I had friends who weren't early adopters of every wham-fangled sugar-coated child-proof safety-first technology-driven solution for a world comprised of emotionally-complex beings.
It's good to have people who believe in you. But the kind of respect I got from my schoolpeers, for example, for my programming skills, specifically, were such that I was always expected to prove that I was as good a programmer as anyone that happened to be mentioned.
It was only after school that I found out about GNU's not Unix; at school Unix still had an air of mystery around it.
Boys are often criticized for taking their toys too seriously. But I didn't receive such criticism; in fact, such was the respect I received for my intelligence generally that if anyone showed symptoms of jealousy they were immediately called a bully.
It's important to remember that a father has the inalienable right to take the blame for how his children turn out. Whenever someone was jealous to the degree of picking a fight with me, the person, who was certainly not taking unfair advantage of size, and only taking a slight advantage of age, was called a bully by those who believed in setting the world to rights by their influence. The fair influencers were gentle enough to point fingers at the father, for his abusiveness had brought forth a bully; thus finding the root cause of errant behaviour the son could be patched up with a miniskirt.
A boy standing inside a circle of material is not to be compared to a boy standing next to one.
Please don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that this patching of feelings amounted to nothing more than being invited to a place where the boy could stand next to a circle of cloth for a few hours and then go home: I'm sure none are fooled by my imagery and all will be insisting that I have omitted to use the word relationship.
But the relationship must start somewhere.
To be invited to a place where circles of cloth are moving about a room, for some would be very awkward, if they haven't been given instructions. For instance, they might try to put their hands through the circles as an experiment. Apparently circles of cloth have protectors: a protector is a person, but not the one inside the circle of cloth.
The experimentor might find himself being told about unwritten rules; the word lady is likely to be bandied about; perhaps he is asked what he is doing there in the first place; perhaps he will be told not to come back. But these kinds of things people find themselves saying without thinking, for a person with any sense at all would make sure not to have anything more to do with anyone he had met at that place.
Thou shalt not touch.
It must be understood that there's delicate patching going on. I'm trying to do the like here, but I find I'm standing in a country of patch-work.
I'm sure I'll be told it's no different elsewhere.
When I put down my dog I had it in mind that my time in the country is over. Anywhere but here, is a phrase to be avoided: it would be an interesting experiment--but I recommend doing it hypothetically--to make euthenasia pills available to the general public. But if we have a habit of thinking outside ourselves, we would likely think we aught to get on a boat and let the sharks eat us, rather.
It would be nice to think of sitting on a boat. So perhaps I will. I have my doubts I'll ever find out who Rose was, beyond being a surreal irc correspondent.
I have had it told me that I would be unable to tell if a person had had a sex change, which relates to a film we discussed in those days, which film suggested the scenario that two people who were innocent could fall in love, and only on the marriage bed find out that one or the other had made an incorrect assumption about gender. As to being able to sex a text correspondent the option to experiment in this guise has been taken away from us.
For the most part I only ever went online with irc when I wanted to talk nonsense. Newsgroups were available for those who wanted sensible conversations and explicit pics.
The experiment suggested in the film is an interesting one to mull on; I don't know too many innocent people who'd be able to try it.
As to the other experiments suggested here, my teachers didn't like my flippance. But now my supposed bully schoolmates come back to my recollection and fill in the circles of cloth; the girl who gave him succour firstly told him that anything more than the pride of standing next to a miniskirt, which itself he'd only get when it suited her, he'd get exactly when it suited her, and no sooner; and then he got to watch her give it all to someone else, while she knew he was watching.
Perhaps there were girls who seemed to fit in with the clubbing culture, but who insisted on getting their money's worth of cloth. The problem with the homely type is that she will inevitably have friends who are part of the club culture.