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“What pain is for!”
My Granpa Hicks wasn’t necessarily witty or ironic in speech. He said what he meant and meant what he said. Plain speaking maybe? Just talking naturally, certainly. If you didn’t like it, that’s your problem. Not only was he loud, tough and brutally honest, but he was also full of contradictions. He was never politically correct in anyway. A phrase he repeated regularly. “College boys have no common sense.” Common Sense was of paramount importance to Granpa Hick. It defined the world; either having it or not. Not having it was the greatest of insult for Granpa Hicks. No Common Sense was also his general criticism for most of the world establishment.
Being the man of his time, the first half of the 20th Century, and his own man, Granpa Hick approved, used and encouraged corporal punishment, or in his words, “A good spanking.” It only made good sense. Pain was an effective deterrent for the young. “That was what pain was made for. To make you stop doing something that was hurting you.” The spanking was meant as a learning experience so it could never be arbitrary or excessive. The punishment had to fit the crime. Spankings were graded and categorized from swat with an open hand for the first slight infractions moving all the way up to the belt and multiple whacks on the butt for random destruction and bullying. He likely would have killed us for murder. We never needed to find that out, thankfully.
Pain was to only be inflected on the fleshiest part of the perps behind. He never approved of a slap on the face or a switch across the bare legs. That was too destructive and emotional for him. That was what women would do. All of Granpa Hicks’ actions were qualified and justified in his moral, rational world. It was code-based on fairness; the struggle between the bosses and everyone else, and his own massive ego. He hated crime and criminals. They cheated to get ahead. Granpa couldn’t stand cheating. The Hicks family was the best at anything and everything a Hick set their mind of doing. No cheating just doing. And if they weren’t the best at it, it probably wasn’t worth doing. Granpa dished out his ethics in short phrases to the kids, backed up with a swat on the butt if you violated one of those codes.
And, as with any childhood memories, mine are clouded, mis-emphasized and many times wrong. I’ll attempt to take the conduct phrases as I remember him saying them. I could have heard it from someone else or made it up myself. However I came by the phrase, I will then explain what it has meant to me. Since I never, to my memory, had an extended conversation with my Granpa. He didn’t have conversations with kids; I am completely responsible for the interpretation or mis-interpretation of the conduct phrase. If I screwed it up, it was my fault entirely. I deserve a swat on the butt.
Personal responsibility was another major driver for Granpa. He was a man who was always right, even when he was wrong. If he was wrong, he was wrong for an important reason. He would declare him being wrong was the right thing for the situation. Full of contradictions and proud of it. My Granpa Hicks.
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Don’t run in the Woods in the dark
Likely this was the first and maybe the most important Conduct Phrase my Granpa Hicks relayed to me. I was three or four years old when I remember hearing it from him for the first time. As a kid, I ran everywhere I went. Actually, I ran routinely almost every day, up until I was about forty and got too busy. I was a typical male ball of energy. It has continued to be both an asset and a liability through my entire life. When a kid, I lived in a small town in southern Ohio, Portsmouth. Right there on the mouth of the Scioto River where it flowed into the ever changing Ohio River. A forest primeval surrounded Portsmouth. Trees were so thick it turned day into almost night. As a kid I could easily ‘go play in the woods.’ They were there. They were real. It was old growth forest out there, inviting, cool and dim. Up until I was nine years old, I regularly played with snakes and turtles, ran from skunks and chased opossums until one turned on me trying to bite of the fingers of my right hand as punishment for grabbing its tail. This incident was the origin for one of my own Conduct Phrases, which my Granpa agreed with. “Never chase a wild ‘possum.” The real point being “Never grab a possum by the tail.” They don’t like that at all. Would you?
Don’t run in the woods in the dark, may not have been wisdom but only Granpa’s wanting to prevent me from knocking myself unconscious on a tree while I was playing, aka, running. Maybe it was both. It obviously wasn't an overly concerned grandparent. He never said, “Don’t run in the woods” or even “Don’t play in the woods.” Every one had to go in the woods at sometime in their life. Everyone!
Granpa was a hunter. A very good shot. He was always in the woods. Of course, I would go into the woods. I was a Hicks. I just needed to know how to operate, maneuver there without hurting myself too badly. Every kid hurts themselves. He knew that. That was okay with him. Hurting was normal as opposed to maiming was not. Permanent damage was a no-no. If you could heal on your own, that was okay. Maiming was not okay. Maiming required doctors. Doctors cost money. Maiming was expensive. Granpa didn't like to spend money, especially on something that could been easily avoided.
But darkness was the actual issue here, I think. Pain gained and money lost, I think not. It was a double meaning. Lack of light as well as not knowing the proper thing to do, not to hurt yourself. Knowledge of the world around you was what was so important to Granpa.
I became a biologist because of my wanting to understand everything I could about those woods. How we, and everything else, lived within them. I put myself through college and got a Ph.D. in biology just so I would never run in the woods in the total dark. Sun Tzu and every other successful military General said the same thing, “Know thy Enemy.” Darkness was the obvious enemy.
Goethe wanted “More light! More light!” for the very same reason.
“Know your obstacles and obstructions.” Granpa Hicks say demanding of me.
Here, though, I broke away from my Granpa's, to me knowledge and reason equaled common sense. I became a dreaded college boy to get knowledge that would give me much more common sense about the natural world. I had a whole lot of it already, but there is never enough common sense, I hope you agree.
But as a kid, oddly enough, I always thought my Granpa could actually see in the dark. He was a life long woodsman but he never carried a flashlight. When we were out in the woods and it got dark, he wouldn’t run, of course, but he didn’t stop walking. Didn’t slow his regular pace. I had to stay as close as I could to him not to end up in the dark woods alone. I struggled as best I could, tripping and stumbling over all kinds of things.
“Keep up!” was my support and encouragement from him. He never slowed. When I was old enough to accumulate small sums of cash from returning glass pop bottles for the deposit money, around six years old, I bought a flashlight, so I wouldn’t trip or be in the dark anymore. Granpa may have been trying to teach me that very concept of personal responsibility, look out for yourself, don’t rely on anyone, or he could just see in the dark. If he could do it, every other Hicks should be able to do it too. He never said anything to me about my flashlight. “Keep up!” was still said to me the same way, flashlight assisted or not.
The impact of these events on me? A Ph.D. of course and I have always had a flashlight close by. I always carry a small reading light in my briefcase. As a present for my wife and daughter I have bought them the latest model, most efficient flashlights, even the latest of the recent hand-cranked version.. To me a flashlight is the perfect stocking stuffer. Holding back the darkness is the best gift you could give a person. It was a present Granpa gave me. Never be in the dark if you can do anything about it before hand. Then no pain, no maiming, and no doctors to pay.
“More light! More light!” It's a good idea to me.
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Responsibility is living with the burnt consequences
There is a family story about Granpa and Granma when they were first married. The story is an explanation of why Granma Hicks was such a bad cook. Honestly, she was a very bad cook. As we kids were told repeatedly, when eating dinner at Granma Hicks’ house. “Never scrap down to the bottom of the baking dish. The food is all burned down there.” All us kids soon learned to eat before you went to Granma Hicks’ for dinner. But why was she so bad at cooking after doing it for thirty or forty years? It dated back to the first day of my grandparent’s marriage. Granpa was said to have come home from work entering the house by the back door. He always entered his house from the back door. Even when he walked in from the street, always the back door. I have no explanation for this. He just did it, as he did this very first time. As he walked through the empty kitchen, it was new and clean, nothing on the stove, only a can of beans with a can opener sitting near it on the kitchen table. He called out for his dutiful new wife, my Granma. Granpa had a very loud voice, so did my Granma. I have one too. All of the Hicks are loud. She was in the front of the house. She was reading in the living room. She called back, “Here!” Granpa responded from the kitchen, “Where’s dinner?”
“Right there on the table.” Granma called back. “Just open the can and dump beans into the pot on the stove.”
Granpa looked over. Yes there was an empty pot on the stove. Everything was clean at this point. At this point my Granma liked things neat and clean. Remember, this was middle America in the early 1930’s. Granpa was a man of his age, a tough rough man of his age. New wife; wife reading; no dinner; no reason. This was an open hand spanking offense. Women and children were to be treated the same back then. Women had just gotten the vote. He apparently, who knows what really happened, marched into the living room, put his new wife over his knee and spanked her bottom. He then demanded that she go in the kitchen and do her job. She was to fix the food. His job was to bring that food into the house. They both could eat it. In his mind that was equality.
She stomped into the kitchen and burned the beans to the bottom of that formerly clean pot. Granpa then sat down and ate it all. Every little bit. I never heard him complain about her cooking. He always ate every bit. Granma’s bad cooking was supposed to be her act of defiance to Granpa’s machismo. Not that they called it that back then. He was just a man. It may have been a true story because it was completely consistent with Granpa’s strong views on personal responsibility. You live with the consequences of your actions, even if they taste like charcoal. He demanded she cook it! He hadn’t specified how. She burned it; he ate it.
This story was also consistent with my Granma’s character. She was the only woman I have ever met that had set her own kitchen on fire multiple times. I always interpreted her combustible kitchen as a subliminal act of destructive defiance. My Granma was no wall flower, no ditz, no frail waif. She was a large tough intelligent woman. She was a member of the Women’s Temperance Union during the roaring ‘20’s. There was a picture of her as a teenager with an axe, standing beside destroyed barrels of whisky she had just chopped up. She had been a Suffragette and a life long member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. No wall flower indeed. In the 19970’s when Women’s Liberation declared that women were equal to men. There was no need to argue it with me. I just thought it was an obvious fact. “Have you met my Granma?” I would always reply. Granma was a capable and competent person in everything she did except cooking, so the intentional defiance story fit. Well, she was also not a good housekeeper. Their three story house filled up with years of stuff. It was full of junk. All kinds of junk, some of it even funny; funny junk; old unused exercise machines clogging the Dinning room. Oh, despite her bad cooking, she ate it all too. She was a very large woman in every dimension. Becoming a man in the Hicks’ family began when you were able to help Granma up out of her chair. She was a very big woman. Apparently though, throughout their marriage, every once and awhile, Granpa would purchase her an exercise machine. Maybe my Granpa was filled with more irony than I knew. There was a belt vibrator, a stationary bike, a treadmill, and other unknown equipment; all unused except for gathering dust. They were the only thing in the house that gathered the dust. Granma never touched the dust or the machine underneath. And the idea of paying someone to come in and clean was abhorrent to Granpa. So their house just slowly filled up with dusty, unused, humorous junk.
They both lived with the consequences of their agreed upon live style. No complaints did I ever hear from either of them. But in my family, the threat was, “If you brats don’t be good we’ll have Thanksgiving dinner at Granma Hicks!” We almost always calmed down simply with the thought of such an event. It was a family gathering that never happened in my memory. If it did happen I have blanked the tragedy from my mind.
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Light the match first
and then turn on the gas
Ethics or common sense? Granpa Hicks saw no difference. Ethical conduct is a common sense approach to human behavior. Ethics make human interaction more efficient and flowing. Ethics and morality were as personal to Granpa Hicks as common sense. The Church and the Government had no right to tell him what to think or how to act. Common sense you learned from properly experiencing the world around you, just like he did. He was already doing both much better than the BOSSES of those flawed institutions. “Power corrupts” was more “power is corrupt” to Granpa. It was simple. The Power is used on the Individual. To hold that individual down. Group responsibility arises from the responsible behavior of each individual in that group. It did not come from the King, the Magistrate, the Judge, the Priest or the President. Granpa didn’t like the releasing of personal responsibility simply because the Group wanted something else, because they were told they wanted something else by the BOSSES. Taking personal responsibility, eating the burnt consequences, was paramount to Granpa. It was only common sense.
Clearly, Granpa Hicks had a trust issue. He trusted that most people were weak and foolish. Foolish weakness is always dangerous. The foolishly weak want to be told what to do, not work it out on their own. Still, Granpa Hicks didn’t assume anything. Everyone should have the opportunity to prove, exhibit their common sense, even if it was minimal. Yes, he was judging people, especially his own descendants. We kids all had to prove our common sense to Granpa. It was judged like trust, a label that had to be earned, not deserved, not easily given,
Lighting a gas stove was a good test of common sense for Granpa Hicks. “Not blowing yourself up” was a good demonstration of a child’s common sense. Granpa had even told me once, “Don’t blow yourself up” as he handed me the box of matches. He never did it for me. He never would do it for me. I had to learn not to blow myself up on my own. If I got burned, I needed to be more careful. When I did get too close to the fire and jerked my hand back, his only comment was, “Hot isn’t it?” Now, when I screw up something or do something stupid in my life I hear that phrase in my head. “Hot isn’t it?”
Ethical common sense shouldn’t be painful, that was his point. It should be learned as a child and be clear to an adult. Pain was the body’s warning that you are being damaged and should stop it. Feeling pain and causing pain was a good indicator of non-common sense. He wasn’t saying avoid pain at all costs, no. If you screwed up you had to take your punishment. Punishment is meant to be painful. Eat the burnt tasteless consequences of your actions. Pain was good. It showed you what you should avoid doing non-common sense things that lead to punishment. Again, personal responsibility, the punishment you receive is your own fault. If you turn on the gas first and then strike the match, the pain of the explosion was generated from your own lack of common sense on how the world works. You deserved it for being so stupid!
“Don’t blow yourself up” is really one of the nicest things a grand parent can say to their grandchildren. Of course, this phrase will make no sense at all to the present generation of children who will never have to light a gas stove. If they even ever have to cook. Here is a good example how common sense has to change with the times. Why we all have to learn common sense on our own.
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You can’t blow out a gasoline fire!
Strangely, this comment was an attempt to teach me my limitations. This was such an odd, contradictory thing for Granpa Hicks to say because as a Hicks you could do anything. Well, anything you chose to do. But not just do it with blind, random enthusiasm. It’s that common sense thing again. “Even a Hicks has their limits.” Would just never be said. “You can’t blow out a gasoline fire” was as close as I was ever going to get. Pushing yourself to your extremes can be deadly; I knew that very well, so I always was cautious in finding my limits. Many of my adolescent friends, thought me chicken shit for not just jumping off the two story building to suffer through the resulting self-maiming. It was the Macho thing to do. This is the Origin of Extreme Sports, of course. What I did, following my Granpa’s succinct advice, I learned how to jump off a one story building first, and only then attempted the two story height. I could land from ten feet just fine. It became routine for me. For the twenty foot height though, I would hang from the second story window and drop from there. Technically, the drop was only about fifteen feet but I was never injured. Which was my objective. Doing but without injury was my motto. Still is. That was the highest I would drop from. I learned my limitations cautiously, truly I never ran in the woods in the dark. That is painful too. I put learning above Macho. Macho always gets you killed. Getting killed from doing a stupid thing is just super stupid and you deserve being dead. Stupidly Macho and dead. Some accomplishment?
But . . . a big but. Reality is full of big buts. Even Granpa can be wrong sometimes. In my early teens, I was with my father in Cleveland, Ohio at a drive-in burger restaurant. He lived up to another of Granpa Hicks’ comment, “Never buy a new car” so we sat in a 1959 Plymouth. It was painted a shiny gold having sharp tail fins which was the style of the 1950’s. For what reason? Who knows? To prevent rear end attacks? My brother called it the Golden Dragon because it did breath smoke regularly when you did a cold start. It was a good car for its time. It was 1967 at the time of this Cleveland- burger restaurant incident. Remember this occurred in Cleveland, Ohio. Time is harder there than in other cities, especially on cars. The winters are long, salty, and wet. Ten years in Cleveland were, like dog years, more like seventy years. It was an old car for Cleveland and thus a cheap used car. We were lucky the car ran at all, actually. So when we finished eating and as the out-door waitress, yes just like American Graffiti, no roller skates though, took away the tray from the car window, my father started the Golden Dragon. It lived up to its name belching bluish smoke from under the hood accompanied by a loud pop, but the engine didn’t catch. There was too much smoke! Things were not right! I jumped out of the car and opened the hood. The engine was on fire! Flames, smoke, the whole dragon personae. Dad was out of the car too and said to the waitress, “Get some baking soda.” She nodded and ran off saying, “I’ll get water.” And she did; a small cup of water. You can’t put out a gasoline fire with water. Everyone knows that. I was on one side of the car. My dad was on the other. We watched the engine of our only car burn. So we both shrugged, “Okay. Let’s blow at the same time.” Dad said. He was the elder. It was his responsibility to go against Granpa Hicks’ commentary. Granpa was his dad. So blow we did. And we blew it out! We contradicted Granpa Hicks! We defied the Universe! We won this time! Even the guys standing around watching, not helping, of course, paraphrased Granpa, “Thought you couldn’t blow out a gasoline fire?”
“Apparently, you can.” I said to my smiling dad.
“Let’s not try that again.” Dad’s eyes were happy but dilated with excitement.
And the waitress drank the unused cup of water.
The Hicks thus can sometimes conquer the
Universe, but I don’t count on it. The Universe usually wins. That’s A. Hicks
commentary derived from my cautious exploration of my limits;
“The Universe usually wins.”
“And it usually hurts when it does.”
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Never buy a new car when
a used one well do just fine
Now I have a large scar on my left knee. I got it when I was five years old. So what? Every adult is scarred from something in their youth. What the hell does that have to do with a used car though? Okay now hold on. I’ll get there. If I was five that makes the year of scaring about 1957. Of course, I got cut in a car owned Granpa Hicks. It must have been a used car, an old car, yeah. So here it comes, it was a Model T Ford. You heard me. And yes it was a shade of black. Black contrast with sharp shiny metal edges exposed at every corner. The Model T Ford was one of the very first successful American consumer items. “Buyer Beware” was always a part of business back then. I was the one that should have been wary.
Obviously, the sharp edge that got me was right where my left knee was when I got out of the back seat. The Kids and Dogs all rode in the back seat. It was a Sunday so my only good pair of pants got cut too. The pants slash was the deepest cut. Pants don’t heal. At the flesh and cloth cutting, this car must have been, at least, thirty five years old. And remember, the Model T was intentionally manufactured on the cheap. That was the point a cheap car for the American consumer. Remember the “Buyer Beware” warning. Safety has always cost too much money to Americans. A Rugged Individualist should be able to handle any and all hazards anyway. That’s what real men do, avoid danger or suffer through it. See this all wraps up together. “Never buy a new car when there was a thirty year old car still working somewhere in the neighborhood.” Was as much a manhood comment as it was an economic comment. Of course, Granpa worked on the cars himself. Here it was both a manly and an economic thing. At that time, Granpa also had a relatively new car, a Hudson sedan with the indentations all down both sides of the up raised hood. It looked like the original Batmobile.
You see now? New cars were for the weak and risk adverse; the afraid and frivolous.
Used car = Hazard = Manly = Utility = Wisdom
When Granpa was finished with a car, or anything else for that matter, there was nothing left to it. It was done. It was worn to the bone. It was finished. It was an ex-item. This action is a value proposition as well as a thrift statement. It just made sense to Granpa Hicks. Use what you have until it doesn’t work any more and only then replace it. An item’s status, as well as a person’s status, was derived from its utility not how shiny it was.
Granpa would say “A white man would ride a horse until the horse was exhausted and then an Indian could get on it and ride it another thirty miles.” Not that my Granpa had ever met a Real Indian. The White Men had killed most of those that lived in the Ohio River Valley back in the 1800’s. The point was though that utility and value came from both the horse and the rider. “In the frontier, if you didn’t know how to ride you died.”
Having a really old used car wasn’t being cheap to Granpa Hicks, it was being wise. It demonstrated you were enlightened enough to realize inherent value and knowledgeable enough to know how to extract it.
Now I have violated this rule twice in my life, well maybe only once. The Accord I have now is twelve years old and I intend to keep it for another twelve. Not three decades, only two and a half. Close enough. And I bought it as the Manager’s Special. It had just under 5,000 miles on it. A lot Manager can drive any car on the lot and as long as its got under 5,000 miles on it, the State still considers it a new car. I bought the one the Manager liked to drive and drove it right up to its limit, no lemon there, so maybe it wasn’t NEW actually and doesn’t count. I got the price down too. Granpa Hicks would be proud actually. It’s a good car. So there was only that once, the Civic. It was an urgent situation though. Oh well.
I guess I have modified Granpa’s statement, but stayed with his intent. I may buy something new, but I will use it until there is nothing left. That was his point anyway, “understand the value of the universe.” Use the world up, don’t throw it away. Someone spent time building the item, you should appreciate their time and effort and fully utilize all benefits of their construct. It is the right thing to do. It is also cheaper than buying new shit every month or so!.
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Never stand between a wall and
a car with its motor running
A brick wall is a very good depiction of reality. It is a hard, clearly defined boundary. It’s a wall, for God’s sake! A car is mobile, movable true, but still . . . against human flesh, a car might as well be a wall, a boundary that impacts flesh. Reality really hurts or can if you aren’t careful. I’ve said that many times. Reality is sharp. Reality can make you bleed. So Granpa Hicks was saying with this comment, “Have enough common sense to avoid the sharp edges of reality.” Don’t put yourself into a place of potential impact.
Now if the car isn’t moving and the wall isn’t either, there shouldn’t be a problem. It is when the engine is on, meaning the car has a good chance of moving. It might move even if the driver calls out, “I put it in reverse.” And you are standing in the front of the car. There car should move away from you when it does move. But you know the world, there could be a glitch with the gear box and direction goes awry. Reality can get confused, gears slip, people misread things. The world screws up sometimes and you don’t want to be between the screwed up world and a brick wall!
I refer to this concept in a slightly different way. I say, “My worst fear in life is dying from someone else’s mistake.”
It is only common sense to avoid potentially dangerous situations. Avoid situations where your life depends upon your trust of someone else, even the most expert driver can make a mistake and either they or you die. The best way to put this advice I guess, is Avoid what you can avoid. If it looks dangerous just assume it is. Then the situation has nothing to do with trust, but with risk management. We’ll get to that later though.
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Always canoe upstream first,
it makes the trip back home easier
Not that Granpa Hicks ever took me canoeing. I don’t remember him ever being near a boat when I was around. All the fishing we ever did was from the Ohio River banks. If he didn’t say this phrase, he would have, so that’s the same thing in a memoir right? Memory is always clouded and rationalized. I said from the start, this was more about me than my Granpa Hicks. It’s my ethics funneled through his image in my mind. But you can see from the previous material, Granpa was a practical man. An efficient man always with a plan. So he would have appreciated this approach to recreational water sports.
To generalize the statement, go against the current when you are fresh and strong. You can exert more of your energy to obtain your goal that way. You don’t have to reserve any strength for the trip home. You can let the current push you back with little effort from you. Of course, being able to recognize the direction of the current requires a lot of experience and common sense. Maybe that’s why all of these ethical statements here center on natural, physical actions; the raging current of a flood is obvious compared to the rage of emotions in a person’s head. Recognizing a current is easy, motivation hard. “Other people’s agendas” I call it. Unless you know their ultimate goal, you can’t tell their true motivation, their absolute direction of motion. How do you then know what to push, in what direction and when? Actually you don’t. So maybe, this advice is only useful in the real world not in the emotion laden, agenda filled realm of human push-pull, social politics.
It is an “eat your peas first” type of comment. Do the difficult tasks right off and then reward yourself with what you like what is easiest. It is a motivational strategy for me. “The carrot at the end of the stick” style. Still, most human’s put the future off, particularly a future that involves work. Procrastination is the word, but it isn’t a good enough word for me. For such a common human trait it should be a shorter word, a three letter word like sex. Humans procrastinate much more often than they have sex. Putting-things-off, even sex, is a major human activity, there has to be a better word for it. Just saying procrastination is hard enough to want to procrastinate saying it. I was just trying to think of a good short substitute for putting-things-off until tomorrow, but it’s too hard. I’ll do it later.
Not a procrastinator, Granpa Hicks. Granpa Hicks was a force, in voice and action. The thought that he needed a self-motivating protocol is almost laughable to me. Granpa was strength and volume. Many people have complained about me using the same two terms or words close to these, usually, aggressive and loud, still like Granpa, I am motivated and do get things done I have always gotten things done. This image of the canoe floating lazily downstream with the prevailing current is both my reward after I have accomplished or at least attempted to accomplish my goal and it is my negative view of most other people’s lives. Mostly, they just float downstream exerting no effort at all to change their course. They never head upstream even if their destination is in that direction, just procrastinate. “It’s just too hard!”
Yeah, it is. That’s why you should do it when you are strong and prepared. I know salmon go against the current only to end up dead. All that floats back for them is their bodies. If they haven’t been eaten, but remember their goal. Procreation not procrastination. They achieve their life’s goal first and then they die. It was worth the effort. There are still salmon for everyone to eat. Extinction is hard too. But of course, you would be dead then, so you wouldn’t notice. Do the hard, difficult stuff early on and then you can die with a smile of accomplishment on your face. Oh, do fish smile?
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Never argue with a man with a gun!
Well, this is a pretty obvious cautionary comment. Well, DAH! You say, but surprisingly people do it all of the time. They also get shot all of the time. Bullets are the ultimate trump card. That’s the whole point of a hand gun, to stop an argument. It does that all to well. A gun is a lazy man’s debating tool. Resolve this! Bang! Bang!
Maybe a better turn of this phrase would be, “You can never argue with a man with a gun and win!” It’s like arguing religion with a zealot. You will never win because their mind was made up long before they started to talk to you. They don’t want a discussion. They just want you to agree with them. You have to agree. You must agree! Their live depends upon them being right, so you have to agree. You must reinforce their believes. You had better reinforce their believes. Their mind is already cocked and ready. A bullet is in the chamber. “Go ahead! Make my day! I dare you to disagree!” So Granpa didn’t want me to die for a no-win situation. Basically, walk away because there is no point fighting something that can’t be changed. That is not being afraid, that is being sensible, that is common sense. And Granpa was big on common sense as you know.
Guns weren’t sacred to Granpa. He grew up with guns. He used a rifle to get food for his family during the Depression. A gun was a tool to him, simply a tool, like a hammer. He used them to do work. He had no ego attached to his rifle. He was unlike so many men who link their ego with the size of their guns, cars, lawns, fishing gear, whatever they like to do most. It was just stuff to Granpa. A person’s ego has nothing to do with their possessions. The person is more important than the stuff they can buy.
Also, I never remember Granpa with a hand gun of any kind. Rifles and shotguns only for Granpa. Hand guns are for killing people only. Granpa even said that, “Unless you are willing to pull the trigger, you shouldn’t have a hand gun, a.k.a., kill another person.” Personal protection comes from your own judgment, your common sense. A hand gun couldn’t be a substitute for common sense.
See, it all comes back to having common sense, practical judgment. You have to learn how to read the world around you, so you can make a decision that won’t kill you. Staying alive is a very good bit of common sense. Well, you can live to appreciate what you have decided. He could have said, “Don’t get yourself killed!” But that is too obvious and no kid learns from obvious statements. Wisdom needs to be sifted out, tweaked out. See he was right that’s exactly what I am doing now.
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Never trust a bullet!
Check the chamber first!
“Don’t believe what anyone says when they hand you a gun, always check the chamber for bullets.” Granpa Hicks would bark at the three-year olds in the family. The first thing he taught me about a gun was how to break it down, check for bullets and remove any that were there. If he gave any of the youngsters Hicks a pistol or a rifle and the kid didn’t check for stray bullets, that kid got spanked. Full on spanked. No swats or pinches. Bullets were dangerous, especially when you didn’t know where they were. “Know the location of all your bullets” was as important as knowing where the kids were. Knowledge of both bullets and kids whereabouts, kept everyone safe. As testimony for the attributes of Granpa’s gun wisdom, there was never a gun accident in the Hicks family. Granpa didn’t believe in accidents. They were carelessness and inattention; there were no gun accidents, just stupid actions around guns.
“No bad guns; only bad gun owners.”
Guns were as serious as things got in the Hicks family. Strangely, having been raised around all types of weaponry, I have never owned a gun or rifle. Guns are tools and I don’t have many tools either. I just have essential tools. I had labwork and academic things to do, building a cabinet and shooting something dead were not on my agenda. Guns need attention too. They are like pets. They need care and serving. Neglect ruins anything, metal guns too. Since I didn’t want to clean a dead animal or the gun afterwards, I don’t use one. I am a perpetually disarmed guy. Not a true American, I guess? Gunless in L.A. Sounds pathetic, non-modern, going without protection. But more people are killed by guns than are saved from robberies or attempted murder by them. Guns are meant to kill. They generally live up to their reason d’etre. Know thy Bullets! Control thy bullets and only the intended die.
“The stupid and the dead.” Granpa would say.
“He didn’t watch his bullets properly!”
“Never trust a bullet.”
Maybe would be better.
“Never trust death.”
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In a real fight everyone gets hurt
Granpa Hicks discouraged fighting. Like everything else in Granpa’s world, fighting was serious business. Thus came this sentence, “In a real fight, everyone gets hurt.” You will get this very same comment from an experienced warrior. The best soldier hates to go into battle. War (a real fight) is the very last thing any sensible person would get involved in. A corollary to this phrase is, “No one ever wins a real fight.” Meaning that everyone loses! There will be more than enough pain to go around for everybody. Fighting is not glamorous. War is not Hollywood. Fighting hurts! It bleeds! It stinks! It is exactly like death, it has no dignity at all!
Thus a real fight should be avoided, well if you are smart, if you are practical. Here is the reason why rich people shouldn’t be allowed in politics. The Rich never are in fights, real fights. The not-rich always make a way for the Rich. People lose on purpose. It is easier to get money out of the Rich if they think they are better than you. Thus winning is easy for them. There is no real pain in their fight. Thus they haven’t got a clue about how destructive a real fight can be. Just look at a real Kung Fu guy’s hands and face. They are scared and distorted from all of the impacts. They have been bruised, battered and broken. Their hands and faces are not pretty. The real fight has taken its heavy toll.
Everyone and everything in a real fight gets hurt. Collateral Damage is the common euphemism. The accidental dead are as dead as the intentional dead. Pain is pain. Death is death. There is no qualification; there is no rationalization to justify the anguish and tears, so avoid a real fight until there is no other way out.
The Japanese sword master, Mushasi, finally realized this. After defeating and killing every other swordsman in Japan, Mushasi understood that his only true enemy was himself. From then on he never used a sword again, only a stout stick and thus with it he got avoid a fight. Who would want to sword fight with someone who only had a stick? And you still might lose!
A real man can avoid a fight or as Sun Tzu said, “The best battles are won without drawing blood.”
Now, believe that Granpa Hicks was a tough man. He was hard and rough, neither wimp nor pussy. He was a railroad engineer for most of the last half of his life. It was a physical job that required brains. He was a man among men. He could hunt and kill for food with the best of the hunters. He was not soft. He was not sensitive. Avoiding a fight had nothing to do with be a coward. It was simply being realistic. Pain is pain; damage is damage. Both are to be avoided if possible. It is the simple, the practical thing to do. Courage has little to do with common sense. Common sense was the most important thing in my Granpa Hicks life. He didn’t want us kids to get hurt if it could be avoided. Still, sometimes you have to get hurt, when it was necessary. It had to be practical pain. Pain for a reason. If you were simply showing off, Granpa would be the one that would inflict the pain, the pain for a lesson, the pain to instill common sense.
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Only fight those stronger than you
I know, this sounds really strange, but Granpa Hicks would only let you justify a fight if the opponent was bigger than you! So, how was this ever fair? You ask rightly. Well, it is fair if you consider the esteem Granpa put in the Hicks genotype. Hicks were simply better than everyone else, so unless the guy was bigger and stronger, a fight with a Hicks was not equal. Of course this meant all Hicks males had to be accomplished in the marshal arts, well, street fighting techniques. As you might have already perceived, being a Hicks was a real pain sometimes. So many rules, so many ways of behavior, all had to be correct and approved or Granpa Hicks would spank you. No matter what your age. Pain we had learned to handle early in our lives, but humiliation was always hard to overcome, especially for a Hicks male. Hicks females always had a difficult time too but more out of a lack of a clear set of rules for their conduct. Granpa was the rugged individualist, macho man, certainly, but a fair one to the outside world.
On top of everything else, a Hicks male could not let a Bully go around doing bullying stuff. Bully breakers, I used to call my brother and myself. A Bully would get wind of the fact that we were the power players in the neighborhood and want to challenge us. But even though we were both small, we were Hicks! The Bully always got the worst of the fight and then they got laughed at by the neighborhood kids for attempting to take on the Hicks brothers.
You are correct too, if you think this was all a burden. It was a right pain and mostly painful. I have a three time broken nose and various scar-tissue to testify to that. A Hicks was supposed to make the world as right as possible or attempt to do that. Small towns are, in general, like that. Take care of things yourself; don’t wait for the government to do anything. They’ll just screw it up. But Granpa’s feelings about politicians are something for another day.
This fighting rules seem pretty straight forward right? They are not because we all grow up. When you got older, old enough varied with the person, you were not supposed to fight at all. Not back down either. You were supposed to take care of the situation some other way. Now here ethics blurred depending upon just how big the Bully was.
So when I was about twelve or thirteen, I had a Newspaper delivery route. It only had about forty houses to it. The week paper fee was about $1.50. See how long ago this was over forty years. And I collected the money directly from the houses each week and then I had to pay the paper distributor from that collection and I keep the remains. I made about $25 - $30 a month. It was a lot for a twelve year old. So one night after collecting my paper fees and was walking home a local Bully attempted to steal my cash. Well, it was a real fight and I got a bloody nose and the Bully got some big bumps on his face and head. I only lost some change that fell on the ground. But I was mad when I got home and Granpa was mad because I hadn’t finished it. I had to put a stop to such harassment up front otherwise it would go on and on, either by the same Bully or a different one. So, I did take care of it.
The next morning on the school playground. The Bully was one grade a head of me, so he was there sitting on the bike rack bragging about what he “did” to me. I walked up behind him and hit him up side the head with my math book! He went down like a stone. I didn’t wait for him to get up but immediately marched into the building to the Principal’s office.
“I was just in a fight.” I said as an explanation for my presence.
By then the Bully had come in with a teacher. The Bully was crying. “He it me three or four time with his book.” The Bully made his excuse for his tears.
I shook my head and replied directly to the Principle. “I hit him only once.”
The Principal laughed and said to the Bully, “Leave these kids alone before they really hurt you.”
And that was that. The Principal didn’t do any punishment of either of us. SO the Bully got the message and left everyone alone. A broken Bully there. I took care of it and Granpa was so pleased. So, I too, am a tough but fair guy still. Otherwise, the ghost of Granpa Hicks would rise up from his grave and kick my ass.
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Never shoot a gun without a clear target
Seems reasonable and straightforward enough doesn’t it? What more explanation do you need? On the practical side, bullets are expensive. Why waste even one? Granpa Hicks never did. He always hit what he was aiming at. Again, why bother aiming and shooting without hitting? If you learn how to use your tools properly, then there is no waste or fuss.
When we were just toddlers we all heard, “Don’t pick it up unless you know how to use it!” You couldn’t help but hear Granpa Hicks loudest of loud shouts. And hitting the target was the whole point of picking up a gun. There was no other reason for Granpa. The thing the gun was pointed at was about to be destroyed. If it was alive, it was about to be dead. If not, don’t point the gun in that direction. There were no hunting accidents in the Hicks family history ever. An accident too is a waste of a bullet. A waste that didn’t have to happen, if you knew what you were doing, obviously.
“You may not be able to control the world but you can control yourself.” Was another form of this proper target issue. Self control, even when you’re angry, was essential to Granpa. Never, “go off half-cocked.” Or “Shot before you are ready. Before you have a clear, identifiable target and a good aim, otherwise it is simply a dangerous waste of time, money, a bullet and maybe a life or two. Hitting something at random, simply by chance, didn’t count as a score for Granpa. Automatic weapons thus were for frightened girls, not men, certainly not a hunter! You might as well just up and die on your own, if all you are going to do is spray bullets all over the place and hope you hit something. Automatic rifles were for the weak and cowardly. If you can’t kill with one shot, give it up. Let a real hunter do it. Also you won’t eat because you don’t deserve to survive. It was the best way to clean out the gene pool.
It seems harsh but Granpa really meant it. People are dangerous enough without them having no control over their weapons. A real hunter could pick his target and know when to shot for the kill. Hunting wasn’t a sport to Granpa Hicks. Hunting was life and death for both the hunted and the hunter. So don’t fool around with it. It is a serious and dangerous business. Death was always serious to Granpa. It didn’t matter what died. Death is important. Death should be respected. Death was necessary but never routine. Death enhanced life, so pick your targets in life well, and only pull the trigger when you are absolutely ready.
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Guns do kill people
as do bullets and people and rocks
Guns! Guns! Guns! In America, no matter what you are discussing about the society, guns come up. Protection comes up and for Americans protections always involves guns somewhere. Thus is follows that American protection involves killing or the threat of killing. That’s what guns are for, right, killing? The universal street gang answer to any and all disagreements, KILL! And, of course, you can never kill all of your enemies; you only make more of them.
To Granpa Hicks, a weapon was nothing more than another tool, one of many tools that any practical person uses for survival. I have spoken of it before here; Granpa was emphatic about the proper use of tools. If you think the only solution to your feelings of insecurity is to kill all of the Others, the horde at the gate, then you are crazy and shouldn’t have a gun or anything sharp in your insane hands.
The rabies virus makes its host crazed and violent, so that the host will attack and bit someone else and thus pass on the virus within the saliva of the host. It is a utilitarian insanity, a useful violence for the propagation of the rabies virus that is. It works. There is still Rabies out there in the world. But it is difficult to see how killing other members of your species could be of any evolutionary benefit? I know. “They will kill you if you don’t kill them first!” You will cry out with fear. Granpa would laugh at your cries. He would yell back in a louder voice, “Coward!” The practical person knows the world around them enough to know when things go wrong. You should fix the problem long before killing is required.
Granpa would feel that if killing is your only answer to your insecurity? Save the world more difficulty and kill yourself. You’ll save money on bullets too. Use only one bullet as opposed to the millions of potential enemies out there. “Make friends, not enemies.” Of course, friends are difficult to make. Making friends means risk of emotional pain. Granpa would shout at you. “So? Building any thing is hard. Destruction is easy.”
Destruction is easy. Killing is easy, or an easier answer than building anything. So we get to the main point of all of these Guns! Guns! Guns! Using a gun is easy, ergo Americans are simply lazy! Tolerating differences, making decisions on good or bad, discriminating what is best to do, takes effort. Too much effort. Just kill it and move on. So it’s not the guns that kill people, it’s laziness that kills people in America. Granpa would agree with this whole heartedly, if he were alive today. “America should get off its lazy fat ass.” He would shout. “Sugar addled cowards! Just a bunch of college boys! They have no common sense.”
Once Granpa said he had an answer to the street gang problem. “Give them all the guns they want and then lock them in a room together. The problem would stop very quickly. The problem would be gone.” Now the American gun represents not strength, but fear and weakness, laziness and sloth. All very anti-American values. Yes, Granpa would agree, guns are now anti-American.
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Government is for the weak
Yeap, he said that am meant it. I know. I know. You think Granpa Hicks was a Republican. Well you would be wrong. Granpa was the opposite of a Republican anarchist. Republicans are schizophrenic. Granpa was always clear and consistent about what he believed. Republicans are the ones that don’t want to pay for the community services they use. They will happily use them they just want them for free. Who is supposed to pay they never mention, but it’s not them. Maybe it’s the Free Market that will pay. No, the Free Market doesn’t want to give only take. The Republicans always talk Free Market (Anarchy and greed) but they love the strong man Leader approach (Dictator because dictators are always good for big business). Republicans act like scared greedy children. You notice how Republicans are always sore losers? They never lose an election. They are always ready to take it to the Courts which they don’t like either. Just scared confused greedy childish behavior. They will actually say, “What is good for me is good for America.” They seem to not want to take responsibility for their actions. They are weak and whiney, that’s why they always talk tough in the safety of their big expensive gated-community homes. They are over-compensating for their weakness. Very Freudian. The essential Oedipal Complex, kill-the-father (government) and love Mother and Apple pie. Granpa Hicks hated Republicans for this weakness and hypocrisy. To Granpa, hypocrisy was simply another word for lying. Saying someone is a hypocrite seemly means they are cowardly liars.
Now Granpa should have been a Republican. He was a small business man. He owned a gas station before the Second World War. He bought Granma Hicks a Hobby / Sweet Shoppe to give her something to do. Business usually equals Republican, right? No with Granpa. He was an Ideal American rugged Individualist. And that would be his point. He was strong and independent, not a whiney child hiding behind government regulation to take advantage of people with no connections. Granpa was a railroad Engineer after WWII. He was in the Railroad union. He was even an officer in that union. He took pride in taking on the College Boy bosses that had no common sense.
Granpa saw government simply as another tool, just like a gun or a hammer. Government was a tool to assist the community true, but it was like medicine too. It was to be used sparingly, government was not a crutch. Republicans always lean on the government, game the system, find loop holes, believe that it isn’t illegal if you don’t get caught. No responsibility for their action whatsoever as Granpa and I see it. Just a bunch of babies that only think about themselves. Short term thinking I call it. They never want to think of building for the future, only how they can put more cash in their own pockets.
Granpa saw the American government as having multitudes of problems; the major one was that humans were involved in running it. But government was essential to keep America free. And it wasn’t from the foreign enemies but the enemies from within. The Republican bully. With the Republican dream of no big government (anarchy) authoritarian dictatorship follows. Granpa Hicks knew this. It is obvious. And no one was going to tell Granpa what to do. Especially some blow hard dictator. A strong government is the only thing that will keep a dictator down. It has to be a group effort otherwise the bullies will fill in the gaps. Monarchy is the true danger of America; whether political or religious, there is no such thing as a Good King. Too much power in anyone man’s hands is too much.
Granpa’s point was that to use government for a crutch, not to take responsibility for your own life made you weak. You were the one that was flawed not the government. It is not that difficult to understand.
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Never tolerate a bully or be one
If Granpa Hicks found out any of us kids were pushing people around, he would come over and spank the daylights out of us. After his ass spankings, you would have preferred to have been in a fight with anyone else. It would hurt less and not for so long. Pushing the weak around was cowardly to Granpa; simple-minded weakness and no Hicks was that. Neither coward nor thug could you be. I am not certain what Granpa would have done if one of us kids had turned out to be a professional criminal. Likely, he would have killed them. Granpa hated crime more than bullying. They were kind of the same, criminals were simple-minded bullies. So maybe this was why Granpa never let us tolerate a bully or the bullying of others.
Granpa’s anti-bully mandate was simple, “Put a stop to it!” Intervention? Absolutely! I have many a scar from protecting the weak. It wasn’t even about the kid who was being picked on. It wasn’t about them. It was the bully that was the issue. He was to be stopped. So there was not, “Let’s all calm down.” Circumstances. It was a “Knock the bully down.” Situation. Get him down anyway you can and fast too. Strangely, our normal fair fighting rules were suspended at these moments. For a bully, it was overwhelming and painful force, a quick, humiliating beat-down usually did it.
My brother and I, at 10 and 11, knocked down many a 14 or 15 year old bully. My brother went high and I went low. We would hurt the bully anyway available. We would continue until he developed enough brain to get up and run away. The running away in fear from two pre-pubescent boys was an important part of the bully busting education program Granpa made us in charge of. The bully showing fear was essential, then the bully was laughed at afterwards. The pains just kept coming. That was part of the punishment.
The very thing the bully was being a bully about, not appearing too weak to the weak, was seen to be true. A weak bully is no bully at all, he lost his threat thus he lost his leverage. He still maybe bigger than all the kids, but now it doesn’t matter. It is a marketing issue, being a bully. It is just P.R. Negative P.R. but P.R. all the same. Destroy the image, show the guy for the coward he is and his bullyness disappears. Who would be afraid of a coward? No one likes a coward, even if you take their side on the conflict.
So we weren’t really protecting the weak, well, that wasn’t our goal, Granpa’s goal, it was ridding the world of cowardliness, that was the goal. It wasn’t about fear. “Only the stupid or crazy are not afraid. It was being sensible when you are afraid that’s the point.” Fear shouldn’t impale you or immobilize you. Fear was fear; deal with it and move on. And certainly don’t push your fear off onto others. Keep your fear to your self, just your religion. It is no one else’s business but your own.
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Crutches are meant to be temporary,
only to be used by the injured and the weak
A crutch is anything depended upon for support. There is the original T shaped stick that fits under the armpit and then all the other modern technological modifications. Crutches have been perfected and elaborated to all aspects of modern society. Crutches for physical problems have moved on to emotional crutches, pain crutches to even boredom crutches. Providing crutches are one of the largest commercial enterprises in the world. Pharmaceuticals, drugs, both legal and illegal, are the predominant crutches of the 21st Century. Granpa Hicks would have hated all of these kinds of crutches. Crutches make you weak, if used too long. Crutches should always be temporary; there should never be a permanent crutch.
For a broken leg he would yell, “Once the bone has healed, put some weight on it!” Did I have his attitude? Well, with all the broken bones I have had in my life, only once did I have a cast! Never once did I use crutches, only once did I use a cane. That cane was actually more a stealth weapon than a crutch. It was the 70’s too. I looked good with it. It gave me style, protection and some support. It was a good cane. Granpa Hicks didn’t even like the casts. “Just hold it still for a few days.” He would command and mostly, as you can see, I did. Thus I never lost any strength from the healing process. Also, I never lost any control over my body. Granpa demanded self control under any circumstances, especially over your body, especially over pain. A Hicks could never let pain command them. Pain was simply another useful tool for a person. Pain was good in Granpa Hicks mind. “It tells you what you did wrong, so you can stop doing it.” Pain was a good messenger, a servant, but never your master. A life without pain is either a short life or a cowardly one. You either experience the danger that is living or you hide in a hole where nothing can get at you.
A cowardly life was not life at all. Granpa would have hated the modern pain-adverse nation America is now. We now have a pill to relieve any and all types of pain. Anti-depressants are now being used more than ever. They are being used to reduce general anxiety, even before any pain is felt. We don’t even want to feel the anticipation of pain. We can’t even take the pain of disappointment at losing a foot race. With have an excuse for our poor performance. The loss wasn’t our fault. “I didn’t run my best because I had the flu or something.” “The loss was not my responsibility. I am not used to this type of track.” No American athlete will say, “Boy was that a bad performance. I deserved to lose.”
America has become the land of the crutch. Personal responsibility has evaporated. “It wasn’t me!” Is the most common phrase in the U.S.A. Crutches make you weak. America has thus gotten weak and flabby because of all the crutches. American flabbiness is generating a fear and cowardliness that was never there in the 1970’s. America never used to hide from the strong and competent the way it does now.
If Granpa Hicks were alive he would go around metaphorically kicking the crutches out from under most people. And those motorized scooters for the elderly, he would have attacked too. Those things will kill you. As you age you need more physical activity not less, just to keep your bones hard. Those scooters are actually motorized coffins. They will allow you to maneuver your inactive body accurately and directly into the grave. And death is the ultimate weakness.
I know this happens because it actually is what killed the dynamically strong individual called Granpa Hicks. Unfortunately, someone convinced him to retire. Granpa never should have retired. When he sat down in that rocking chair, thinking himself an old retiree, he died. It just took a really long, excruciatingly painful time. Those doctors did manage his pain away, so he didn’t know he should have stopped doing what he was doing. The younger Granpa would have screamed at the retired Granpa Hicks. I wish he had been there to do that. Granpa would have then died happier. He would have died on his feet, at least.
Don’t retire. Never retire! It is another type of crutch, a permanent one. And permanent crutches kill you!
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THE END
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Just to be perfectly clear!
All Rights to this piece reside with the Author