Adjusting to life as a civilian isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, and after much internal struggle, I decided that I’d like to study philosophy and literature, and maybe write a novel or two in the distant future.
But, immediately after deciding my course, there appeared a concern. Well, two concerns actually; the other (and less important as far as my story goes) is popular among Americans who, by nature, are always prone to ask after the cash-value of a trade. “What could I do with a philosophy degree?”
But since I’ve decided to live my life as a Don Quixote, (or maybe like Reepicheep), my concerns became more pointed and I decided to live as if my romantic notions of my chosen trade would play out as I envisioned them (with me as a brave knight, slashing and hacking away at the rational foundations, such as they are, of liberaldom).
Of course, like most other things in my life, I’m a hypocrite in my romanticism. So for the past year, I learned a blue-collar trade (at the behest of my uncle).
This leads to my first and primary concern (mentioned above). I’ve seen academic tyranny turn (otherwise) brave men into compromised cowards, and while I doubt that could happen to me, I have felt the temptation to cave into peer pressure and I don’t want to face it if it can be avoided.
So, once I learn a blue-collar trade, I will (forever) be free from academic tyranny. I’ll have a solid career ahead of me as a machinist (or gunsmith) should I so choose, and if anyone decides to fire me or otherwise censor my academic work, I can tell them to take their job and shove it! I’ll have a secure source of income waiting for me still.
After a year of hard work (and a year of frustrating my uncle to no end — he was also my instructor), I’ll get my machining certificate tomorrow. A few weeks later, I will begin the rigorous intellectual training required by my Satanic educational facility, to become a professional polemicist.
Yesterday, I met some of the people I’ll be competing against for academic honors, and the meeting was so outrageous, it prompted this blog:
By “people”, I mean two very large negresses, both of whom, together, must weigh close to a thousand pounds. I happened to be in a computer lab where the two were getting help signing up for fall classes. I overheard them admit they were going through my degree program, so their conversation caught my attention:
“What Western Civ. is?” asked the one burly negress. “Is dat English?”
The other, apparently, had been exposed to Western Civ. before, and tried to answer her friend’s question:
“Ohhhh lawd! They aint be playin’ in dat class! He make us read all that junk with dem big words and stuff! I needs me a translator! We had to read all that Bennamin’ Franklin sumthin’ or other…”
At this point, I interjected,
“Hey, do you mean the “Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin?”
“Yeah! Dat’s it! You be readin’ that junk?”
Please, oh reader of my blog, interject yourself into my place at this point in the conversation. You may feel compelled to speak up for the history of Western civilization (which, before your very eyes, is dying a horrible death by way of this discussion), and yet, you’re concerned that you might not do it justice by painting it with politically correct, and non-offensive shades. Furthermore, how to explain the emotional impact of the West to a couple of overweight negresses?
I tried. Some of you may respect me less for it, but I tried. I explained to them that “Western Civ.” was sort of like a class about the history of white people, and our culture, though I also added that the curriculum will likely be corrupted by postmodern, and possibly Satanic influences (I only said “possibly” to keep them from balking so much. There’s no uncertainty on this point: Liberaldom = Satania).
Their eyes glazed over and their attention spans were obviously diverted.
I gave up in mid-sentence, and walked out.
I’m signed up and excited! I do have Western Civ. in the fall, and I’m looking forward to it, though I know I’ll likely be constantly infuriated. Who knows, but that, at some point during the course of my education, I might have the opportunity to influence some of the other students? I might even start a “Youth for Western Civilization” chapter at my school.
There’s also something else I daydream about, though the odds are very much against it. What if, as a professor, I get someone like Mr. Cambria, or Laurel Loflund? What if they’re coasting along under the radar, just waiting to reach out to a student like me? Talk about an inspirational white-moment. As unlikely as that is to happen, I believe in a God of miracles and I believe that, some day, in my quest through the valley of the shadow of the death-of-academia, I may find some professor who would commiserate with me, care about me, and guide my growth in healthy directions.
Who knows what the future holds? (As one last, parenthetical comment: for those of us who love hacking and slashing at the enemy, an academic career in liberaldom will be no end of fun)!