In one of my “so what” moods today. Seems to be a lot of divided emotions around everywhere now, folks taking sides one way or another. Some think this is new. Well, sad to day, it’s not. It goes back to at least when I was a mere stripling.

Among boys in the rural communities of Arkansas, and this sometimes included both white and black kids—the latter having no say in the details—one had to choose sides.

One was either a Roy Rogers fan or a Gene Autry fan, with perhaps a sprinkling of devotees following Hopalong Cassidy, Lash Larue, or the Durango Kid, among lesser gods.

One was either a Yankees fan or a Red Sox fan. Specifically, one was either a Mickey Mantle fan or a Ted Williams fan.

One was either a Chevy man or a Ford man. Allegiances usually flowed from father to son, but lost none of the ardor in the process.

One was either a Superman fan or a Batman fan. We assumed equality if only Batman could keep a little stash of Kryptonite in the glove compartment of the Batmobile.

One was a Dick Tracy man or a Mandrake the Magician man.

For those subjected periodically to the singing of hymns, there were the “Flowers in the Mud” men or the “Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear” men. To our credit, we never giggled with the older boys when they called out "Oh Why Not Tonight?"

We considered no choices of the female sex. They only meant distractions to our heroes and, as far as we knew at the time, served no useful purpose. They did seem to figure into the loss, occasionally, of one of our older gang members. And, they were allowed to share one bifurcation:

One was either an Elvis person or a Ricky Nelson person. Actually, for a small sub-sect of us, one was a Scotty Moore man or a James Burton man.

So you see.

Divided opinions flow from us like streams from snowy mountains. Difference is, we never wanted to kill anyone over them. Heck, even our heroes didn't advocate that kind of divisiveness. 

Heroes get old, as do our memories.