Brutalizing our police

As regards angry attitudes toward law enforcement officers, may I suggest we’ve seen this fad before?

 Towards the end of our misguided adventure in Vietnam, things got especially nasty for returning vets. People really did spit, curse and toss out the ‘”baby-killer” accusation. I got my taste in San Francisco’s airport. Insulting bewildered returnees was a fun fad for hippy chicks looking to validate their liberation credentials and for tie-dyed longhairs looking to impress hippy chicks. 

It was so miserable I swapped my uniform for civvies and later reversed things in the plane’s restroom. At 19, I knew more about bad guys in Vietnam than bad guys back home.

Today’s America has a much different attitude toward returning troops. It took a decade or so, but most caught on to the folly of blaming our soldiers, marines, sailors and airman for military adventurism hatched by opportunistic politicians.  

This generation of veterans is similarly misused, but there’s usually a warmer, timely and well-earned reception back home. Learning late is better than not learning at all.

It’s not too late to learn and avoid duplicating the Vietnam model against those who protect us on the home front. To universally indict law enforcement officers for inner-city ills and mishaps while giving politicians, the judiciary and social mischief makers a pass is repeating our Vietnam folly.

Police officers go into harm’s way on a daily basis. Most are far better men and women than the criminals and ne’er-do-wells they are sworn to contain – and criminals are sometimes the least of their worries. Politicized administrators, unprincipled politicians, capricious judges, and a fickle public are added pressures. Importantly, their tour in harm’s way doesn’t end in a year – and they don’t get to jump into a restroom to dump their uniform.

Resistance is the quickest and easiest path to developing a personal identity. Witness events in Ferguson, Mo., for a front-row seat to immaturity seeking a fast track to meaning. With all due respect for those believing good things come out of “F--- the Police” chants and banners, you might want to rethink that path to personal enlightenment.

In times past we used the term “Peace Officers” to accurately describe the mission of law enforcement. It’s as relevant today as when lone Texas Rangers rode a beat covering thousands of square miles.

Whether your foot is on a gas pedal or concrete, when you pass a peace officer, give some thought to waving or your own version of “Thank you for your service.”

While you’re at it you might pay closer attention to the failed policies and false social agendas at the root of today’s anti-police movement. It’s a Vietnam redo – same nonsense, different day, with a new generation of the misguided….

Tattoos and Hula-Hoops

Speaking of mischief, may I take the opportunity to state the obvious; tattoos have reached the irrational phase of popularity. When the Wall Street Journal takes less time than perusing a girlfriend’s tats – it’s time to rethink the fad. 

Thankfully, the next stage after “irrational” is “ethereal.” Hopefully, this out-of-control social phenomenon is following the trajectory of the hula-hoop and the chia-pet. 

Unfortunately, though the fad may die, tattoos don’t. Even when you spend mega-bucks trying to kill them, you’re left with damaged skin and a tattoo ghost.  That’s the deal with tattoos – it’s the gift that keeps on giving. 

In fact, per some of Egypt’s 5,000 year old mummies, tattoos are so permanent they follow you into eternity.

On top of the permanence issue is the addiction factor. Moderation seems to go out the window when people cross the line on “to ink or not to ink.” Do they put something in that stuff to make you want more?

I have to confess I’ve come close. The 50th Anniversary of Daytona Bike Week was the closest. While scanning the insanity of the Iron Horse Saloon outdoor biker bar, I picked out this nifty fire-breathing dragon complete with RVN 1971-72 lettering. Just as I was ready to lay down my arm and the cash, the public address system proclaimed free beer prior to the lady mud-wrestling competition. I never made it back to the tattoo guy.

Addictive behavior with lifetime implications is a scary thing. Imagine being stuck with some of your past stuff. Would you really want a daily repeat of that leopard skin undergarment thingy? How about the crazy hair colors or grunge look you worked so hard to perfect in high achool? Then there was that lesbian fling you had as a college freshman – been dying to seek her out as a Facebook friend? What would you say if I told you Jägermeister shots had been federally mandated as the only thing you can drink for the rest of your life?

If you’re an adult, a tattoo infatuation can be foolhardy – if you’re a teen, it’s a disaster.  Adolescent marriages have an 80 percent failure rate decisively revealing why tattoos should be discouraged among the young. What you like at 18 is seldom what you like at 30. Ink and spouses are equally hard to erase.

I hate to suggest such, but tattoos aren’t for the wearer any more than bikinis are for swimmers.  Unless you do a lot of mirror time, it’s other people who’ll be checking out your body art – not you.  It’s fair to say that we all need attention, but inking up your skin seems a bit less productive than learning a way to feed and house yourself or otherwise secure your place in a crazy world. 

We all need to matter. I get that and so do you. But for some of the same reasons it’s no longer cool to smoke Lucky Strikes in your peddle-pushers while twirling a Hula-Hoop to the beat of Sinatra’s “Rubber Tree Plant” – you’re going to get tired of today’s tattoo fad.  And do you really need to visit a nursing home to see what happens to an aging human canvas?

It is not my purpose to beat up on people with tattoos. If you have one, or ten or twenty, let it go and press on.  Reconsider further enhancements.

I am interested in raising the question for those who may not have taken the plunge. True identity and meaning do not come at the price of a little pain and ink. Tattoos are today’s version of my generation’s ‘a suit and tie makes the man’ and a big house, big car and big job make for a big life. That was all nonsense. So are your more current short-cuts. The business of living – real living – is never skin deep…

Thanks for spending a few minutes with a candid conservative!

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 Carl Mumpower is a former member of Asheville City Council.