornness, the intolerance, the insecurity, the petty reaction, only serves to shrink humanity into some infinite regression. it makes us small.
the man steps to the side of the lectern, swirls his hand daintily from his brow downward as he bows to raucous applause. the audience acts out of reflex, slowly ingesting the sourness of his speech.
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