The Native Iowan

When I was in school, grades 6, 7, 8 I was placed in a couple advanced classes. Or, rather, as a 6th grader that was a reader, I was put in classes with 7 and 8 graders reading to my level.

One of my classmates was an 8th grader that weighed 250lbs/120kgs. Named “Terry” by his family, everyone called him “Fuzzy”.

Now Fuzzy was from a big, big farming family. He had a couple big brothers, and they were big like him. He had so many cousins I’d venture to say half the school were his relatives. They were all big. I believe/ recall his father went by the nick-name of “Angus” because he was built like an Angus bull.

And Fuzzy decided early on that he didn’t like me. Hated the idea that I sat next to him in a couple classes. He tormented me physically.

But I learned quickly my wit and words were greater weapons/ tools than Fuzzy’s braun.

Rather than complain or cry when Fuzzy “hurt” me (which was often) I’d use my impressive 6th grade vocabulary to give Fuzzy a verbal left-right. I often stalled the torture Fuzzy doled out by confusing him, perplexing him, angering him with words. If I got the words right I’d have Fuzzy embarrassed in front of our peers, I’d get him to flush red and walk away as the peanut gallery snickered and laughed, at Fuzzy’s expense.

I learned then to stand up for myself. What Fuzzy wanted was for me to wilt, to cry, to be a baby. Though he could hurt me, and he did, I normally scored points with my words.

I learned then that articulate argument, discussion, exchanging of words was important, essential.

All those years ago I learned that I could both defend myself with words, and control much of my situation by having the ability to string meaningful words together in a sensible, clear manner. It’s called being articulate.

My old friend, Fuzzy (he has passed away https://www.reifffamilycenter.com/memorials/terrance-oloughlin/1994469/obituary.php) did not have the foundation to compete with my 6th grade vocabulary. He did not have the words, nor the ability to string the words together. So he hurt me. He hated the idea that this much smaller kid, much younger kid could better him in any way. He had no foundation from which to argue with me. His only recourse was physical. He had no articulate rebuttal, ever.

So, in our modern world of confusion, angst, and division, Charlie Kirk, a gentle, peaceful activist is shot dead because someone did not have the foundation to argue, face-to-face. To exchange words and ideas. To interact in a human and humane manner.

Nope, easier, much easier to shoot and kill that which you don’t agree with.

And for far, far too long the USA has been slipping into the realm of silent antagonism where I cant talk to you and you cant talk to me.

In Charlie Kirk’s own words, “When discourse ends, violence begins.”

Sad, sad, sad…