With only a couple of exceptions, every year I drive to the top of Texas for the annual beer fest and old-timers barbecue in my home town. I only partake of one of those delicacies these days, but it is still worth the five-hour drive to see old friends.

Two years ago, I learned that apparently I still have enemies at home as well — even though that means individuals have been all hatin’ for more than 20 years. As I was hanging with the good old boys, one inebriated acquaintance told me how much he and his classmates despised me.

I was a little surprised. Those guys were “my freshmen” — meaning they were in the ninth grade when I was in the 12th. Back in the day, it was very common for the seniors to “haze” their freshmen. The torture of choice back then was usually a slightly sadistic prank in which the older guys would spray a sports product called Tuf-Skin on the privates of the younger boys before and after football practice or basketball practice.

Tuf-Skin is intended for the feet, to ward off blisters. When applied to other parts of the anatomy, it goes on ice cold, then begins to burn like fire as it is absorbed. But the worst part of the ritual is that the stuff remains unbearably sticky for about two days.

(DO NOT try this at home …)

Get this. Although I took my share of hazing and tuf-skinnings as a freshman — I thought it was really stupid and just wrong. So, I never hazed an underclassman in any way. Ironically, a fellow senior once told me that it is necessary to put the underclassmen in their place — or they wouldn’t respect me. I stuck to my guns and took my chances without demeaning the “fish.”

So … Flash forward to present time … I have been racking my brain to figure out why these young guys hated me. Was my buddy right? Could it be that I didn’t force respect on them? Was it because I was perceived as pretty arrogant in sports … maybe. (I was once known for a jump shot and a behind-the-back pass … but never for holding my tongue.)

But, I remembered one specific instance that might have set off this disdain. There was an incident during the lunch hour one day in the gymnasium. It is the only time I can ever remember having a conflict with the young guys.

I was sitting on a rail between the bleachers and the basketball court, talking with the gang. Across the court, I saw five or six of “my freshmen” circled around this one kid — mocking him and teasing him. I don’t like that meanness in just about any situation. But, this day I was particularly irritated.

Ha … think of Tommy Lee Jones’ great line in “Lonesome Dove” just after he bullwhips some poor soul: “I won’t tolerate rude behavior in a man.”

Rather than walking across the gym to intervene, I trusted my arm. I grabbed a red dodge ball from some kid, and chucked it across the gym. I thought the ball would probably hit near the group, surprise them … and they would move on to their next pastime.

Ha … I threw the ball pretty hard, and in a combination of luck and perhaps some skill, I nailed the head perpetrator square in the face. It didn’t draw blood, but it had to hurt. And yes, I bet it left a mark.

Needless to say, it was a big enough distraction to stop the teasing. They guys looked around, embarrassed, realizing they were in the wrong … and disbanded.

Why did my anger flare up so easily that day?

You see, my town is a tiny town. Everyone knows everyone. I knew every guy in the pack … and I knew their prey. He was also a freshman. But he was not a star athlete, like many of those guys went on to be.

He was what we called “mentally retarded” back then. Today, we would say he was mentally challenged.

So, the cream of the crop were picking on the least fortunate, and pardon the expression it really, really pissed me off.

So I handled it. Quickly, quietly, and never said another word about it until this day.

That is the only thing I ever did to those freshmen. Maybe that’s why they hated me. I don’t know. I haven’t lost sleep about it. It is just a vivid memory.

But you know what? … If I were in the gymnasium with the president of our country this week, I might have grabbed the closest dodge ball and hurled it his way. (Will the Secret Service wrestle you to the ground for a dodge ball?)

Yes! … I would hold President Obama to the same standard that I expected of those five or six 15 year olds so many years ago.

Oh … You know what else? If President Obama had been shooting that weak jump shot of his — the one his handlers used for a photo op during the campaign — I would have demanded he not bring that weak s..t into our gym.

I am not perfect (I am however a champion of understatement). I have made more than my share of mistakes. But I won’t tolerate rude behavior from a man who is supposed to be a leader.

Know what I saying?