If I had a quarter for all the times I heard this when I was struggling to become an adult, I’d be Musk-like rich. “Don’t get too big for your britches, young man.” Whenever the sin of pride reared its ugly head, Mom, Dad, or one of the other parent figures in my life would knock me down a peg or two. They’d tell me that the seams eventually rip, and the fall from grace isn’t graceful when a person gets too big for their britches.
I have vivid memories of pitching in an East Richfield Little League baseball game in the 60s. Our fields were fenced all around with real dugouts for coaches and gear. Home plate and the bases were real, not soaked paper plates held down with large stones. Our uniforms were made of real wool, with stirrup socks and fitted caps. And I was king of the mound. At some critical moment, I was pitching to the opposing team’s best hitter. My nerves were running high, and after what seemed then to be a historic duel, I threw a third strike for the third out. I jumped for joy and raised my fist in a taunt at the other team. When I got to the dugout, my dad/coach grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t ever taunt other players again.” One of many lessons he gave me was respect for other people, even competitors. That lesson has always stood me in good stead in business.
As time led to husbandhood, fatherhood, and now old age, the world at large took over for Ma and Pa Fernlund, unceasingly reminding me not to get too big for my britches. The efforts to keep me fitting comfortably in said britches were partially successful over the decades. But I find myself, even now, struggling to avoid being conceited, arrogant, or overconfident.
Coming of age in the final years of the Vietnam War, following a childhood of fearing the instant vaporization of Richfield by the godless Russians, I grew up with deep-seated distrust for authority figures of all kinds. From the certainty of pronouncements from the pulpit and the podium to the arrogant bullying of politicians and bosses, I instinctively shied away.
Hearing too many times that I should “know my place” or “stay in my lane,” I have still charted my own path.
Long ago, I was at best ambivalent about war. Hitting draft age as the fiasco that was our war in Southeast Asia looked to be coming to a close, it was a relief that my draft number was over 300. Despite recognizing that after a dozen years, the war was a failure, I didn’t think of myself as anti-war. It was a cowardly position at the time to stay in my lane and keep my mouth shut.
As kids, we loved television shows like “Combat” and “Rat Patrol,” where we were the good guys and the others were less than human and better off dead. We had toy machine guns and played “war” like it was all harmless fun.
It took me lots of years to get over the belief that war is a glorious, patriotic effort by stout-hearted men and stuff-shirt politicians.
As our country is ramping up the war it started against Iran this winter, I’m absolutely amazed that people today believe war is anything but a complete and utter failure of humankind. History makes that perfectly clear.
In my 72 years on this green earth, the lessons are many. Not just for America, but for every war-mongering state that money can build.
I’m not sure how to feel about The War of my parents’ generation, the Second World War. The amount of misery and destruction is mind-boggling.
Since then, our country barely survived the Korean War to stop communism, which it didn’t do. Less than a decade later, we were at war with Vietnam, eventually leaving there like thieves in the night after losing more than 50,000 American lives.
After the terrorist attack on September 11, we proceeded into wars with Afghanistan and Iraq with the uninformed arrogance that military force can easily control, reshape, or resolve complex realities. Neither war is considered a success,
The nation of Israel seems to have been constantly at war. The war against the people living in Gaza, an area about the size of Detroit, to avenge a brutal terrorist attack in October of 2023, is still ongoing.
The nation of Russia began a war against Ukraine on February 24, 2022. As it rages more than four years later, Russia has little to show for it other than a struggling economy and lots of dead soldiers.
Ukraine, a country about the size of Texas, shows no signs of surrender to Putin’s power. Iran, a country three times larger than Ukraine, is showing no signs of surrender to our power.
The anti-war lessons are clear. War mongers like Putin, Netanyahu, and Trump have gotten too big for their britches. They believe their own press.
