It’s tough being a middle-class white Christian male

Now some people will legitimately make that argument, although I should make it clear I’m not one of them, at least not without a major caveat.

For all of the successes of civil rights and affirmative action and such, America remains largely controlled by white men, and if middle class doesn’t wield the power, it controls access to that power, and collectively, that’s quite a “might”.

In other words, it’s demographically beneficial to be black, Latino, female, etc., because these things give good statistical appearance, but the language of discourse, the cultural qualities considered, the very definition of “normal” is still firmly white, especially Anglo, masculine, heterosexual, and (Protestant) Christian, although not so much as before, and certainly not so overt.

I might want to check a different box on a college application, but only as a veneer. Ultimately, I wouldn’t want to be any different than I am now because although I’m not The Man, I meet him often and can speak his language. Not just English but what words and how they’re spoken.

So that puts the complaint in context. To be white, especially a white man, in America is to be normal, and it’s terrible to be normal. Keep in mind it doesn’t outweigh benefits, whatever some misguidedly believe, and keep in mind that there’s a difference between outward fact and self-identity, but it is a real and valid complaint.

Jesus blessed are’d the poor and weak 2,000 years ago, but it was the 1960s that really flipped society on its head. We’ve become a society that celebrates diversity, the eccentric, and victimhood. Well, no, that’s not quite right. Everyone wants to be a victim in identity without actually suffering for it, or at least only suffering to an extent that can be quit at whim.

The Irish immigrant and their children wanted desperately to be considered white. The part-Cherokee wanted desperately to pass as white, to vote if nothing else. But with the ’60s, something akin to Christian martyrdom reappeared and victimhood became virtue. The 1/32 Cherokee, 31/32 European was Native American, not white. The person with any Italian ancestors was Italian, not white.

To be white isn’t to be without culture, but it’s considered to be. To speak Midwestern English isn’t without accent, but professionally and commercially, it’s considered without accent. It’s normal, bland, and boring. It is without movement because all things move relative to it. It can’t diverge because it’s the path all trails diverge from. Because of power, sure. Because those with power define it so, but arbitrary definitions are no less real.

Being white in America is to actively seek to be different, eccentric, wherever possible identified as a victim.

The American underdog is a long-held tradition, so no one wants to be considered rich, regardless of income. Ethnicity will be played in a sort of weird continuation of the one-drop rule. Some will throw themselves into causes of the oppressed in the hopes of being identified with them. But mainly, white salvation is only found in subculture.

Now, I don’t want to pick on pagans because they’re not actually offensive or harmful and do get mistreated, especially in the Bible belt. But I can’t take them seriously as a religious minority. I can’t be convinced it’s anything more than playing at religion and minority, fun with chats, Internet-purchased incense and daggers, similarly socially awkward adolescents. Certainly, many Christians, many of any religion, are in it artificially and only for appearances, but stick a gun to the head of many and they would say, “Pull the trigger, for to die is gain.” And they’re sure. Never have I met a gun-to-the-head pagan. They want only to feel a victim for something.

Whether being gay is more nature or nurture, I have no idea. If we can accept that some people are born with both sets of physical genitalia, why not homosexual attraction? But if the argument is, “Why would anyone choose to be gay and a victim of prejudice?” this is plainly wrong. Does anyone honestly believe Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian, including Lindsay Lohan? Yet she claims to be and is even personally offended by homophobia. That’s without even getting into actually weird sexual fetishes ranging from BDSM, scat, and genital mutilation, to the just plain odd ones like vore and inflatophilia. Some, like furries, even try to equate their level of discrimination to that of gays and ethnic minorities historically.

Tattoos, piercings, grunge, punk, hippies, Beats, basically every movement or fad since the ’50s and ’60s, there’s a conscious desire by many, if not all, to be set apart, to be noticed for being different. Notice how even Christian groups complain constantly that they’re a minority group being oppressed. To have lots of people agree with you is better than having almost everyone agree with you.

Minorities obviously have their share of identity problems, too. Our president spoke in his first book about the struggle against stereotypes, normalized black American culture, and normalized white American culture that only went away when he visited Kenya for the first time, where his name wasn’t odd or mispronounced, where knowing a name connected one to family history and belonging. “Here the world was black, and so you were just you; you could discover all of those things that were unique to your life without living a lie or betrayal.”

Very true. But freedom isn’t always liberating. Where there’s no group, only milieu, your individualism will still be sought in groups when your identity is in question. Now white flight isn’t to the suburbs but into anything abnormal, for its own sake.

Knowing this, when asked my ethnicity, I say I’m an American. When asked my lineage, I say Euro mutt, or if pushed further, English. I say I’m of the tiny island nation that conquered a fourth the world, made the empire on which the sun never set. I take pride, openly, in my bland, Man, mediocrity. And I worry I do these things not to be true and honest to myself, but because they’re abnormal.

To be perfectly honest, nobody is

The implication of the phrase “to be honest” is that when you don’t say it, your statement is a lie. And the sad thing is, this is probably true.

The Cynic philosopher Diogenes is said to have walked through the streets of Athens, waving a lamp in broad daylight, proclaiming he was looking for an honest man. Apparently he never found such a man in Athens, and when we hear this, we’re not surprised.

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Libertarianism is right and beautiful

I love July Fourth. Not so much the holiday, I suppose, but what it represents. The sentiments and ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence are something almost holy.

The government doesn’t rule by rifles and cudgels but the consent of the governed. The state doesn’t exist for the benefit of the rulers but to take care of the needs of the people. Other nations around the world remind us of what we here take for granted.

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Vaya con Dios, Coach Neely

Mike Neely, longtime president of the Odessa YMCA, is retiring.

Maybe you saw the article in the paper or, like many, knew him personally. I didn’t, or at least I never knew anyone by that name.

There was a Mike Neely who seemed to practically rebuild the YMCA during the past 10 years, but I never met this Mike person. I only ever knew one guy named Neely, and I always call him “Coach.”

Before he took the job at the YMCA, he was a seventh-grade coach at Bonham Junior High, and his first and last year there was the first of my three.

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A short history of everybody for the past 13,000 years

Editor and fellow columnist Gene Powell reads much more than I do and usually does the book reviews. Well, I’ve read two books, written by different authors for different reasons, and written years ago, but together they’re histories of the world, part one from 11,000 B.C. to A.D. 1,500, and part two from A.D. 1500 to 2000.

No, they’re not related to the Mel Brooks film. Sorry.

Jared Diamond’s book “Guns, Germs, and Steel” is based on geographic determinism, why where people are from resulted in the state of the world today.

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You don’t have to be a gardener to get a green thumb

“To be a gardener, it isn’t enough to love flowers; one must hate weeds.” – Anon.

I’m no gardener, and find flowers to be only so-so, but I do hate weeds.

In the trunk of my car I keep a hoe and a pair of work gloves. The other day, I was talking to a friend in a restaurant parking lot after a meal. I kept getting distracted and finally told him to wait a moment while I got the gloves and pulled up an especially egregious thistle sticking up through asphalt nearby.

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Pixar really is the best there is at what they do

On Friday, the latest 3D-animated Pixar film “Up” came out, and I was in the audience to see it. Of course I was.

Now, I love words. Well, I love lots of things, but I’m a writer and I love words in particular. As a copy editor, I’m virtually awash in them, although it’s less easy to love them around deadline. And even if I don’t read books or literature as much as I should, I appreciate them and their place in the world immensely.

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Everything is amazing, and no one should be satisfied

The other day I saw a clip from Conan O’Brien’s show when the comedian Louis C.K. was on. I’m not sure when it was, exactly, but it wasn’t especially recent.

LCK complained about how everything is amazing, and yet no one is happy. Things are better now than they’ve ever been in the history of the world, and people are unappreciative and unsatisfied. For example, LCK grew up with rotary dials, while today we have multi-functional cell phones, and people still complain about how long it takes a call to go to space and back down to Earth.

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Sure it’s unbearable, but it’s a dry heat

The summer season is fast approaching, if it isn’t here already. By my reckoning, it is summer because there are far more summer days in the week than winter ones, and very soon the winter echoes will disappear for near a year. (Good riddance.)

Ah well. I love the summer season. Spring is by far my least favorite, and if I can, I skip over it. A poor man’s summer with more dust and allergies. (Achoo.)

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It’s nice to have some quiet time once in a while

The other day I went up to Odessa College during the afternoon to see my former professor and current friend David Newman. It wasn’t that long ago I walked those halls for my own edification, but already so much has changed that I spent most of my time thinking, “Well I don’t remember that being there.”

In any case, not many students were on campus at the time, and the experience reminded me of one of the things I miss most about school: being there when very few or no one else is.

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