Discussion about this post

User's avatar
Kris's avatar

Donald, I can identify with much of what you've written above. To me, it does not sound hyper-critical, nor do I think you are wallowing in self-pity. I think you are just one of the less-than-five-percent, who are what I call: "plugged in".

Those of us who are "plugged in" notice things. We notice injustice and unfairness...and it bothers us. We notice when we are blessed in some area...and we feel gratitude. We notice when a years-long burden is removed...and we rejoice. We have good working memories, and we are constantly comparing past behaviors to present behaviors, because that what happens when you have a good memory. It is something that one has no control over

The other ( probably) 95% are pod people...zombie-ing their way through life; never seeing cause-and-effect; constantly scammed because they can't remember the last time they were scammed, and not to trust again; and moving on to the next big thing...ping ponging through life, with no understanding how they are being victimized...or how they victimize others. Asleep at the wheel.

My biggest regret in life, is having spent more than two seconds investing time in such folks. If I had it to do over, I would spend most of my life in solitude. Some of these "friends"were bad people...but many were just pod people. I can't really blame them for not being something that they just COULD NOT be. It was partly my fault, for expecting a caliber of behavior from these folks, that was impossible for them. Like being angry at nursery school kids, because they got bored when you played classical music for them. I've been thinking a lot about this lately, because so many people who used to be in my life are dying suddenly. I just found out about someone I was very close to years ago, who died suddenly. I keep wondering....if way back when...I could have peered 40 years into the future, and could have seen all the people who surrounded me back then...line up for a suicide shot...would I have ditched them?

Expand full comment
White Wolf's avatar

I suppose, if I wanted to, I could post a two-hundred page sob story. My life of shame started in Kindergarten. I just could not skip. I suppose that came natural to most kids, but I guess I was just born with four left feet. Then came first grade. I was in my own world. I knew everything about Star Trek, Klingons, Vulcans, and Romulans, but utterly nothing about Football or Saturday Night Live. The NFL? What was that. Was that part of the Apollo Space program?

It only went downhill from there. In Second Grade, Sr Marie Adrian had it out for me. According to her, my handwriting was atrocious. No matter how splendid I made my "U's" and "P's" my penmanship got a U, which stood for unsatisfactory. One time I think I actually got an "N"- Needs Improvement. In retrospect, I think I was just being gaslighted. Everybody now thinks I have the greatest cursive in the world. But according to Sr Adrian I could not do anything right. I could not make a round wheel for my pine derby racer or a square stand for a trophy base.

I did learn how to read very quickly. In the third grade the class would be reading a story at he beginning of the reader while I would be reading one of the more complex short stories at the end. When the teacher called on me to read, somebody always had to show me where they were. The teacher thought I was not paying attention, but I knew the story inside and out- I had read it two months before. She was amazed that all my answers were right, even though I never paid attention.

But Sr Adrian convinced my parents I was a basket case, and they took me to see the Psychiatrist. Well, you should have seen the reaction once the class found out about that. I was no longer a classmate. I was an exhibit. And meanwhile, they must have thought whatever I had was contagious or something. I was absolutely shunned. What made matters worse was that our class had an odd number of students, so that when teams were picked I was literally the odd man out. Did not even get to be the last pick.

Sr Adrian cast a long shadow, and when I was in the 4th grade my mother decided to enroll me in the local public school. But the word got around and the students called me a "SPED", an acronym for "Special Education". I got pretty much the same treatment I had at the Catholic School.

In Fifth Grade I was back at Catholic School. I did love science. And in fifth grade I excelled at it. Mrs Bucher had me in the front of the class explaining the Apollo Rockets, Boosters, Stages, Solid versus liquid fuel...

But in the 6th grade it was back to being gaslighted. In my first ever science test, I got the lowest score- a whopping 18 out of 100 possible points. Good grief, the test was four question multiple choice. Even wild guessing should have been good for 25 points. I would recover my grades, but never my reputation. I was still always picked last.

But I did learn a few valuable lessons. The first is that human esteem is as changeable as a Northeast snowstorm, and twice as unpredictable. The second was that I would rather have 1 good friend than 20 fair weather associates. The third was just to do what I wanted to do, and to hell with what anybody else thought, including my parents.

Later in life, my father started to emulate me. He listened to the music I did, and read the books I read. And he escaped the shallow life he had inherited, the Life of Hello Dolly and Oklahoma and Guys and Dolls. The life of Bowling on Tuesday and Bridge on Thursday. I guess America 1.0 was not really it was that it was cracked up to be.

Expand full comment
25 more comments...

No posts