Remember the good old days before the White Man came when all the grownups were allowed to discipline the kids in the camp when they needed it?
I was covering the election at the county courthouse Tuesday evening, wandering around the lawn on the annex side, taking pictures of the young volunteers who were helping the election judges carry the boxes of ballots in to be counted.
A break of a few minutes came between arriving ballots. Cognizant that as a smoker I am a third class citizen, I stepped far, far away from any other humans and lighted a cigarette.
A squirrel in the tree limbs above where I stood must have gotten a whiff, because he fell down, dead, at my feet. Huh, I thought. I reckon that surgeon general fella was right.
Suddenly sirens blared and 17 police and highway patrol cruisers came screeching out of nowhere. The officers tasered me repeatedly, and as I was flopping around on the ground (still puffing my smoke, somehow), they explained that it's no longer legal to smoke within two miles of anyone under 14.
The officers all were wearing haz-mat gear with scuba tanks and Darth Vader masks. I guess their insurance doesn't cover them if they happen to inhale and get contaminated while arresting a smoker.
They carted me off to the nonsmoking jail, where I sit today, scratching these pitiful words with a nail on the moldy wall of my dank, lonely cell. Could really use a cigarette.
All right, none of that really happened.
What really happened after the squirrel fell dead was this kid — from whom I intentionally had distanced myself in order to avoid offending — saw me light up and came running over, pointing.
"Smoker!" he hollered in the tone squealers in World War II Germany must have used to identify Jewish people. I looked around to see if he were backed up by a torch-and-pitchfork wielding mob or maybe some SS officers, but none were visible.
"I hate smokers," the kid sneered, glaring.
I should have hanged my head in shame. Instead, I retorted, "Well, I don't like kids with fat lips," drew back my hand and ... you know. The sniveling little creature crawled away, wiser for the experience. The chief and the rest of the tribe nodded approvingly.
All right, that didn't really happen either.
Instead I mumbled something, embarrassed. The disgusted child walked away, or perhaps he floated away on a cloud of moral superiority as the setting sun reflected prettily on his halo.
I've been thinking about what I should have said to the little beast all week. Things like, "It takes one to know one" and "Sticks and stones ..." That would have got him good.
I do seriously wonder whether his parents and teachers have taught him that it's OK to be so rude to someone if you're doing it to a smoker. That's a little disturbing, if so. Is he allowed to loudly and publicly denounce people who have other weaknesses, such as overeating? I bet he hates fat people too.
Why stop there?
They should send the little monster after caffeine junkies and people who can't stop scratching lottery tickets.
Ken York's column appears in The Daily Record, Lebanon, Mo. It is reprinted here with permission.
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