Recently, while talking with Spazzie, I gave her a picture of my arm as a joke. And the response I got back rather blew me away. "Had you shown me that and never told me you programmed, I'd have thought you were a Marine... They're that good." Now, quite possibly, they're not nearly that good, and she's just being nice, but still... It really surprised me. I've never thought of myself as muscular.
Naturally, I'm wondering, "How on earth did my arms get to be looking so good I could possibly be mistaken for being in the Marines?" Not that I wouldn't mind being in the Marines... I've put some thought into it, and would actually like to join. If I had the opportunity, anyway. I do so want to get out of here...
Anyway... How could my arms be that good? I never even look at them. Never think about them. I'd accepted myself as being weak, and never thought about anything else.
I think the answer may lie in my name. As I shall not mention it here, let it only be said that my last name conveys a feeling of frailty. As most kids would, everyone in school (and many in church) picked on me, singling me out to poke fun at my last name. Calling me weak. I'd fought against that, trying to prove myself just as good as any of them. Maybe that's part of why I turned out the way I did.
I will take almost any challenge presented to me, and follow it through to its completion. The harder it is, the better. I actually enjoy the difficulty. It may be part of why I enjoy programming so much.
When we were moving from my original house to the Hill house (a journey of about 400 miles or so), I astonished the movers on a regular basis. I would carry stacks of boxes just as big and heavy as they were carrying. Made me sore for a while, but I wasn't going to quit just because I ached a little.
Then they brought in a new dude - one of their nephews. He was my age, and he played high school football. They were pretty proud of him. Weighed half again as much as me.
I out-carried him. By about four times. He'd carry two boxes at a time, and then have to take a break after a while. I carried four at a time, and I never took a break. Not only that, but the truck was at the bottom of the hill, as it couldn't make it up the slope. Everything had to be carried up manually. TV, computers, beds, mattresses, all up that hill. I'm pretty proud of myself. The movers gave me a nickname because of it, which I unfortunately cannot disclose here.
Okay, so I brag quite a bit sometimes. You have to forgive me, though - it's been absolutely forever since I've had any real opportunities to feel good about myself like this.
I've always done that. Taken the biggest jobs for myself. I'm a rebel. I'm a rebel of a different sort. I rebel against the stereotypes that society has put in place. I refuse to be content with being a weak programmer. I'm not going to be insensitive just because I'm a man. I'm not going to be all sissy when somebody gives me a job they think I can't handle. I'll take that job, and I'll laugh in their faces as I do, and see it through.
But how am I so muscular? A Marine? Seriously?
...Nah. It's good for a laugh, anyway.
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