The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

I understand that we humans are basically social animals. I get that. But I grew up in a family that moved from one part of the country to the next, uprooting us munchkins from our schools, our churches, our boy scout troops, our Little League teams and our neighborhood friends. By the time I was 18 we had moved 14 times. So when I started school in a new town, the teams had been picked, the cliques had formed, the lines had been drawn. I ate a lot of lonely lunches in those school cafeterias.

When we moved from Georgia to Milwaukee, the only kids who would give me the time of day were either the geeks or, oddly enough, the hoods. The hoods, despite what you might think, weren’t pretend hoodlums, they carried switchblades and some had guns. But all in all, they were friendly and I was friendless. If you want to understand why kids join gangs, this is basically the reason. My good newfound buddy Randy asked me one day if I wanted to join him and the boys for a drive into downtown that weekend. ‘What’s the plan?’ I asked innocently, thinking maybe a movie or grab an ice cream cone.

‘We’re gonna rumble,’ he grinned. ‘We go downtown every Saturday night to rumble.’ I asked, what’s rumble? Not a term we used down in rural Georgia much. ‘Fight,’ he said. ‘Kick some ass.’ ‘Fight?’ I asked. ‘Fight who?’

‘The niggers,’ he answered. ‘We got four of us, we look for a few of them walking the streets. Then we rumble.’

‘Kick some ass,’ I said, ‘ but ya know, that does sound like fun, only I’m not much for fighting. Dancing maybe. Find some girls. More up my alley. Rumble, I don’t know, Randy. And besides, I don’t have anything against niggers. I don’t even call em that, no offense.’ Like I was worried at that point of being offensive.

Needless to say, I went back to my old lunchroom cafeteria ways and my career of a streetfighting man ended before it even started. Way of the world, I guess. But along comes Facebook a few decades later, offering me one more chance to join in with my fellow tribesmen, an opportunity for social approval, acceptance and the distinct possibility of trolling, ratings, defriending, all those wonderful popularity scorings I’d missed by being a loner in my youth. Oh you bet!

So once again I’m happy enough without the thumbs up thumbs down, the like or dislike, the conformity of my extended group. If this is anti-social, count me in. I’m content being my own worst critic, okay by me.

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