As our eyes met, I could tell that our meeting was as big of a surprise to the killer as it was to me. Silence fell over the both of us as neither of us knew what to say or do. The killer was the first to break the silence. He looked at me and asked me what I was doing there. I didn't say anything as I tried to slowly slide my new gun behind my back hoping he wouldn't recognise it. As I slid my gun behind my back I almost automatically cocked the hammer. I remembered being impressed at how smooth the action felt. I watched the eyes of the killer as he looked at the gun that I was trying to hide.
"Wher'd you get that gun boy!" the killer yelled to me. His voice was raspy and deep. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't run, I couldn't say anything. As the killer took a step towards me I felt a familiar warm sensation running down the side of my leg. That warm sensation brought back the vision of the man shooting the other man in the back and then in the side of the head and I realised that I was next. Almost instinctively I raised the gun towards the man as he took another step closer. I still couldn't say anything. The man took another step and I pulled the trigger. Click, Nothing. I realised that I had hit the empty part of the cylinder. I cocked the hammer again. I noticed that the man didn't even flinch during the first trigger pull. By the time I had the gun aimed at his head again he was 5 feet away from me. Click. I pulled the trigger again and still nothing. As I lowered the gun a little to cock the hammer again I noticed the man was right on me and before I knew it I had the cocked pistol pressed against the mans lips. Without thinking I pulled the trigger for the third time. This time there was no click just a, "pathump." The mans body went limp but the forward momentum of the man knocked me down as his body landed on my legs. I looked down at the man as I cocked the pistol again a realised that I wouldn't need another round. There was a hole in the back of the mans head about the size of a silver dollar. There were bits of bone, skull, brains, hair, and what looked like pieces of his teeth inside his oozing head. I scrambled trying to free my legs to stand up. As I kicked myself free, one of my cowboy boots slid off and stayed stuck under the man.
I stood up marvelling at the scene. It all seemed like a dream as I looked around. I looked at the dead man and the blood that was collecting on the ground where his head lay. I looked at my pants. Not only were my pants wet from pissing myself but my whole right thigh was covered with blood. I stood there with one boot on and the other with just a sock on. It didn't take me long to turn my head and begin puking. As I puked reality hit and it hit hard, and I began crying. I stood up and took another look at the scene. I had killed a man. What did that mean? I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell anyone. It was self defense wasn't it? Wouldn't he have killed me if I hadn't killed him? What would my mom say? What would my dad do? What did God think?
I had all kinds of questions running through my mind but the fact of the matter was that I skipped church to steel a gun and ended up killing an un-armed man. A man that I had I had watched kill another man and didn't say anything about. There wasn't anyone in the world who would believe my story. I picked up a rock and began digging a new hole.
I dug the hole about 15 ft away from the man so I wouldn't have to look at him. A couple of times I looked up to make sure he wasn't going to stand up and come after me. He wasn't going anywhere.
After nearly two hours of digging I had a hole about 6 foot long by three feet wide by 3 feet deep. The hole was pretty impressive and my hands were paying for it. I had some pretty serious blisters forming on the palms of both hands. I stood up and noticed that my pants had dried and the dry blood made the pant leg stiff as I walked with it. I walked over to the man and grabbed him by the boots and began to try and drag him. It felt like dragging a dead deer but heavier. I tried not to look at the back of his head but he laid face down and it was impossible not to. About midway into the drag I stopped to take a breath and noticed a leather wallet hanging partially out of his back pocket. I reached down and pulled it out. The wallet felt heavy and I told myself no matter how much money was in it I wouldn't take it. I couldn't.
As I opened the wallet my heart sunk as I saw a small round circle with some engravings and a star in the middle. My breathing became fast and uncontrollable. A lawman? I had killed a lawman? I looked around to see if anyone saw what I had seen and quickly threw the wallet into the hole. I noticed that my boot was still laying on the ground where the man had laid so I grabbed it and put it back on. A sick feeling came to me as I slid the boot on. The boot was still warm and I knew what had kept it warm. I walked back over and grabbed the man again by the boots and drug his body into the hole. I pushed his arms and legs into the hole and began kicking the dirt onto the man just as I had seen the man in the hole do it a few days before that. After a second I stopped grabbed my new gun and threw it on top of the body and continued kicking the dirt in.
After about a foot of cover with the dirt. I piled large stones on top of the dirt and the man until the hole was filled, kicked more dirt on top of the rocks and then grabbed more rocks to stack on top.
When I was finished I grabbed a couple of dead sticks from a nearby juniper tree and threw them on top of the grave to make it not look so obvious. I then kicked dirt over the top of the puddle of blood to cover it up."
Friday, May 30, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
The rest of the Story Ch. 3
As we sat there looking at the pile of rocks, the warm evening breeze seemed to stop for a moment of weird calmness. I looked up at the side of the hill and towards the rocks where the old man had said he hid. He couldn't have been more than a hundred feet away when he witnessed the shooting. I also couldn't help but wonder if there was an old skeleton under the rocks. I asked the old man if he thought anyone had ever dug up the body. The old man slowly raised his head from gazing down at the rocks and looked into my eyes and said: "Yes, I did about a week later." I looked at the old man with a little wonder and he continued on. "When I got home the day of the killing, I was so shaken, I couldn't talk to no one. I went out behind the house and hid in the cottonwood trees behind the creek. I was sick. Visions of that guy getting shot ran through my head over and over. I sat there behind the tree just pukin' every time I saw that guy shaking and moaning. I can still remember every second of that day perfectly. In between pukin' and crying I sat leaning against a tree wondering if I should tell my mother, or the sheriff, or anyone. I weighed out the situation, and it made sense in my mind not to tell no one. So there I sat, alone with my secret. A secret that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I felt horrible, I was tired and sick to my stomach. My jeans had dried but the insides of my legs had been rubbed raw from running with em wet. I ran the scene over in my mind again. I could see the killer's face perfectly. The look in his eyes, his mustache, his brown hair, and the gun. That damn gun."
I asked the old man about the gun, and the old man broke off into another story. "When I watched that guy being buried, the other guy threw the pistol that he killed him with on top of him. I watched him do that, and hell, I was still a boy, it was the 1930's and we didn't have no money, and it was a gun. I had kind of an internal battle over that gun. On one hand I was afraid to go back there because of what happened. I didn't know if I would come across the killer or a ghost or what. On the other hand there was a perfectly good pistol sitting under about a foot of dirt. I battled over a number of things. So, after battling things out for a week I figured I might dig it up and keep it for myself. I knew the gun was down by the guys feet and I could dig that thing up and not have to see his face or the blood and I'd have a pistol. Being a dumb kid, and after it worked on me for a week, I decided to sneak back for the gun. I didn't realise at the time that sneaking back for the gun would be the biggest mistake of my life."
The old man just sat there staring blankly, and as he finished his last sentence I almost thought he was going to cry. I didn't say anything because I wanted the old man to take a breath. I've never been good with dealing with emotion in other men so I thought I would let him catch his composure. After about a minute of silence the old man looked up at me. He kind of had a look in his eyes, that made me feel like he was struggling with what to do next.
"Follow me", he said hesitantly, and I did. The old man began walking around the side of the hill. I walked close behind him to catch him if he fell. He walked slow, and by his breathing I could tell that it was taking all that he had to walk. As we walked around a juniper tree, his coat caught onto a branch. He struggled with it a little, said a swear word under his breath and kept walking. The pace was slow and I wondered how far he wanted to go. After about 220 yards the old man stopped and scanned the area directly in front of him and locked on to another small pile of rocks. He didn't say anything, he just walked straight towards the pile.
As we stood looking over the pile of rocks, the old man broke into another story. "I went back for that gun on a Sunday morning. My Dad and Mom and Sisters all went into town to church. I pretended to be sick. I didn't feel like I was lying because I was sick but just mind sick. A part of me wanted to get that gun and another part of me wanted to really see if that grave was there and if all of that was real and not a dream. As soon as my family pulled out of the house I threw some clothes on and started for the hills. I ran fast. As I approached the hills, I took the route that I normally took. It not only allowed me to sneak up there without being noticed but it gave me a pretty good view of anything around me. When I arrived to the grave site, I was taken back a bit. Everything came back to me and I got scared again. I wanted to turn around and go back to my house. I wanted to tell my mom what had happened. I wanted to have her hug me and tell me that it was all going to be ok. She would understand. My fantasy came crashing down as I realised that my Dad wouldn't understand. We were on the outs and I was already feeling that my Dad didn't want me around because of something else. I brushed it all away and went for what I had come for. I went to where I figured his legs were and grabbed a flat rock that was sitting there and started digging. After a few seconds I looked at the rock and saw a small dark stain on it where my hands were and realised that I was digging with the same rock that the killer dug the hole with. I dropped the rock and wiped my hands in the rocky sand hoping it would free me from any contamination. The sick feeling came back. I kicked the bloody rock about 20 feet from the site and grabbed another, and continued. After about 2 minutes of digging I hit something. It was rubbery and made a dull thud as I hit it. As I exposed more with the rock I realised it was the leather of the dead mans boot, and inside that boot was a foot. The foot of the guy that I watched get shot. I was sick inside, and it really scared me. It scared me almost enought to leave, but I decided to go for it. After locating the boot it only took me a couple of minutes to uncover the end of the gun. I pulled the gun free from the dirt, stood up and quickly kicked dirt back over the body. I stacked the rocks back on top of the body and ran around the side of the hill. I couldn't bear to be around the grave any longer. After I felt like I was safe, I hid in a little bunch of trees, sat down on a rock and looked at my treasure. It was a .32 caliber revolver and except for some sand in the cylinder, was in pretty good condition. I opened the action and there were four un-fired bullets and two fired. I knew where the two had went. The scene flashed in my mind once again for the 107th time that day. I pulled the cartridges out and began to shake and wipe clean the pistol. I buried the two empty cartriges. I blew air into the barrel to blow any sand out. After I was satisfied that the gun was clean enough to shoot, I placed the four live rounds back into the cylinder and closed it. I turned the cylinder and was a little surprised at how smooth it turned. The new gun almost made me forget for a second the horrible things that had happened.
I decided that I had better get home before my parents did. So I stood up and began walking. I decided to take a different route back home so I wouldn't have to walk past the grave. About 100 yards into my treck home, I heard a stick break to my right. I turned my head slowly to inspect the noise, only to find myself staring about 15 feet into the dark evil eyes of the man who had been haunting my thoughts and dreams for the past week.
I asked the old man about the gun, and the old man broke off into another story. "When I watched that guy being buried, the other guy threw the pistol that he killed him with on top of him. I watched him do that, and hell, I was still a boy, it was the 1930's and we didn't have no money, and it was a gun. I had kind of an internal battle over that gun. On one hand I was afraid to go back there because of what happened. I didn't know if I would come across the killer or a ghost or what. On the other hand there was a perfectly good pistol sitting under about a foot of dirt. I battled over a number of things. So, after battling things out for a week I figured I might dig it up and keep it for myself. I knew the gun was down by the guys feet and I could dig that thing up and not have to see his face or the blood and I'd have a pistol. Being a dumb kid, and after it worked on me for a week, I decided to sneak back for the gun. I didn't realise at the time that sneaking back for the gun would be the biggest mistake of my life."
The old man just sat there staring blankly, and as he finished his last sentence I almost thought he was going to cry. I didn't say anything because I wanted the old man to take a breath. I've never been good with dealing with emotion in other men so I thought I would let him catch his composure. After about a minute of silence the old man looked up at me. He kind of had a look in his eyes, that made me feel like he was struggling with what to do next.
"Follow me", he said hesitantly, and I did. The old man began walking around the side of the hill. I walked close behind him to catch him if he fell. He walked slow, and by his breathing I could tell that it was taking all that he had to walk. As we walked around a juniper tree, his coat caught onto a branch. He struggled with it a little, said a swear word under his breath and kept walking. The pace was slow and I wondered how far he wanted to go. After about 220 yards the old man stopped and scanned the area directly in front of him and locked on to another small pile of rocks. He didn't say anything, he just walked straight towards the pile.
As we stood looking over the pile of rocks, the old man broke into another story. "I went back for that gun on a Sunday morning. My Dad and Mom and Sisters all went into town to church. I pretended to be sick. I didn't feel like I was lying because I was sick but just mind sick. A part of me wanted to get that gun and another part of me wanted to really see if that grave was there and if all of that was real and not a dream. As soon as my family pulled out of the house I threw some clothes on and started for the hills. I ran fast. As I approached the hills, I took the route that I normally took. It not only allowed me to sneak up there without being noticed but it gave me a pretty good view of anything around me. When I arrived to the grave site, I was taken back a bit. Everything came back to me and I got scared again. I wanted to turn around and go back to my house. I wanted to tell my mom what had happened. I wanted to have her hug me and tell me that it was all going to be ok. She would understand. My fantasy came crashing down as I realised that my Dad wouldn't understand. We were on the outs and I was already feeling that my Dad didn't want me around because of something else. I brushed it all away and went for what I had come for. I went to where I figured his legs were and grabbed a flat rock that was sitting there and started digging. After a few seconds I looked at the rock and saw a small dark stain on it where my hands were and realised that I was digging with the same rock that the killer dug the hole with. I dropped the rock and wiped my hands in the rocky sand hoping it would free me from any contamination. The sick feeling came back. I kicked the bloody rock about 20 feet from the site and grabbed another, and continued. After about 2 minutes of digging I hit something. It was rubbery and made a dull thud as I hit it. As I exposed more with the rock I realised it was the leather of the dead mans boot, and inside that boot was a foot. The foot of the guy that I watched get shot. I was sick inside, and it really scared me. It scared me almost enought to leave, but I decided to go for it. After locating the boot it only took me a couple of minutes to uncover the end of the gun. I pulled the gun free from the dirt, stood up and quickly kicked dirt back over the body. I stacked the rocks back on top of the body and ran around the side of the hill. I couldn't bear to be around the grave any longer. After I felt like I was safe, I hid in a little bunch of trees, sat down on a rock and looked at my treasure. It was a .32 caliber revolver and except for some sand in the cylinder, was in pretty good condition. I opened the action and there were four un-fired bullets and two fired. I knew where the two had went. The scene flashed in my mind once again for the 107th time that day. I pulled the cartridges out and began to shake and wipe clean the pistol. I buried the two empty cartriges. I blew air into the barrel to blow any sand out. After I was satisfied that the gun was clean enough to shoot, I placed the four live rounds back into the cylinder and closed it. I turned the cylinder and was a little surprised at how smooth it turned. The new gun almost made me forget for a second the horrible things that had happened.
I decided that I had better get home before my parents did. So I stood up and began walking. I decided to take a different route back home so I wouldn't have to walk past the grave. About 100 yards into my treck home, I heard a stick break to my right. I turned my head slowly to inspect the noise, only to find myself staring about 15 feet into the dark evil eyes of the man who had been haunting my thoughts and dreams for the past week.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The rest of the story Ch.2
As I stood on the stone and gazed into the hill, the hot breeze blew into my face. Not only did the breeze make me blink to get the moisture back into my contact lenses, but it brought with it an erie feeling. I kind of felt like I may be doing something wrong, or I was in danger or something. I brushed the feeling away. I thought to myself; what could possibly happen? This is an old man, I don't think that he could physically do anything. Even if this guy had a weapon, he probably would have a hard time hurting me. He was strange, really strange. What I was gazing at was equally strange in magnitude. The hill side was covered with Rocks of all sizes. Shale mostly, littered with Juniper trees, Brush and a little grass. But there it was, in the rock, and in between a couple of juniper trees was a perfect three quarter circle without a bottom. The circle was formed in what looked like black rock. From far away the circle looked to be a very thin line but very distinct. If I moved even an inch to the left or to the right I couldn't see it, but if I stood in the correct position on the stone it was as clear as day. The old man nudged me on the elbow, "can you see it, can you see it"? I told him I could, and said: "What is th...". "Quiet" he said, "you'll know soon enough. The old man turned around and walked back to my truck. I followed him to his door and helped him back into the truck. As I walked around to my side of the truck I looked at the old man and he had his eyes fixed on something else. I climbed into the truck and started it. "Where to next boss?" I asked. (I call people boss a lot because I think sometimes it makes people feel good, and lets face it, I knew who was in charge.) I started to ask him about the black circle again when he cut me off, and pointed to a hill in the distance. "Drive to the base of that hill" he said. I drove and he talked. He told me that he was going to show me two grave sites. One of the grave sites was of a man whom was shot in a gun fight, and the other was a grave site of a man that he killed. My gut instantly twisted in a knot. I looked at the old guy and didn't have to say anything, he knew that I needed more details. As we approached the hill I looked at the old man, and a sad look came over his face. He said in a low quite voice, "I swore that I would never come back here, and 75 years later here I am. Stop the truck". I stopped the truck and the old man groaned as he opened his door to climb out. I opened my door and followed. The old man started walking towards a small pile of rocks. The pile wasn't uniform, and I was a little surprised that I never noticed it before.
The old man pointed at the rocks and said: "When, I was a boy sneaking around up here, I used to just watch what was going on. I was sneaky, and I was quiet. I knew that if I ever got caught sneaking around the characters up here would probably kill me. So I learned to be sneaky just out of survival. I knew the dangers but I just couldn't stay away. I was curious. I guess you could say that I was as sneaky as an old Indian. One day I hid in between a couple of rocks up on that hill and watched two fellers. They were arguing about something, and the one feller said he was done and turned his back to walk away. As he was walking away, the other feller reached into a bag he was carrying, and pulled out a gun and shot the other guy in the back. The guy fell immediately, started shaking and moaning bleeding all over, then the guy shot him a second time in the side of his head. I pissed my pants. I really pissed down the side of my leg. I thought about running but I was frozen. I couldn't breath and I couldn't move. I sat up on that hill and watched for two hours as the other guy took a flat rock, dug a shallow grave and buried the other guy. I remember smelling the piss in my pants hoping and praying that the guy wouldn't smell it. The guy stacked those rocks on the grave, and left. When I saw he was gone, I ran as fast as I could those five miles back to the house. I couldn't tell no one. I just couldn't tell no one."
I just kind of stood there looking at the old man. A sick feeling came to me as I imagined the situation happening, and for the first time that evening, I just didn't dare say anything.
To be continued.
The old man pointed at the rocks and said: "When, I was a boy sneaking around up here, I used to just watch what was going on. I was sneaky, and I was quiet. I knew that if I ever got caught sneaking around the characters up here would probably kill me. So I learned to be sneaky just out of survival. I knew the dangers but I just couldn't stay away. I was curious. I guess you could say that I was as sneaky as an old Indian. One day I hid in between a couple of rocks up on that hill and watched two fellers. They were arguing about something, and the one feller said he was done and turned his back to walk away. As he was walking away, the other feller reached into a bag he was carrying, and pulled out a gun and shot the other guy in the back. The guy fell immediately, started shaking and moaning bleeding all over, then the guy shot him a second time in the side of his head. I pissed my pants. I really pissed down the side of my leg. I thought about running but I was frozen. I couldn't breath and I couldn't move. I sat up on that hill and watched for two hours as the other guy took a flat rock, dug a shallow grave and buried the other guy. I remember smelling the piss in my pants hoping and praying that the guy wouldn't smell it. The guy stacked those rocks on the grave, and left. When I saw he was gone, I ran as fast as I could those five miles back to the house. I couldn't tell no one. I just couldn't tell no one."
I just kind of stood there looking at the old man. A sick feeling came to me as I imagined the situation happening, and for the first time that evening, I just didn't dare say anything.
To be continued.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The rest of the story.
About 9 months ago, I wrote about an old man that showed up to my house. The old man was in his 90's and said that he lived on the ranch (that I now live on) when he was a boy. I took him for a ride through the 8000 Acre ranch, and I wrote about him showing me where a man was buried from a gun fight, where people panned successfully for gold, where bandits hung out, and a hidden mine. I left the story alone because, I felt that the claims needed further investigation. I mean the guy was 90 years old and he was telling me things that happened when he was 15. I left a lot out because there was something that seemed to validate the things that he told me. If the things that he told me were true, I could never tell anyone, at least until I secured a few things. I have secured a few things so, Here is the rest of the story.
When the old gentleman stopped by my house that evening, there was something strange about him, and he said something that really caught my attention. He told me in a low voice that there were secrets on the ranch, secrets that he had, and secrets that he felt he should divulge before he died. I didn't know what to think, so I offered to listen and take him for a tour of the ranch.
As we hopped into my pickup, the old man was visibly excited, and he had a look on his face that I can't really describe. It was a smile that carried, a little worry, and a little peace. It was strange. It kind of made me wonder what I was getting into. As we drove back into the hills he told me a story. He said that when he was a boy, about 14 years of age, he did a lot of messing around back in the hills. His parents didn't like him out there because it was rumored, that quite often under the cover of the thick Cedar trees and in the rough country there were bandits and shady characters that hung out there. He said that his father rarely ventured out there, only to gather stray cattle. He said that his father would tell a story of stumbling onto 3 men gathered around a wooden box, whom, after he surprised, all quickly raised guns at him. He said the story naturally awakened his young curiosity so he started snooping around. He said that in his snooping he found that back behind "the divide" there was an unusual amount of activity. So he snooped. He told me that he was going to show me a few things, a few things indeed...
As we drove into the hills, I looked over at my new friend and noticed that he was shaking. I started to ask if he was OK, when he cut me off and pointed across a flat and to five large rocks. I had never noticed it before but they were placed with one rock exactly to the north. Another to the south and another to the east, another to the west with one flat stone in the middle. Sort of a compass. The high grass almost hid everything. He told me to drive up to the rocks. I did, and we stopped and got out of the truck. The old man hobbled to the the flat stone in the center and stood on top of it. I looked down at the flat stone and there were two grooves that had been cut into the rock. The old man carefully aligned his feet with a groove that was facing about 10 degrees north of the east stone, and began to look into the rocky hills. As he did this I noticed a grin on his face. He stepped off the rock and with his crooked finger pointed to the stone. He looked at me with a grin and told me to stand on the center stone lining my right big toe and heel with the first groove. I stepped onto the rock and aligned myself. I jokingly asked if he would like me to dance. He didn't laugh and boldly said: "look straight forward!" As I stood there looking I kind of felt silly. Who was this guy? Thoughts began to race through my mind only to be cut off by what I saw. What was that?
To be continued...
When the old gentleman stopped by my house that evening, there was something strange about him, and he said something that really caught my attention. He told me in a low voice that there were secrets on the ranch, secrets that he had, and secrets that he felt he should divulge before he died. I didn't know what to think, so I offered to listen and take him for a tour of the ranch.
As we hopped into my pickup, the old man was visibly excited, and he had a look on his face that I can't really describe. It was a smile that carried, a little worry, and a little peace. It was strange. It kind of made me wonder what I was getting into. As we drove back into the hills he told me a story. He said that when he was a boy, about 14 years of age, he did a lot of messing around back in the hills. His parents didn't like him out there because it was rumored, that quite often under the cover of the thick Cedar trees and in the rough country there were bandits and shady characters that hung out there. He said that his father rarely ventured out there, only to gather stray cattle. He said that his father would tell a story of stumbling onto 3 men gathered around a wooden box, whom, after he surprised, all quickly raised guns at him. He said the story naturally awakened his young curiosity so he started snooping around. He said that in his snooping he found that back behind "the divide" there was an unusual amount of activity. So he snooped. He told me that he was going to show me a few things, a few things indeed...
As we drove into the hills, I looked over at my new friend and noticed that he was shaking. I started to ask if he was OK, when he cut me off and pointed across a flat and to five large rocks. I had never noticed it before but they were placed with one rock exactly to the north. Another to the south and another to the east, another to the west with one flat stone in the middle. Sort of a compass. The high grass almost hid everything. He told me to drive up to the rocks. I did, and we stopped and got out of the truck. The old man hobbled to the the flat stone in the center and stood on top of it. I looked down at the flat stone and there were two grooves that had been cut into the rock. The old man carefully aligned his feet with a groove that was facing about 10 degrees north of the east stone, and began to look into the rocky hills. As he did this I noticed a grin on his face. He stepped off the rock and with his crooked finger pointed to the stone. He looked at me with a grin and told me to stand on the center stone lining my right big toe and heel with the first groove. I stepped onto the rock and aligned myself. I jokingly asked if he would like me to dance. He didn't laugh and boldly said: "look straight forward!" As I stood there looking I kind of felt silly. Who was this guy? Thoughts began to race through my mind only to be cut off by what I saw. What was that?
To be continued...
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Sucking up
Sucking up, Brown nosing, Butt kissing, it has many names and many different forms. It can be noticed and go unnoticed. It can be effective and it can be ineffective. It can draw ridicule and it can draw praise and I would like to write about it a little. As of recent, I have thought about sucking up and how I feel about it. Some forms of sucking up I hate with a passion and some forms I enjoy. But for the most part I hate sucking up. Every day that I age I hate it more and more. I don't hate getting sucked up to, I hate sucking up. I have to confess, I probably suck up more than the average man. I hate doing it but I believe it is one of those necessary evils.
The Riddle dictionary defines sucking up as: To be overly nice to a person or persons to enable a smooth accomplishment of a goal.
I would like share with you five key points to my theory of sucking up.
1. Sucking up is not effective until you realise that your end purpose is to no longer have to suck up to ANYONE.
I think that we all want to get to point in life where we don't have to suck up to anyone. Take for instance a president of the United States. He spends his whole life sucking up to everyone to get to where they are until they reach the goal of a second term. After that, the gloves are off and they finally do what they want. It has to feel good.
I love to talk to old men that have retired. They say it like it is and don't sugar coat things they don't suck up because they don't have to. Spending time with an old man is a good way to get a good honest self evaluation. My Grandpa for example, he was kind of rough character, and he didn't suck up to anyone. If he thought you were a sicko he told you. If he liked you he told you, If he thought you looked bad he told you, If he felt like having you pull his finger he would ask you. A person always knew how he felt about them because he had no reason to sugar coat. What was a person going to do if they did have their feelings hurt, take away his beer? Heck no, he'd just rack that person over the head with his cane, and he would enjoy that more than much more his beer.
That is the end goal in life. To not have to suck up to anyone.
2. Good friendships do not require sucking up.
If you are with a good friend, they truly like you for who you are. You can tell them the truth, you can be yourself, you can tell them anything and it doesn't change the way they feel about you. This does not rule out courtesy and being nice. With good friends you are courteous and nice because you love them and enjoy being courteous and nice to them. With a good friend you never feel like you are being "fake" nice, and if you give them a little crap, they laugh it off.
If you find yourself in the company of a person, and find yourself not having to suck up. You can be assured that that person is a good friend.
3. Sometimes it is OK to abruptly end the sucking up for a moment of truth.
In a fight the person who throws the first punch is generally the person charged with the crime or takes the blame. Moments of truth are the same way. Though it can be very advantageous to throw the first punch, you have to be darn sure you are going to get away with it. Otherwise, if you don't want a lawsuit, it's a good idea to wait until the first punch is thrown, then and only then comeback with with hell fire. The same concept applies when dropping the sucking up wall for a moment of truth. About 6 months ago while working on a project, I rejected a contractors work because it didn't meet a specification that I had told him over and over that he needed to meet. Through the whole job he sucked up to me and I sucked up to him. We both had a job to accomplish, so it worked for us to be overly nice to one another. Until that day of rejection. He lost it, screaming, ranting, raving calling me names. It was his moment of truth. Bad timing though because he still needed me to sign off for payment of $500,000 dollars worth of work. After he was done, I left the site calmly, and expected him to show up to my office with an apology. (500G's will always bring an apology) Sure enough the next morning he showed up to my office with an apology. He had his hat in hand taking back every thing that was said. He even thanked me for not loosing my temper. I then knew it was the proper time to throw my punch. I told him that I would never loose my temper on a job, I pointed at the picture of my wife and kid on the desk and told him that feeding them was more important. I then said in a low quiet, serious voice, looking him in the eyes, "just so you know, if you would have talked to me like that out on the ranch, I would have knocked every one of your fricken teeth out". He looked at me with a little shock. I accepted his apology, and invited him out to dinner on the Ranch. He declined saying," hell no, I'm not going out to your ranch." It was perfect timing to a moment of truth. I felt better, and there was no consequence.
4. Men can and will always be better and more effective suck ups.
Throughout time, as men were the hunters and gatherers, they learned to adapt. They learned to put food on the table by any means possible, that included sucking up. Women on the other hand stayed at home nurturing, taking care of the home and raising children. The women were the true masters of their domains. There was no need for sucking up. If the children got out of hand, they busted their chops and went on with it. When the man got home, she cooked a fine meal of woolly mammoth and they enjoyed it together. They put the kids to bed blew out the candles and laid down by the fire. This is a time at night where a man began to truly refine his sucking up skills. I attribute this time of the evening to the development of truly effective sucking up skills. I wont go into any more details, but needless to say, there isn't a woman alive that has ever felt out of necessity the need to give a back or a foot rub the way a man has.
I don't know if you have ever worked around women, but women (collectively, not individually) don't work well together.
Take for example an elementary school with predominantly women employees. It's a fricken war zone. Both my mother, wife are teachers, I know for a fact that that the mental trauma some women inflict on other women makes an elementary school faculty room environment comparable to Omaha beach during D-day. Throw a female principal into the mix and you have Hiroshima all over again. This is all a result of the fact that women do not, nor will they ever understand the true principles of sucking up it's just not in their nature.
5. Sucking up is an essential key to success.
If a person wants to be truly successful in life it is imperative that a person learns to suck up effectively.
In college, I took a class with a guy he was about 10 years older than I was. I wont name his name, but he absolutely refused to suck up. We actually had a number of discussions on sucking up. He argued that a man should never have to suck up. I can tell you so far, the up to date results of this man's not sucking up. He never finished college, never got married and still lives with his mom and dad. So much for not sucking up.
Sucking up has many names and there are many ways to suck up. Some good, some bad, most of the time you don't even know you are doing it.
I would submit that, If you are able to make the argument that you are and have been successful without sucking up ,more than likely you fall into one of two categories:1. You are a very attractive woman, 2. You inherited your success.
My question is: Is success truly success without having to suck up a little?
The Riddle dictionary defines sucking up as: To be overly nice to a person or persons to enable a smooth accomplishment of a goal.
I would like share with you five key points to my theory of sucking up.
1. Sucking up is not effective until you realise that your end purpose is to no longer have to suck up to ANYONE.
I think that we all want to get to point in life where we don't have to suck up to anyone. Take for instance a president of the United States. He spends his whole life sucking up to everyone to get to where they are until they reach the goal of a second term. After that, the gloves are off and they finally do what they want. It has to feel good.
I love to talk to old men that have retired. They say it like it is and don't sugar coat things they don't suck up because they don't have to. Spending time with an old man is a good way to get a good honest self evaluation. My Grandpa for example, he was kind of rough character, and he didn't suck up to anyone. If he thought you were a sicko he told you. If he liked you he told you, If he thought you looked bad he told you, If he felt like having you pull his finger he would ask you. A person always knew how he felt about them because he had no reason to sugar coat. What was a person going to do if they did have their feelings hurt, take away his beer? Heck no, he'd just rack that person over the head with his cane, and he would enjoy that more than much more his beer.
That is the end goal in life. To not have to suck up to anyone.
2. Good friendships do not require sucking up.
If you are with a good friend, they truly like you for who you are. You can tell them the truth, you can be yourself, you can tell them anything and it doesn't change the way they feel about you. This does not rule out courtesy and being nice. With good friends you are courteous and nice because you love them and enjoy being courteous and nice to them. With a good friend you never feel like you are being "fake" nice, and if you give them a little crap, they laugh it off.
If you find yourself in the company of a person, and find yourself not having to suck up. You can be assured that that person is a good friend.
3. Sometimes it is OK to abruptly end the sucking up for a moment of truth.
In a fight the person who throws the first punch is generally the person charged with the crime or takes the blame. Moments of truth are the same way. Though it can be very advantageous to throw the first punch, you have to be darn sure you are going to get away with it. Otherwise, if you don't want a lawsuit, it's a good idea to wait until the first punch is thrown, then and only then comeback with with hell fire. The same concept applies when dropping the sucking up wall for a moment of truth. About 6 months ago while working on a project, I rejected a contractors work because it didn't meet a specification that I had told him over and over that he needed to meet. Through the whole job he sucked up to me and I sucked up to him. We both had a job to accomplish, so it worked for us to be overly nice to one another. Until that day of rejection. He lost it, screaming, ranting, raving calling me names. It was his moment of truth. Bad timing though because he still needed me to sign off for payment of $500,000 dollars worth of work. After he was done, I left the site calmly, and expected him to show up to my office with an apology. (500G's will always bring an apology) Sure enough the next morning he showed up to my office with an apology. He had his hat in hand taking back every thing that was said. He even thanked me for not loosing my temper. I then knew it was the proper time to throw my punch. I told him that I would never loose my temper on a job, I pointed at the picture of my wife and kid on the desk and told him that feeding them was more important. I then said in a low quiet, serious voice, looking him in the eyes, "just so you know, if you would have talked to me like that out on the ranch, I would have knocked every one of your fricken teeth out". He looked at me with a little shock. I accepted his apology, and invited him out to dinner on the Ranch. He declined saying," hell no, I'm not going out to your ranch." It was perfect timing to a moment of truth. I felt better, and there was no consequence.
4. Men can and will always be better and more effective suck ups.
Throughout time, as men were the hunters and gatherers, they learned to adapt. They learned to put food on the table by any means possible, that included sucking up. Women on the other hand stayed at home nurturing, taking care of the home and raising children. The women were the true masters of their domains. There was no need for sucking up. If the children got out of hand, they busted their chops and went on with it. When the man got home, she cooked a fine meal of woolly mammoth and they enjoyed it together. They put the kids to bed blew out the candles and laid down by the fire. This is a time at night where a man began to truly refine his sucking up skills. I attribute this time of the evening to the development of truly effective sucking up skills. I wont go into any more details, but needless to say, there isn't a woman alive that has ever felt out of necessity the need to give a back or a foot rub the way a man has.
I don't know if you have ever worked around women, but women (collectively, not individually) don't work well together.
Take for example an elementary school with predominantly women employees. It's a fricken war zone. Both my mother, wife are teachers, I know for a fact that that the mental trauma some women inflict on other women makes an elementary school faculty room environment comparable to Omaha beach during D-day. Throw a female principal into the mix and you have Hiroshima all over again. This is all a result of the fact that women do not, nor will they ever understand the true principles of sucking up it's just not in their nature.
5. Sucking up is an essential key to success.
If a person wants to be truly successful in life it is imperative that a person learns to suck up effectively.
In college, I took a class with a guy he was about 10 years older than I was. I wont name his name, but he absolutely refused to suck up. We actually had a number of discussions on sucking up. He argued that a man should never have to suck up. I can tell you so far, the up to date results of this man's not sucking up. He never finished college, never got married and still lives with his mom and dad. So much for not sucking up.
Sucking up has many names and there are many ways to suck up. Some good, some bad, most of the time you don't even know you are doing it.
I would submit that, If you are able to make the argument that you are and have been successful without sucking up ,more than likely you fall into one of two categories:1. You are a very attractive woman, 2. You inherited your success.
My question is: Is success truly success without having to suck up a little?
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