collegethoughts

As a child I had a violence problem.  That sounds really hardcore, but it’s not – basically whenever I got into arguments with my brothers I would often hit and kick instead of trying to diplomatically reconcile the situation.  I know it sounds like I was a little boy – but I took a distinctly girlish manipulative pleasure in watching my brothers mentally struggle with not hitting back because I was a girl.  (They usually did anyways.)The thing is, I’ve finally pinpointed a childhood “shaping point” for which I can blame these violent tendencies.  Actually it might be more accurate to say I’ve pinpointed my childhood as the reason for these tendencies.  I was reading my brother’s blog about how nostalgic the sound of AK 47’s is for him because we lived a couple of years in Yemen where an AK 47 is about as common as a pair of Levi’s in America.  Oh, and the men all tote massive curved knives called jambias (which were a popular tourist item for expats).He posted a picture of himself, age nine, clutching two AK 47’s with a belt of bullets over his shoulder.  He is surrounded by a group of equally armed Yemeni men, and he has a huge grin on his face.This reminded me of another picture – one of myself hanging off of a massive old tank in – yes – Yemen.  I remember wandering around with my dad and collecting bullet shells from their last war, while admiring the scattered artillery bits and worn out tanks.  My dad would pretend to be interested in the historical and cultural aspects of the war, but really he was just a big version of my brother–a little boy excited about guns.  Proof?  When the Yemeni civil war started, my mother, siblings and I were all huddled in the basement.  My father was on the roof with a video camera filming the explosive laden planes flying overhead.So really I’m not half as screwed up as I should be.