Once upon a time someone put a whole lot of effort into constructing this thing on the very edge of a tidal marsh in Wellfleet Massachusetts. To the left is the marsh, to the right an open field. Okay so far?
Now, was the fence... Um, was it supposed to keep something in the marsh from the field? Or something in the field from the marsh? After a while fences become that way. Nobody remembers which direction they were aimed. Contention's like that. Something arouses it, years pass and it's no longer clear what it was fencing in, or out. But just as sure as God made marshes... that contension never quite drains away. I've met folks who surely suffer from contention dysfunction. A lot of them in Massachusetts. But, there's another story doncha know?