Tag Archives: Training

On Dealing With Others

This is cliché, but I’m not a “people person.” That primarily has to deal with the misadventures of growing up the wrong way in a public school system. I’m sure of it. Regardless, being “outgoing” or “affable” aren’t my primary traits. Without you all being surprised, I had quite the tongue by the time I graduated high school. I was often hard to handle.

My family says I’ve mellowed out some since then, not much but some. It has taken several years to not instantly berate or rip apart anything that lightly smelled of an insult or slander. I still have my moments where I read things the completely wrong way and think “thanks, <expletive>, you can stick it up your <expletive> and do some jumping jacks.” I’m giving the benefit of the doubt to people more than before. It does help, because it has occurred to me that my wording is a lot more keen than many Americans. When I write or say something, chances are good it’s very deliberate and very sincere. That’s a deadly combination. Others seem to communicate as if they lost their brakes during rush hour.

My hair stylist explained to me this past Tuesday of my “no sass mode,” which apparently means there are times I just don’t take anything from anyone. I thought that was everyday, but apparently I get in a mode. She says she watches my statements and the harder they get the more she knows I’m having a bad day. She and I are friends on Facebook. So, she gets the pleasure of see my blistering comments on everything from politics to the hockey puck that couldn’t understand what “right of way” meant.

This may sound all tough and whatnot at first, but I’d change it if I could go back and do it all over. Far too many times have the lessons of the past scarred my actions of the future. That’s not to say there are events I want completely undone, rather just training to not automatically think the worst of someone and act upon it. History can repeat itself, but it’s better to work on making it not.

It affects my life in all sorts of ways, but my work needs me to approach the public in a different way. This isn’t just the general public; these are people who can’t help themselves. Often less educated and less trained than myself, many have no concept of manners or cooperation or civility. They take what they think is theirs, and feel free to mouth off in any way to get more. Sometimes it gets injurious, and that’s a big tripwire for me. I had one rather wonderful woman tell me “you’re afraid of me. ” What took the strength of a thousand men to keep in was “no, I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing my cool.”

There was an episode of Law & Order on a few nights ago I just happened to catch at the tail end. It dealt with bullying, and the criminal mastermind was seeking revenge upon his enemy. The police had him in the interrogation room wheedling a confession out of him by saying “the effects of long-term bullying last well into adulthood for the victims.” It’s the God’s honest truth. That stuff doesn’t go away for targets, even when the instigator has long since forgotten all about it. It can’t be wished or willed away, and all of the programming associated with it doesn’t simply dissolve. It take years, maybe even decades, to revise the mind to adjust well with the world around them.

I would like to stay positive about this, even in the face of permanent harm. It appears I have been given a better intellect than many of my contemporaries. Although I could have clocked a much higher IQ in school had I not been held hostage by a vicious community, what’s left is better than average. No matter how painful, I’m better a diplomat than a degenerate.

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“Goat! Daddy, a goat! There! THEEEEEERE!” A girl with chestnut brown, braided hair squealed in the air on the edge of the knoll. The clasps on her overalls clinked as she bounced incessantly. She was full of spirit, that one.

“Very good, Mercedes. It’s a goat.” It was really a Capricornus, but “goat” was good enough for three years of age. “What’s that look like over there?” He pointed to a plus-shaped cloud following the goat up.

Mercedes stood blank at the foreign shape. She wasn’t all that comfortable with challenge yet, but she wanted to impress her father. Turning to the kind, yet imposing giant, she said “face?”

Otto knelt to her eye level and smiled. He rubbed his hand on top of her head and replied, “I’m sorry, munchkin. That’s an anchor. Do you know what an anchor is?”

The little girl tucked chin in her shirt and shook her head. “Oh, OK,” he laughed, “I’ll tell on the way back home.”

He knew it meant a garbage freighter was signalling to dock at port not too far from the barracks. The method of cloud communication had evolved into an art, and it was the easiest way to send general bulletins to the watchful eyes of the townsfolk. Every family had a communications liaison, who would spend their time keeping abreast of current events.

All in all, she was doing very well. It pleased him very much. Before the age of 10, she would most likely be a spotter. By 18, she would probable be recon, maybe even elevated recon (abbreviated to LCON in the league) if she knew how to bridle her own Griffoid. If she stuck with it, and didn’t go for a “flyout” (AWOL) like he did, she’d almost certainly make colonel. Then again, had he not flown his Überadler to the peppered shores of Auaotio, he would have not met her mother.

Most people would have been demoted and sent to the brig for desertion, but many knew why General Hillensdaugh forgave and forgot: the Battle of the Lava Caves. Had the Major not been there to scout, navigate, command, fight, and single-handedly close the passage successfully, there would be no Sky League cooler to throw him in. “Calamity” Jane Hillensdaugh would never forget that.

On the porch of the house, Mercedes began crying. “Too hard!” She was quick to notice another cloud in the sky. “Too hard, daddy!” Tears streamed down her face for getting two out of three clouds wrong. She had to work on her discipline in the future.

Otto peered into the sky once again to see one large dot over four smaller dots with an “X” following.

“You’re tired, Mercy. Let’s get you some rest.”

After tucking the little child in for the night. Otto walked calmly to the basement. Out of a well-oiled, steel locker came his spotless battle dress uniform. Skull and crossbones meant a skirmish was imminent. Hopefully it would all be cleared up before sunrise, and he could get his daughter motivated enough to get to school on time.

© 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

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