Remember rasslin' bears? Well, no of course you don't. You're not as old as I am. Unless you're Tom Robbins or Don Garlits, in which case you've probably got better things to do than wallow in this mire.
In the days before the interstate highway system there were frequently shabby little tourist attractions in the West where you could fill 'er up, relieve yourself, get an Orange Crush and rassle a bear to shut up the kids and make you feel better about your manliness. Some of these same critters would tour the professional circuits from time to time and go head to head with some of the lesser stars.
Now, I've seen a lot but I've never seen a man or a woman wrestle a bear. This is what I've always heard- the bear won't squeeze too tight or try to hurt you unless he senses that you're trying to hurt him. Then, Katy bar the door, pun intended!
Well, it occurs to me that I'm a little like that, myself. I'm a lover. Well, in my mind I'm a lover. I'm surely no fighter, though. Backed into a corner, however, I find a well of meanness that scares me half to death. I suppose I've messed with words all my life and I've kept a private stock of hurtful ones stored in my soul that I had forgotten about.
I'm emptying that quiver now. I'm so very, very sorry that I ever found them there to begin with. No one ever fixed hurt and sadness with hate and anger.
What's so funny about peace, love and understanding?