(This is a column that the local newspaper printed. The “debate” started when a local suggested that the high school mascot be changed from Redskins to something a less offensive.)
 
A co-worker once told me his biggest take-away from college was his Economic professor’s favorite phrase;  “It’s all about whose ox is getting gored; if it is yours, you care and if it is not, you don’t.”  It’s as simple as it is profound.  And while I know squat about oxen, I do know that we all have things that needle us to no end. 
 
An ox got gored a couple of weeks ago when a young lady suggested in an Enterprise article that the Calaveras High School change their Redskins mascot to something less offensive.  Known to be mildly opinionated (joke) I had some thoughts on the subject but many of those passionate about keeping the current mascot said that newcomers like me have no right to an opinion on the subject.  Fine.
 
Tattoos used to needle me. I made it out of the U.S. Navy without any body ink; that was a nasty trademark of lifers (career sailors) and the Merchant Marines.  Today I sport three tatts, the latest being a green Celtic knot on my left calf.  The names and dates of birth of my four grandchildren are inscribed inside the knot. What had changed during 4 decades? Can’t say. I was sober, I know that much.  Maybe it was a mid-life crisis.  Memory certainly had something to do with the last one; I really have a hard time with birthdates, my own included.  The point is, I switched the ox I had been riding on.
 
My Aunt Ruby, beloved matriarch of my mom’s clan, attended my 55th birthday party.  When a cousin asked me how I was holding up (Jerry Garcia had died less than a week before and I was in mourning)  Ruby yelled out, “Why, he was nothing but a drug addict.”  My clench-jawed reply was “So was Betty Ford.”   Firm in her convictions, she dismissed me, not realizing she had just gored my ox.  Even the simple act of grieving polarized us. 
 
Cultural phenomena like tattoos and piercing seem to polarize people.  Tribal markings from Borneo, the Middle East, even the Yakuza of the Japanese mafia, all get a bye.  But within our own national boundaries, there seems to be a large group who feel that we all need to look and sound alike; we are not a tribe, which is pejorative, but a civilization.  I still reserve my right to question that in a future column. 
 
However, this isn’t a treatise on sub-cultures or ranching. What I am trying to do is to plea for a little tolerance.  I am very liberal, which some consider as damning as admitting I’m a Socialist or a Muslim.   I can handle any political backlash. I care how people view me, my tatts, or  philosophy but only to the extent of the Golden Rule.  If all our mental oxen suddenly came to life we’d look like India with its sacred cows. But the tolerance or compassion is not for me.  Take the Redskins debate. Given this country’s treatment of the locals they found on the land they coveted when they flooded ashore on the East Coast, Holly felt it might be time to change the mascot to something more politically correct.  She met with some support but many readers volunteered to drive her back to the “flatlands” or the “bustling city” which obviously had spawned her. 

I personally think the responses went beyond the typical ox goring, though.  I sent Holly an online note thanking her for her sensitivity. I also volunteered some Tuck vitriol online about the “love it or leave it” epithets tossed her way. My typical reply is “You don’t move out of your  house because it has a leaky roof; you fix the roof.”  The “My way or the highway” dictate only leaves one wondering which map they used to find their “way.“  It isn’t polite debate, it’s just rude.  One of Holly’s supporters, Sean N., seconded her suggestion and got the same ultimatum.  Sean, however, is local born and bred and away from home only because he is serving his country.  His “country” not his “county.”  His “flatland” might be a foreign, hostile shore and right now he can’t go back where he came from which would be here.  Does being in the service invalidate his opinion?  
 
Scientists, another group that can gore an ox from time to time, warn us about keeping our gene pool diverse.  A debating community is a healthy one but the last thing we need to do is follow an arbitrary route like lemmings.  Who gets to draw that moral path?  Some say God, Krishna, Buddha, Mohammed. Others point to government, or big business.   Remember what lemmings do when they reach a cliff?  They all plunge to their collective deaths.  Myself?  I’d like to hear how the local native Americans feel about this sensitive subject.

Jerry Tuck is a retired San Andreas resident and an indie author. Contact him at olwhofan@aol.com or use the Contact Form.