Born in the Wrong Century

Sometimes I think that I was born in the wrong century. Lame, right? That's what they make Renaissance Fairs for, right? Wrong. You got me all wrong. First off, the century and place I feel I might have thrived in was a place that would brutally beat and rape a Renaissance Fair goer.

Maybe a little background is in order here. A large portion of my heritage is derived from Germanic and Irish sources; mostly Germanic, though. My grandmother has traced our roots (on my maternal grandfather's side) all the way back to 14th century German nobility in central and eastern Germany.

"Aha!" you say, "The 14th century was the Renaissance! Busted! You're a Renaissance Fair geek!"

Ummm, no. Fourteenth century Germany (or at least the vast majority of it) had not yet experienced the fruits of the Renaissance. It was largely a dark and brutal place still existing under a mostly medieval feudal system. The powers of Europe conspired to keep Germany divided into small, warring baronies devoid of any central, national leadership. This provided the major European powers with a buffer zone right smack dab in the middle of Europe.

In any event, my people were some of these constantly warring minor feudal lords. Warlords, really. My grandma has a photo of her and my granddad in Germany in the 50s standing at the site of one of our family's keeps. Well, there's a 3 inch ring of stone left of the foundations of the keep at the top of some hill by a river in Germany. But that's where it once stood.

The point? Yes, yes. I have a bit of a temper. My family is famous for it, actually. I think I control it better than anyone in my family, but it's definately there. At work I am pretty flawless at concealing it but oh boy is it there.

Sometimes I feel like I could just cleave people's skulls and grin like a maniac with grey matter dripping from my face. Scary, huh? I think I freak people out when I tell them that I feel this way.

"Wow, man. That such and such in that meeting... what an ass! It would be most satisfying to beat him to death with a large club."

I omit the full mental picture I am experiencing, of course. It involves continuing to beat this jackass until his head is a red smear on the ground and the twitching in his limbs has ceased.

I fully realize that these sorts of feelings are totally out of place in our touchy-feely society. The whole point of this post is that they would have served me quite well in fourteenth century Germany.