The inequity here is maddening. 

I came back home hopeful. I had hoped things weren’t as I remembered. I hoped it was my immature perspective that caused me to run from this place.

I made an honest attempt at looking at this situation with new eyes. God’s eyes.  A blank and open perspective. 

I tried giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. Playing devil’s advocate. Running the arguments of both sides in my mind whilst sussing out a situation.

For over five years I’ve tried.

The conclusion I’ve come to is this,

This place has a big problem.

A love for money, overinflated pride, and an entitled group of people who play others like a troup of amateur marionettists.  Oh, and then there’s the rampant racism.

That certainly isn’t a reflection of the entire population as there are good and decent, hard working people everywhere. They just seem to be caught in the crossfire. Forced into silence because the opposition is always so overbearingly loud.

You see, the bullies here grow up to become adult sized bullies. They never really mature. They just get bigger.  If they don’t leave here and branch outward from this stump of their homestead, their children then pick up their wretched baton and become bullies in the same ways and in the same schools.

And, because their parents are manipulative, scheming, and advantageous, these kids get and do whatever they want without consequence.

It’s a cycle.

A sick and depraved birthright. 

It seems acquiring more and clawing to keep come part and parcel with having extra.

I don’t know if they’re trying to maintain a lifestyle or keep up with the Jones’.  But, they only have themselves to blame for their bad behavior.

I suppose all small towns are this way.

I suppose some here have avoided these encounters entirely.  This post isn’t aimed at you or geared toward you, in that case.

But, I and others have found,

Outside of this small town, the rich bullies aren’t important. They can’t control people. So they stay here and they stay the same.

Their kids say things like, “Do you know who my parents are?”, and, “I have money. Based on that outfit, you obviously don’t.”

You may also hear fully grown adults say silly things like, “We don’t talk to them.”

We who?

I struggle to think of anything more tacky, classless, and as poignant an example of bottom of the barrel behavior than statements as vain as those. 

Now, the bullies who are just mean for sport, they disappear in a bigger city. They can be avoided. They frequent certain places and cease to exist if you don’t seek them out.

But, in a small town, most people are sandwiched in between the abuse from above and below.

Each generation of the “haves” gets worse, and so does their behavior toward the “have nots”.

They stray further and further from the reality that, somewhere in the past, someone worked very hard to endow them with the ease they take advantage of and the influence they flaunt and misuse.

How ashamed those forebearers would be to see what their progeny have become.

More entitled.

More close minded.

More aggressively arrogant.

More greedy.

They will do anything to stay on top.

I bopped in and out of their presence when I was in school.  It seemed they didn’t dislike me when they first took notice of my post pubescent appearance. Prior to puberty, I was the weird one. I had glasses. I played boyish games. I loved books.  Those were the standards by which they chose to mock me.  Needless to say, I didn’t like them, even as they loudly declared to everyone that they were far superior to all of us.

I couldn’t find an ounce of admiration for them.

Nor could I find an ounce of fear.

To top it all off, they were mean to my friends.  That made them the enemy. 

I resolved to never become like them, even when they inevitably came calling.

In high school, the boys here called me a prude.

To the girls, I was a slut. 

Riddle that one out for me and let me know what you discover.  All I sensed was envy and lust.

They had never found me valuable before I grew 6 inches in one summer.

Before I agreed to dress in more than wind pants and puffy paint sweaters. 

Before I agreed to brush my hair on a daily basis.

I knew exactly why they decided I was interesting. 

They had a vapid use for me.

That brings me to another ill effect based on appearance that causes a lot of people trouble around here.  That one has to do with skin tone.

With every new face and race that enters city limits, the fear grows in these bullies who are desperate to maintain their control over position and perspectives. 

Bullies hate a challenge. 

Even if you are only asking them to challenge their own ignorant views.

Actually, especially then.

These folks who couldn’t survive hitting a pothole with an armored tank,

These people who are terrified by fair competition,

These champions who just can’t compete with what their inferiors possess,

They just can’t win without their misdeeds and manipulation. 

They are the third string. 

The people they bully are the starters.

Physically, sometimes but, morally, always.

And they know it.

I don’t remember hearing the “N” word in school but, back then, we only had a few black students. 

I did hear it a lot outside.

Now, my children hear that disgusting, hateful word everyday.

I asked myself, if they’re so cruel to my blonde haired, blue eyed boy, so evil and catty to my olive skinned girl, so abusive to my tall brown eyed brainiac of a son, all because they have family in Alabama, how are they treating those who are obviously much more different than the pale faced populace?

It chills my bones and lights my fire simultaneously to think of how those children are being treated.  Any slight difference in the norm will have you ridiculed.  What are they doing and saying to people who have dark skin and different cultures?

Racist things. That’s what.  Horrible racist slurs and daily degradation.

I’ve seen black kids and adults followed in stores, as if they’re bound to steal something.

I’ve heard they’ve had the “N” word hurled at them in the hallowed halls of PWMS/PHS, daily.  Loudly. And the school knows all about it but, “that’s just how it is”.

I’ve heard the word coming out of the locker room and seen them sidelined with almost every other player, aside from a very select few.

(That’s another story)

They’ve been ridiculed for wearing culturally specific clothing.  Called wife beaters because they wore a doo rag that day. 

They’ve been blamed for upticks in crime and burglaries because they’re new and brown.

They are treated as if they are “less than” because of the ignorance of a certain crowd, that, if in another place, found themselves matched or outnumbered, would certainly cower in obedience to the norms of the majority, as they always do.

Because, after all, it takes no courage to do what everyone else is doing. It takes a great deal of bravery to be who you are everywhere.

The demographics for this town are as follows:

85% white

10% Hispanic

3% black

The other 2% must be these otherworldly gods on earth who think they can float and shit golden eggs because they’re so much more worthy than the rest of us.

So righteous, in fact, that they’d brow beat their preachers,

Holy people,

Local theologians,

They’d ignore the very voice of God in order to get their way.

They attempt to sway their priests into biblically voicing their perspectives, religiously influencing their flocks to submit to the selfish needs of a few.

I’ve seen them fail. I’ve seen them succeed. It’s the audacity in their trying that I find unforgettable.

Those “special sheep” have had far too much for far too long, in my opinion.

They’ve become wolves amongst the lambs.

Animals indeed. 

In the best of circumstances, these faithful leaders are clever and anchored in their faith, and can circumvent these demands with grace and certainty. 

Hopefully we don’t all end up being afraid for our souls if we don’t tow their rancid line.

Hopefully.

We’re all just people here, though.

No one perfect. No one immune.

I’m just not sure how we got here.

How did the few overwhelm the many?

How did it become acceptable to lob the “N” word carelessly across the aisle?

How did we come to fear this minority of gritless weasels?

How do we make this place habitable again for reasonable folks who just want to earn their way with hard work and character at the helm instead of allowing social schemes and devious maneuvers to steer their proverbial ships?

What is wrong here is what is wrong everywhere. 

It’s just so much more visible under the microscope of this diminutive dwelling place we currently call home.

More obvious.

More pungent.

More pressing.

We are where we can see that the flap of the butterfly’s wing or the ripple on the water either have an effect or completely dissipate.

Where we are each personally and abundantly responsible for every word we say and move we make.

Here there is pressure in being seen because this place is too small for anonymity.

Who needs it?

It’s just another plague.

Another snake.

Another apple.

Just lay it all bare and let the cards fall.

They’ll yell in your face, talk behind your back, use you until you’re useless, take without giving, while some here will feed you, comfort you, defend you, and flat out take a bat to a windshield for you.

(Depending on who you ask)

Forget them until the world needs you to remember exactly who you are compared to who they pretend to be.

After all, it’s just another lion’s den, Daniel.

Now we have to do what He commanded us to do over a hundred times and be not afraid.