Since the advent of computers as an elemental part of my
existence, you could track my life through the discussion groups I’ve joined.
First, as a Sheriff’s Department employee, I joined a police
group (typical of their caution, you had to send a copy of your badge, your
i.d. and a confirmation from your superior to even be approved for membership).
A while later, as the new owner of a rescue Cocker Spaniel, I joined a Cocker
group. They welcomed anyone who owned a Cocker, might own a Cocker someday,
simply liked Cockers or had ever even seen a Cocker).
Law enforcement officers are hard-nosed and wary. Men
(mostly) of few words, and all of them to the point. These are people skilled
in the use of weapons and they carry that mentality right into your in-box.
Make what they consider an ignorant comment and the verbal equivalent of Glocks
and Tasers are on hair trigger. Flaming is
their version of Shock and Awe. Compassion? Forget it! If you have a death
wish, try mentioning Hillary Clinton in a favorable light. I sometimes stumbled
from their cyber-world bleeding emotionally. If you can’t take the heat, trust
me, the cop’s kitchen is one you want to stay out of.
So it was a relief to don my rose-colored glasses and enter
Cockerland, where a constant sun filled the sky. Cocker devotees were so sweet,
I could literally feel my blood sugar climbing as I read their posts. Express
the tiniest upset to them and be prepared to overdose on tender loving
care. The Cocker aficionados rushed to
send one another Frosty Paws, a kind of electronic hug. Pets or people never
die, they go “across the Rainbow Bridge”. Cocker lovers always give everyone
the benefit of the doubt. They remember one another’s dogs’ birthdays. I never
felt like I measured up. Heck, I’m lucky if I remember my best friend’s
birthday. I didn’t even admit when Raleigh crossed the Rainbow Bridge because I
didn’t want to confess about the funeral service, casket, headstone and
cemetery plot I didn’t buy. I thought I would only feel guilty confronting an
inbox overflowing with Frosty Paws.
Then I joined a Wesley Clark for President group back when the
General was in the running in 2004. We were drawn together by belief in Clark’s
resume (first in his class at West Point, Rhodes scholar, wounded in Vietnam, 4
star general, NATO commander, etc). We thought it was a time when America
needed a hero. Evidently, America didn’t agree. But we stayed together even
after he lost the nomination. As a group, the Wes Clark supporters tended to be
cool, calm and analytical. They’d write long, detailed e-mails about esoteric
policy issues. They were religious about attributing credit for quotes and
posting links to their sources. Our moderator was militant about keeping us on
a path of fairness and deliberation. This lasted until the great match-up
between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama at which time, we broke into two
opposing camps and deteriorated into name-calling and recrimination. We found
out first-hand how easy it is for even friendly neighbors to turn on one
another.
So I bailed on politics and became a NASCAR fan and, of
course, I joined a NASCAR discussion group. In general, NASCAR people tend to
be one sentence posters. E-mails will flood into my in-box and I settle happily
into what I expect will be a an hour or so of contented reading, only to spend
five minutes deleting messages that simply say, “Go, Smoke!” or “Down with Jeff
Gordon” or “88!!!!!!!”. You can race through their messages as fast as Carl
Edwards makes a lap around Bristol. Their judgments are swift and sure. They
hate with great passion. The most devastating epithet they can hurl is to call
a driver gay. I don’t know that they necessarily think it is true, it is simply
that in NASCAR nation, gayness is the ultimate expression of contempt. NASCAR
people worship at the altar of Dale Earnhardt and that adoration flows down to
his son, Dale, Junior. It strikes me as odd that although I’d guess NASCAR fans
are heavily weighted toward being Republicans, a party that professes its
support for the free enterprise system, in choosing drivers they scorn those
who fought their way up through the ranks in favor of monarchy.
These days, I’m back in the political ring big-time. I was a
dedicated Hillary Clinton supporter and joined several pro-Hillary groups. She
lost, of course, and now the Hillary gatherings have tended to slide over to
anti-Trump discussions.
I no longer belong to all these groups but I enjoyed all of
them even if moving among them made me feel that I was suffering from Multiple Personality
Disorder. For amusement, I sometimes imagined how everyone would react if
somehow all my various groups, past and present, were merged and had to deal
with one another. Would the cops drown in the sea of syrupy optimism from the
cocker folks? Would the NASCAR fans be overwhelmed by the blizzard of white
papers posted by the Clark devotees? Or would the police pull their weapons and
shoot their way free. Would the NASCAR aficionados run down the undoubtedly gay-leaning
Hillary fans?
Or are there more like me than I imagine, showing only one
part of their personality to one group at a time but able to appreciate them
all and using all of it as fodder for their writing?
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