by Reg Doty
I liked myself until I didn’t anymore. In its way that would be the opposite of me not liking myself ’till I did; in either case I’ve ridden that bucking bronco far too long. But given the extent of my experiences, when I examine possible etiological roots concerning the underlying circumstances, and the possibility of finding some meaning, I could only conclude that at the end of the day I’m still having to confront the whole daunting nature of human existence.
Things began to click by the time I entered high school, except that having passed my peers intellectually I was also naïve socially. I hadn’t acquired the skill for small talk, or the rampant patter of bull-shitting and guffawing that exemplified “one of the gang” comradery.
I misunderstood that men and woman were far more alike in their primal natures, especially regarding sexuality, than the obvious physical differences. I never had a girlfriend, believing girls were different and superior, and according to pop granted a special kind of privileged dispensation from their anthropoidal male counterparts because of motherhood.
I believed that listening with an open mind was a mark of character, civility, and maturity. But, by then civilization accrued more benefit to those who chose to be seen and heard and a precursor for the cult of personality that dominates contemporary culture.
By 1966, high school had come and gone, America was at war and following pop’s set of core principles I was called upon to volunteer for service and so I joined the navy. I won’t attend to the fact that I also discovered a certain coarseness and crassness in human nature that was more concerned whether farts are funny, opposed to, let’s say, an individual’s responsibility for advancing the human condition.
I learned to accept the fact that everything I had been taught was rubbish except you needed to go along to get along. I observed how weakness was easy prey for human predators and realized that human nature had yet to rise above the gutter; and that was just the first day of boot camp.
I won’t go into my war experiences except that war was little more than a coming-of-age scenario that taught me that vulgarity was much more than a foul mouth. It was also men who gave up their faces to rocket propelled grenades, or babies dying for lack of medical attention, or fear so palpable that folks wore it like a cheap suit, and on and on. . .
So, in the course of a few years I was changed in the same way that a new habit takes eight weeks to be habituated. The new me couldn’t resist the tidal wave crashing into what coming-of-age really meant. I became a mean and loathsome reflection of the man who I wanted to be while I began digging the hole for my grave: I had no fear of my demise and became the scourge of myself. I became immersed in the new me and even scared tough guys who knew I’d destroy them if I unshackled my rage. I stopped receiving letters from loved ones, just ripping them up and discarding them since I was already dead. I was expelled from Nam and given my own plane home, except for the sixty, or so, guys who were there with me, but already home.
My remaining service had me thwarting a murder plot to extinguish me from the quick, but backfired when I ruffed up the perpetrators. I learned that Russian roulette could be a very strong bluff, and that most people weren’t smart enough to change their minds.
After my service I thought things would return to the way they were, but instead nothing was further from the truth. I spent a few days home with my family, but decided to disappear, which, to shorten a long and convoluted story I did: and which is how I came to Walla Walla to walk on ledges. In the meantime, I met someone who refused to quit on me because she said my eyes were too gentle and she knew I was living in a nightmare. And over the struggles of many years, and with the birth of our son, she put me on the road to redemption.
Today with years of help from the VA, the Vet Center, writing, and God, I, with the help of many who believe in me, have turned tragedy into a resurrection of sorts to discover I am worthy and can finally say I have found peace with my demons and at rest with my place in time. And yes, I have found reasons to finally like myself – Again.
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