Short-Sighted Swill and Careless Cheers

This past weekend I took a rare opportunity to go out, have a few beers, and eat an overpriced meal at a chic restaurant where people with too much money go to put out the fire that’s burning a hole in their pocket. I’m a single father living on a budget, so when I say rare, I mean it.

Being a lose…uhhhh…I mean loner, I took a seat at the bar, Norm Peterson and Cliff Clavin style, next to another lose…uhhhh…I mean loner. Even though there were sportsball games playing on the big screens behind the bar, he was live-streaming a local team on his tablet and having a brewsky. He appeared to be just a few years younger than myself. Both of us 40-somethings.

Perhaps my allusion to the show Cheers isn’t a perfect one. For he seemed to have the rapport of a regular with the bartender, while I would have been more accurately described as the “extra” on the show whose name literally nobody knew (if you don’t get the joke, please take a minute to listen to this).

Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks. When I sit at a bar and have a beer, a switch automatically engages in my brain that leads my speech patterns into the political realm. This Friday night was no different. I guided the conversation into the realm of these new abortion laws sweeping Dixie and some other flyover states. While my new friend was not a mustached mail carrier, he certainly had opinions.

Listen friend, I like to f*ck, I’ve f*cked two hundred women in my life. Sometimes shit happens. I’ve had to have this conversation with women before. Do you want to be attached to me for life? No. So, you do it. Easy. Then you go your separate ways. I ain’t got no kids and don’t want any. I couldn’t be sitting here doing what I want to do right now if I had kids and a wife to hold me down.

I chuckled on the inside about the veracity of his claims. He looked more like Steve Buscemi than Cliff’s actor John Ratzenberger, but his stories had the same bullshit quality as our beloved know-it-all/done-it-all postal worker.

I kept my criticisms to myself, only stating that I love my children, and while I’m divorced and single, I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and that they give my life a sense of purpose. He dismissed what I was saying as if I was an archaic remnant of some forgotten past. I might have been speaking pig-Latin to my friend. He was there to “get his” and “do his own thing,” not discuss the merits of rooting yourself into a life with a little responsibility.

As I sat there sipping my beer, it occurred to me that this man was the truest of Americans circa 2019. The pinnacle of what FaceTwitterAmazonGoogle wants us to be. The embodiment of God-as-Self that makes corporate spreadsheet and pie chart readers giddy with joy as they watch the shekels piling up from quarter to quarter.

Identity Dixie is a think tank of different Southern folks with various “right wing” beliefs. Some of us are more religious than others, but we maintain a pro-Christian philosophy. And while the immorality of taking a life is central to the abortion debate, I personally take the stand that the destruction of the family and the corruption of both men and women with the cult of selfishness is just as important, just as relevant to the debate. “Her body, her choice” totally removes men from having any say in the reproductive cycle of human life. And by so doing, it puts many men in a perpetual state of arrested development.

My new friend, at the age of 40-something, was doing the same thing he was doing on Friday nights at the age of 21. And if my hunch is correct, he’ll be doing the same thing when he is 50. My own life hasn’t gone as planned in many ways, but when I’m in my 50s there is a good chance that I’ll be watching some grandchildren playing in my back yard. It’s just up to me to make sure my kids don’t turn into the immaculate self-serving consumers that America wants them to be.

-By Dixie Anon

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