Your father should have heard the sequel. That’s the story about how a guy named Jake killed a horse that belonged to a guy named Zeke. So Zeke killed all of Jake’s horses and then set his fields and barns on fire.
Neither of these are stories about people making a rational response to a slight against them. These are stories about a person acting crazy and then denying the craziness of their actions by claiming it was justified.
Lets swap crazy stories! Most people don’t have the experience of growing up in true insanity!
My father actually forced me to get lower grades after middle school because I wasn’t humble enough. I had a 3.9 GPA (all A’s except gym)or 7th and 8th grades.
The lectures on humility had gotten too intense so when I got into 9th grade, I simple lowered the quality of my work and finished high school with a 3.3 GPA. I may have bragged about my first report card, but I sure as hell didn’t on the subsequent ones, but simply me doing well was too much for my father.
I actually told my mother what I was going to do, so she told me to tell my father. Yeah, right.
People have looked at me like I’m crazy when I tell what happened, but maybe they can understand it a little better with examples like this.
You are a survivor dude. Hat’s off to you.
Right now the score is 28-0-0-0.
Have we ever had a poll that was 100%?
mmm
For what it’s worth, I was considering picking the “give us more options” one, just to break up the monotony, but decided against it.
And yeah, your dad was pretty messed up.
Sort of off topic, and I’m sorry that happened to you, but when you eventually moved out, did you call your father and tell him to go fuck himself?
You don’t kill someone’s only horse over a supposed misuse of language. If I borrow our shirt and someone spills something on it and I say “Hey, you got my shirt dirty,” should you rip up all my shirts?
I would be curious to know if this was actually a folk tale, and from what culture, or just something made up on the spot.
Since it was in teaching material, it must be a known story somewhere. I’m also interested in knowing from where, however.
Here’s the thing…
Assuming that someone is trying to assert ownership by using the term “my” in conversation to animals is insane. It would be one thing if this was some kind of adverse possession kind of thing where Zeke had left Jake in charge of his seven horses while he goes away with his rich guy lifestyle, and Jake then basically claims that all eight are his. But it’s not- it’s just a comment- maybe he’s letting all eight out of one pasture into another and says “Go, my eight horses” or something similarly innocuous.
Even if it was some kind of ownership dispute, WHAT is the point of killing Jake’s horse? That’s also insane. You’d think that Zeke would confront Jake, or sue him, or otherwise deal with Jake. But killing the horse just manages to kill the horse and impoverish Jake further, just because he used a not quite perfectly accurate term.
Does Zeke go around killing people who use the term “my dear” to his wife or daughter?
Yeah, it’s not like Zeke even misrepresented ownership and control to some other legal entity. The horses don’t even understand English beyond a few words.
It’s wacky and nonsensical and would expose Jake to pretty severe consequences from the legal system, both criminally and civilly.
OP, you had a really messed up childhood. Sorry to hear.
We are overlooking a fundamental question that must be asked of every moral hypothetical on the SDMB - what if Zeke’s horse grows up to be Hitler?
Regards,
Shodan
My thoughts as well but I went with then last option because I really want some pie.
I assumed that if they were being use to plow then the 8 horses were harnessed as a team of horses. It makes complete sense to say “Go, my eight horses” to a team of horses even if you don’t own them.
I think this is an important attitude to consider, because this mindset hasn’t disappeared. It comes up every time someone starts spreading “he wasn’t an angel” memes about someone who was killed by cops.
I remember being lectured by an old fella at work about how theft of property or trespassing is as serious a crime as murder, and once someone has crossed that line, he is permanently changed and there’s no way to fix that person, so killing him is justified.
Oh and I voted for the wrong brother
Sorry, gotta go “other”. Since this folk tale is from “years ago”, I think we need to know what culture it originated in and, at least approximately, how many years ago. It is entirely possible that in a certain culture of a certain time that asserting ownership via a given phrase - even to the animals themselves - made it so. Perhaps it was akin to the old Muslim concept of “talaq”, where a man could divorce his wife by verbally repudiating her 3 times. Over time that custom has been viewed very differently. In order to ascertain culpability I would have to know if Zeke was trying to subvert his brother’s property under the laws/customs of that time and culture.
Under current western culture and laws, Jake is civilly and criminally liable for killing his brother’s horse. In another time and place, perhaps not so much.
If we for some reason grant that asserting ownership “made it so”, then — well, they’re legitimately his now, right? Seems like it’d be a ludicrous system; but it also seems to me that, unless you add that the rich brother had the presence of mind to of course assert MINEMINEMINE when he killed the horse, what changes?
Depends
I wasn’t familiar with it, so I just googled it and the story comes from “Little Claus and Big Claus” by Hans Christian Andersen. My father never said the names and I just made them up. Andersen’s tale has six horses but my father’s had eight. This poll really isn’t about Andersen’s book, because it’s about how my father viewed the world and how he presented it.
In the abbreviated story we read in class, after Big Claus (Jake) kills Little’s Claus’ (Zeke’s) horse, the poor man gets rich by tricking a man into buying the horse skin for a bag of money. The rich man then gets greedy, kills all of his horses believing he can get even richer but isn’t able to sell their skins and consequently becomes poor. Sort of a comic justice (except for the unfortunate man who bought the skin. As my eight-year-old son astutely pointed out, that’s not nice).
It looks like Andersen’s book has many more adventures in which Little Claus gets more and more money and ends in the death of Big Clause.
My middle school students were able to deduct that the punishment was far out of line for the offence. Interestingly, my eight-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter weren’t quite so sure. They are still very much into getting into fights because one will lay claim to the other’s cookie and they have revenge fantasies for small slights. I think that it may take a middle school emotional maturity to understand this story, and clearly my father lacked that.
My father LOVED the Old Testament, especially the stories such as Elisha calling on bears to attack the children who called him bald. That’s kind of the role my father saw for himself.
I heard that one at least as often as when God killed that guy who steadied the Ark of the Covenant. Obedience needs to be absolute.
His all time favorite scripture was Malachi 4:1.
Hence the emphasis on eliminating any sort of pride. We were Mormons, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, with an emphasis on the latter days. In the 60s and 70s, we firmly believed that the end was nigh, as in any week, month or year.
Of course, eliminating pride was an activity best forced on others. It was OK for my father to take pride in his work, real or imagined. He taught me how to play chess in second grade, and I it wasn’t long before I could beat him. (For all his self-proclaimed brilliance, he couldn’t move knights in his mind more than several moves.)
On one terrifying Saturday, I beat him six or seven games in a row, all the time he was becoming increasingly agitated and unable to control his anger. The chess pieces would fly each time he smacked the board with his move and I would have to reset them back to their positions.
Terrified, I was locking into playing with no idea how to escape the seemingly inevitable violent end. Although he couldn’t handle his anger at losing, in his mind there was some sort of moral issue where the other person was a fault. Not showing proper respect to your father, I suppose.
Fortunately, his bladder intervened and while he was taking a piss, my older brother suggested I throw the game. I did. Now having won a final game, my father was satisfied and that was the end of chess in our household.
Because of his out of control violence, it was less walking on eggshells as trying to get through a mine field. You never knew what was going to set him off, and if the violence was going to reach the ultimate level. It wasn’t just us as kids who were terrified, my mother was afraid he would kill us. I can only guess at what sort of things were going on in her mind as to why she never left him permanently.