[MR] Wanna see my impression of Hamlet's dad?

[Eric Stoneking]

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[ Picked text/plain from multipart/alternative ]

Hi Everybody,

My name is Eric Stoneking.  I used to be ska Henri la Grave.
Going on three years ago, my then wife (then Robin Stoneking,
now Robin Sackett, ska Beatrice la Grave) left me to raise her
standing in the Elizabethan rapier and sewing power clique.
I survived, but Henri didn't.

I've had a couple people ask me recently if I was still
doing SCA stuff, or if I will be in the near future.  I
admit to being surprised by these questions, as the inquiring
parties have eyes and ears and brains, and should be able
to see the obvious.  It's clear, though, that they don't
get it, so maybe it's not so obvious to the bystander as it
is to me.  I also suspect that there are those of you who
have worked diligently to overlook the obvious.  So, I
take keyboard in hand, and will nail this to the tavern
door.  To the diligent ones is this missive dedicated.

The alert reader will also find some practical tips for
those wishing to rise rapidly in the ranks of the Acadamie
d'Espee.

I was happily married for twelve years.  My wife said she
was happy, and I took her at her word.  But then she changed
her story.  On Easter weekend of 2000, she said she'd been
unhappy for most of our marriage, and that I better try harder.
Imagine my bewilderment.  She neglected to mention that she'd
already given her heart to Greg Sackett (ska Gregor Dow
MacGregor); I later learned that they'd exchanged expressions
of love three weeks earlier, at Coronation.  Imagine my grief
and despair.  So on Mother's Day of 2000 (three weeks after
Easter, six weeks after Coronation) she tells me that she has
to end our marriage "to be my own person".  By that time I'd
pretty much figured out that when she said "independent", she
meant "dependent on someone else".

"Well," you might say, "these things happen, people change."
True, but inadequate.  I have two mutually contradictory stories
from the same mouth.  Either she lied to me for twelve years
by telling me she was happy, or she lied at the end by rewriting
our history.  Either way, I am completely unimpressed with her
declaration of "independence".  She could have left any time
in twelve years, but didn't.  Didn't, that is, until she had a
bunch of friends and a second husband lined up.  She could have
told me the truth from the start, but she didn't.  She instead
made me beg for her heart when she'd already sold it elsewhere.
Unwilling to take responsibility for her actions, she set me up
to fail, so she could justify her actions to herself.  I never
had a chance.  She betrayed and abandoned me, and tried to get
me to take the fall for it.  And she wonders why I took it
personally.

Maybe I'm the only one left who sees marriage as more than
a tax shelter.  Maybe I'm the only one left who expects a
minimum of moral (or at least ethical) conduct from his friends.
Bea's fencing friends apparently have no such hangups.  (If
some low-budget Anna Nicole pulled a stunt like that to join
my in-crowd, I think I'd be embarassed about it.  Maybe that's
why I didn't fit in, and she does.)

Here's a tip for all you aspiring duellists:  Work on fitting
in with the Lochmere rapier practice.  Skill may be useful, I
suppose, but is not as important as being an eager student.
Beatrice was nothing if not an eager student, and it paid off
big.  She got her gold scarf one year after authorizing; she
also got a Silver Nautilus and great connections for her Laurel
ambitions.  Her rapier teacher was Gregor (which should be no
surprise), her gold scarf sponsors were Isobel, Robert (I
apologize, I can't recall if it's Bedingfield or Bedington),
Alan Gravesend, and Nathaniel Sharpe.  Her Laurel mentor was
Margaret Cameron.  Go get 'em, provosts of tomorrow.  Bake
brownies, that works really well.

Atlantia, your institutes of recognition are corrupt.  (Pardon me
for saying out loud what everyone whispers; I told you I was going
to state the obvious.)  Wannabe marshals, rapierists, and A&S
enthusiasts all know that their ambitions are doomed if the
wrong person takes a dislike to them.  (There are others better
qualified than I to talk about crown tournies.)  And toadying
works.

Why should anyone strive to be recognized with an AoA when they
see that one can be gotten by (literally) kissing a king's
ass?  Who can take seriously the oath of honor mouthed by
a Free Scholar who has just dumped her husband for her fencing
tutor?  Ah, Atlantia, you talk big about honor, but you embrace
sleaze just as readily.

When Bea got her Laurel, a well-meaning person tried to explain
to me that I shouldn't see that as a disincentive for achieving
a Laurel myself.  The argument boiled down to, "There are
*plenty* of reprehensible Laurels.  What's one more?"  Well,
the logic is sound enough, I suppose.  But remind me again why
I should aspire to be associated with even one reprehensible
hypocrite?

It occurs to me that I'm upsetting some nice and well-meaning
people, people who still believe in honor and The Dream, and I
apologize for that.  Some of you have been kind and patient
with me, whether or not you knew what I was going through.
More of you don't know who the blue blazes I am, and don't see
why I should go to all this trouble to say such unpleasant things.
Sorry to darken your day.  Can't be helped.

Honest, folks, I tried to find a place where I could be in the
SCA without confronting my wretched ex or the forces that
made her what she is today.  But there's no such place.  When
you cut away the rapier and A&S, you and I really don't have much
to talk about, do we?  When honor is just a word, the SCA becomes,
as one wise man put it, "... just a bunch of people in funny clothes
hitting each other with sticks."  The Dream, as it is sold to the
starry-eyed initiates that every pyramid scheme needs, is a sham
and a farce.  It could be something great.  Maybe it once was.
But it's only as good as the people who embody it.  Is Beatrice
la Grave the kind of example that inspires you?  How grotesque.

Here's another tip for the aspiring duellist:  Be Elizabethan.
Be enthusiastic about ruffs, gonnes, bear-baiting, and songs
about beer.  For extra credit, join Gardner's Company.  It
works.

Grey (Robin's brother, a non-SCA person) recently asked me if
I was fencing again, and when I replied in the negative, he said,
"Too bad."

"Yes," I replied.  "Too bad."

"Too bad", though, is too small to cover the territory.  Let's
break it down, shall we?

It's too bad Robin grew up with so many role models that emphasized
having kids, but presented fathers for those kids as an expendable
option.

It's too bad that either Robin would rather live twelve years hiding
her misery than seek solutions, or that her soul changes shape as
readily as water poured from one vessel to another.  It's too bad
I'll never know which of these is true.  (Personally, I suspect
the latter, only because I don't think she's *that* good a liar.)

It's too bad the Lochmere rapier clique provided an easy copout
for her.  It's too bad neither Robin nor Greg have an ounce of
integrity.

Too bad about Dana.

It's too bad that in order to cover her exit, Robin had to destroy
not only our future, but our past.

It's too bad that those who talk about honor don't practice what
they preach.  It's too bad they don't have to.

Atlantia, you bought yourself a shiny little soul.  By doing so,
though, you expose it as counterfeit.  Too bad.

Henri is dead.  Let his persona story end with his lingering death
after being poisoned by his faithless wife so she could run off to
be a camp follower of a London militia.  She has not been brought
to justice, and never will be.

Now I've said my piece.  If you don't get it now, I can't help you.
Don't ask me anymore why I'm no longer in the SCA.  Ask yourself
why you still are.

Bye now,
-Eric

P.S.  Henri, while he lived, wrote humorous songs.  I've had three
songs kicking around my head the last couple of years, but haven't
written down more than the titles.  They are:
"The Tarnished Rose (or That Was No Lady, That Was My Wife)",
"There Are No Pirates in Atlantia (or With Friends Like These, Who
Needs Pirates)", and
"C is for Cookie".
If I ever feel the need to write them down, I'll publish them here.
But you could probably write them yourselves; I hear there's nothing
special about what's been done to me.  Happens all the time.

P.P.S.  Last time I looked (a couple of years ago), archery was still
on the up-and-up.  I never showed up at a royal event to claim my
GBE because Bea wouldn't tell me in advance whether or not she would
attend such-and-such event, and I wouldn't be in the same crowd as
she, let alone up in front of a crowd that had her in it.  Nothing
against archery.  Sir Mika, thanks for your patience.  Lorenzo,
sorry about the archery shed thing.  I respect how hard you worked
for Atlantian archery, and I hope they're treating you better in
the East.




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