Sunday Specials: Hostility Issues 5 by Paul Jackson – Our Write Side

Paul Jackson was born in North Georgia way back in the time when dinosaurs ruled the earth.  Well, maybe a few years later, but not according to a lot of my cadets.

I am widowed, have an eight year old cat named Wookie, a girl kitten named Thursday, and a little boy kitten named Oliver. All three are rescue cats.

I am a Major in the Confederate States Army, and serve as the Chaplain for several units.

I’ve been doing living history since 1978, and enjoy it immensely! I also portray General Gabriel Rains, the inventor of land mines and torpedoes.

I love to read, write in several genres. My favorite genre is historical fiction, and I have one historical fiction novel published named A Servant’s Story. It sequel, The War Years should come out this year.

I also have a Christian fiction novel named Do I Trust You published, and a YA Fantasy Fiction novel, There’s No Such Truth as ‘Just Because’


Trigger warning: child abuse, sexual assault, anger issues

Today we finish the 5 part series written by Paul Jackson.

Hostility Issues

part 1   part 2  part 3  part 4

“I see.”

“So now you know why I think if I went over and beat Mr. Burke to a pulp it might have served a better purpose than was served by pounding on Mr. Barker.”

“I can see why you believe that,” Dr. Spockenfelter said. “However, are you able to see that while sometimes these children might fall through the cracks, most of the time the system works very well?”

“When four out of five kids fall through the cracks, the system isn’t working well at all, except to give bureaucrats jobs.”

Dr. Spockenfelter frowned. “Moving on, have you ever been arrested for battery other than this time?”

“Arrested or questioned?”

“Allow me to rephrase the question. Have you ever beat anyone else up before this incident?”

“I knocked a feminist out once. Does that count?”

“It most certainly does. If you run around knocking people out because you disagree with their beliefs you do not need to be out in public.”

“I didn’t knock her out for her beliefs. I knocked her out because she assaulted me.”

“Would you please explain?”

“I went to a play in Charleston South Carolina one time. As I was entering the theater this old bat was behind me, so I held the door for her. She assaulted me, so I cold cocked her. End of story.”

“I think I would like to hear the details of that encounter.”

“I held the door for her and she grabbed me by the throat and called me an ugly name and told me she was perfectly capable of holding her own door, and if I ever treated her in such a demeaning way again she would scratch my eyes out.”

“I see,” Rachel Spockenfelter said icily. “You were raised to believe that you should hold the door for a lady out of courtesy, but you were not raised to believe that you should never hit one.”

“First, this was no lady. I was raised to believe that I should hold a door for a woman, but when it comes to hitting her I was simply practicing the equal rights feminists always say they believe in.”

“I do not understand how hitting someone hard enough to knock them out could in any way be construed to be an ‘equal rights’ situation.”

“It’s simple, doctor. If a man grabbed me by the throat I would punch his lights out too. And I would press assault and battery charges, like I did against this flower of Southern womanhood.”

“At least you see why charges were brought against you when you attacked Mr. Barker.”

“I have no problem with that. I also have no problem with the fact that the court pretty much saw things my way in the matter.”

“How do you figure the court saw things your way?” Dr. Spockenfelter asked. “They sent you to me for assessment and anger management counseling.”

“And that is why. The judge had to do something, but he didn’t send me to jail.”

“I see.” Dr. Spockenfelter flipped a page on her legal pad. “I would like to explore another aspect of this whole situation.”

“Explore away, doctor.”

“Mr. Wilson, how do you feel about African Americans?”

Dean looked at her like she had just asked him to explain his position on if clouds were made of cotton candy or not. “How I feel about African Americans? Really?”

“Do you have a problem with that question, Mr. Wilson?”

“Other than that it is an extremely stupid question, no.”

“Why do you consider it a stupid question?”

“Asking me to judge a whole ethnic persuasion of people is ludicrous. Any rational person judges people one at a time, as he encounters them.”

“I see your point,” Dr. Spockenfelter conceded. “How do you feel about them in general then, based on your interaction with individuals of that race?”

“First, African American is not a race—it is a group of persons who once were in Africa, and then came here and became Americans,” Dean said. “I have only known – maybe a half dozen of them – but aside from one guy who was a total waste of human skin, they were good people.”

“You know good and well who I meant,” Dr. Spockenfelter bristled. “I believe you are just trying to be argumentative.”

“I am a writer and a teacher of the English language, Dr. Spockenfelter.” Dean replied. “Words are how I make my living, and I believe precision is important.”

“As long as you knew who I was talking about the term African American was precise enough.”

“Agreed. But the fact is, calling all blacks African American is not precise at all. Most black folks are ten generations removed from Africa, and could not tell you their ancestors country of origin if their life depended on it.”

“I take it you do not consider the term ‘black’ as condescending and racist?”

“After filling out your pre-appointment paperwork you don’t either, unless you admit to being a hypocrite, Dr. Spockenfelter.”

“I have no idea what you are implying,” Rachel Spockenfelter glared at him. “I can assure you I am in no way racist, and would never use demeaning terms for anyone.”

“So it is evil and racist and demeaning for me to call a person of the darker ethnic persuasion a black man, but you see no problem at all with making me refer to my own ethnicity as ‘white,’ you don’t see a contradiction there?”

“That is a different matter entirely!”

“It always is with liberals.” Dean grinned at Dr. Spockenfelter. “Suppose you tell me what the difference is.”

“What term would you have preferred to self identify yourself with?”

“Irish American. But it wasn’t on your form. I didn’t see any hyphenated American identifiers except for African-American, and that either makes you a racist or a hypocrite or both, Dr. Spockenfelter.”

“It would be impractical to try to list all the possible combinations of the ethnicities of people I see here in my office, Mr. Wilson. Surely you can see that.”

“Why do you have to have that information anyway, Dr. Spockenfelter? Does a person’s ethnicity have anything to do with the way you treat them?”

“Of course not.”

“So why ask? Why not just wait until they come into your office and figure it out when you see them and talk to them?”

“That question does not even deserve a response,” Dr. Spockenfelter sniffed, looking at her legal pad. “I suppose you have no problems using terms like Negro and Colored either.”

“Not really. And from what I know about you, you don’t either.”

Dr. Spockenfelter slapped both hands on her desk hard. “I would never use, nor would I support using such racist and demeaning terms!”

“I googled you before I came here, doctor. It might be liberal hypocrisy or ignorance, but you support groups who use those terms. And from your Facebook page, you are pretty proud of it.”

“I would never support any groups that use that sort of terminology, and I highly resent you implying I would.”

“I’m not implying it. Unless you lied on your Facebook page, you support both the NAACP and the United Negro College Fund.”

“Both of those groups have the right to use those terms. They started using them back when those terms were acceptable, and it would be awkward and confusing to change them now.”

“Businesses and organizations change their names all the time, doctor. Surely, if those terms are offensive changing them would be worth a little awkwardness.”

“I am not going to sit here in my own office and be lectured about who I am and what I stand for,” Dr. Spockenfelter screamed, throwing her ‘If you can’t act kindly, don’t act at all’ coffee cup at him, hitting him in the chin.

“I think we are done here, doctor.” Dean Wilson handed Dr. Spockenfelter the form he needed to return to the Clerk of Courts proclaiming he had completed his anger management counseling. “Unless you want me to press charges for your display of anger and aggression.”

Dr. Spockenfelter signed the paper, and Dean Wilson went on with his life.