I’ve had my share of anger problems and general jackassery, but I’m a fairly laid-back person most of the time. I try to be polite as much as possible. I open doors for people; I keep my black humor to myself for the most part when I’m not in the bar or at home. I scream and yell in a punk band so I don’t have to when I’m waiting in line at the store.

What I’ve never understood is why being polite, being compassionate, and smiling draws such aggression out of certain people. I saw this behavior a lot in construction: some people would simply hound a person until that person flashed and started yelling or threatening violence. And poof! Acceptance! I don’t think I will ever understand this. Are we no better than a pack of wolves that must continually establish dominance over one another? This ain’t the prison yard, fellas; drop the act. A little basic respect and a smile might keep us from shooting, knifing, strangling, beating, and crucifying each other, at least for a while.

Don’t get me wrong. There are times when compassion fails, and immediate, violent action becomes a necessity, but those times shouldn’t be when we pass one another on the sidewalk, or have to work together for a couple of months. I smile because I hate fighting. I hate fighting because I’ve been in fights. Do me a favor, please. Lighten up, and try to check that need you have—and you know who you are—to dominate everyone you don’t fear.

P.S. I didn’t take the above picture—I stole it right off the Internet. I hope I don’t offend the photographer, and I will gladly remove it if asked to do so.

I will tread the Way firmly—with an empty mind and a positive spirit.

I will remain sober, allowing the sun of consciousness to blaze unclouded within me.

If I speak, I will speak the truth, and speak it with compassion.

If I act, the Divine Will—to which I have surrendered this vessel I call “body”—shall propel me.

When I fall, when I falter, I will rise and reconnect to the Tao until I can rise no more, returning then to the Universal Source.

I ask for the strength to live these words so when the darkness of the world clamps its wicked jaws around my children, the light of my living example will spark within them kindred conflagrations, devouring the beasts of eternal night I wish them never to know.

Whoa Gee Motte Kuru No Iasho Ni

I haven’t been conducting myself in a proper manner lately. I’m trying to teach my kids to be upright, straight-talking, compassionate, and able men—and I try to teach them by modeling this behavior for them to the best of my ability. Part of this life curriculum is to never, ever give up. Change tactics perhaps, but never give up.

Not giving up begins with attitude. If I don’t instill in them the confidence to accomplish whatever task they set out to do, then they already lack the tools to succeed. Lately, however, my encouraging statements to them ring hollow in my ears because my own confidence is faltering. I’ve allowed the demons of doubt and acrimony to possess my mind and infect my speech. Suddenly, instead of facing the world in the manner I was taught—like a warrior—I’m niggling and gnawing away at my own spirit, convincing myself I can’t win and the fight’s probably not worth winning anyway.

Well, time to snap out of it. When I was sixteen, we practiced breaking chopsticks with a twice-folded square of paper. After countless tries, the chopstick remained intact. Then I was told to imagine it broken before I took another swipe. This time the paper cut clean through the chopstick. I learned then that thought—intention—carries weight in reality. A negative perception creates a negative reality, and a positive one creates what I want. If I remember to be positive now, despite what my emotions might call out for me to do, maybe I can teach my boys to avoid some of the pitfalls I’ve been stumbling into all my life. It will probably do me some good too.

(I stole the picture off the Internet, but I grew up looking at it in my jujitsu school, and it has been enormously helpful to me. My deep thanks to the original artist, whose name I do not know.)

I once did a foolish, terrible thing, rash beyond reason: I married. I never proposed; I acquiesced. The argument was that the baby on the way should have the same last name as mommy and daddy. Take heed young couples—this is not a reason to wed. But I went through with it. There on the shore of Pyramid Lake I committed my life to a woman who looked like she’d smuggled a basketball into the ceremony under her wedding dress in case a pick-up game broke out (I often have a nigh insatiable need to suck at something for an hour.)

We made a go of it; I don’t want to get into the grimy details of that calamity just now, but after four years (or was it four hundred?) it was over. Divorce, though difficult, brought with it many good things. For instance, ex-wife jokes almost always elicit a forced, pitying laugh. Also, I finally came to really understand “The Serenity Prayer” and the importance of acceptance since we had two kids together and there was no way to avoid this new phenomenon in my life, the rise of a nemesis. I figured that was a movie thing; I never thought I’d actually have one. A nemesis, I mean.

The fights went on for a while and then fizzled out (similar to sex between married couples.) I’m glad it happened sooner than later, when it would have had a greater effect on the kids. I don’t mean to deter anyone. Don’t be afraid to commit to the one you love for the moment. Please, get married; take the plunge; prove me a bitter fool. I’ll never grow weary of ex-wife jokes, and I think we need all we can get.