Last night, a student posted something unkind on Twitter, aimed at Stoney and me. You know the drill:
- no names are mentioned, but you know it refers to you
- it’s an arrogant, smug comment, meant to sting, and the perp knew I’d see it
- since it’s on social media, complete with its cushion of no face-to-face contact, the ice pick can be jammed in further
Of course, my first instinct was to fire back with my best work, putting this person in his/her rightful place. In fact, I had it all typed out on my phone and ready to go, and it was a doozy. Wrecking ball, quality stuff. I stared at the little icon that said “TWEET” for a good 10 seconds before finally backspacing what I’d written and canceling out. I went over the reasons why in my head:
- I’d decided long ago to stop being such a sissy, letting others dictate how I feel
- If I’d responded in kind, I would have been the organ grinder’s monkey, performing the expected trick
- I’ve always believed that entering into degrading exchanges serves only to drag you down to the perp’s level
- It was a 16-year-old high school student — need I say more?
I considered it a victory indeed. At least until I see this person today. HA
Kidding. (I think)
Why is it so hard to leave personal slams hanging in the ether? Is it because we don’t want to be viewed as weak; unable to defend ourselves? Or maybe it’s because of what I like to call “last wordism.” Ain’t nobody say that to me and walk away with it. I must admit that’s usually my M.O. The well-placed zinger has often left me with regret. (“Man, I wish I hadn’t said that…”) Sometimes I forget the difference between defending my position and just leveling the better insult.
But last night, I took the high road, I want you to know. I said nothing. How about that?
Hey, GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS.