Fear and Prejudice

These two words rarely go together in a sentence or in a title like this but if you were me in a situation described here, they could inhabit your character like mud on your face. 

I was in Veteran’s Memorial Driving Range practicing my swings when a man about my age and build walked past my lane tugging a golf bag. He set his clubs across the lane next to mine. Nothing unusual about that. What caught my attention was that he was smoking a cigarette! Last time I checked, smoking in sports facilities like this should not be allowed. And I hate the smell of smoke.

This range is frequented by military men and high-ranking city government officials. And that thought shut out any courage in me to tell him to go away with his lit cigarette and be cast into hell. I dread the thought of being whacked in the head with a shiny Taylormade Stealth driver. If his grip was strong, it would slice my temple. If neutral, hook my jaw. Dreadful, either way.

That was fear.

A few puffs later, another man joined him. He was greeted by the smokin’ man, “Good morning, sir. Ready for your lessons today?”

Sonnafagun! He was just an effing golf pro. A golf trainer —in my mind, lower than the pedestalled gun-wielding 5-star general I previously took him for. I could have acted differently. Bravely. Arrogantly righteous!

That was prejudice.

My good character reared its ugly head. But I was quick to realize it and as penance, I made a few steps closer to where they were and snuffed in all the smoke in the air. Then beat my breast in silent atonement. Mea culpa.

I went back to my swings. Coughing, every now and then.

Oh well. Fore!


If you’ve been touched, amused, or entertained by this post, or it put a smile on your face, please favor me with a cup of coffee. I will continue writing.

Subscribe to receive an email whenever a new story is published.


Leave a Comment