Tag: fear

Monsters


“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster . . . when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

As a father I was often asked to check under the bed for monsters. It was my fault in some cases, I let them read my old Calvin and Hobbes books in which the precocious lad would fabricate visions of drooling carnivores waiting to devour him when the lights go out. They also, especially my youngest boy, shared my love of horror movies at a young age. Chuckie was a favorite. I indulged them, waiting for the time to tell them that monsters in the movies and books are not real, the true monsters walk among us. Other people.

We hope when we bring home that swaddled cherub from the hospital that we will raise someone with a beautiful soul, a happy demeanor and positive outlook on the world. Many choose to attempt that by sheltering their children from the harsh realities of the world. It is a beautiful place indeed but danger really does lurk around every corner. How do you tell your children that the world is dangerous without making our children afraid? How can you tell them to be kind to strangers while also teaching them “stranger danger?” How do you teach them that it’s ok to smile and say hi to strangers but don’t accept anything they offer you and don’t get in the car even if they’re looking for a stray puppy? It’s a balancing act for sure.

I know that the real monsters; pedophiles, murderers, rapists, etc. have always been there. It wasn’t talked about as much when I was younger but disappearances, kidnappings and other crimes against children happened with alarming frequency. I saw the results clear as day as awareness rose. The generation (mine) that played outside all day, went many blocks or even miles from my house with only a home number of whose house I am at, and used the streetlight as our call to go home begat a generation of scared parents who are afraid to let their children leave their sight. The ensuing generations will consequently never learn the value of breathing fresh air, the exercise gained from playing with friends and riding bikes, using imagination to play games with each other and the valuable lessons learned on the playground such as learning to interact with others and having the occasional fistfight. Perhaps worst of all, they don’t know what it’s like to lose a fight or a game.

I taught my kids to be cynical. Follow your gut, if it feels wrong it probably is. Be nice but be careful. Be aware. I did this through humor, much to my wife’s disapproval. I joked about the white van, I had fun with their overprotective mother who would have wrapped them in bubble wrap if she had her way. She was black and white. Either be protective or not, there is no middle ground. Yet my way prevailed. My kids grew up cynical but polite. Cautious but funloving. Always with dad’s inappropriate humor in the back of their minds.

I got in pretty bad trouble with wifey in 2010. We were living in an apartment after we lost our house. We had a first floor unit on the courtyard and there was a lot of commotion always. One day my wife was just outside the door talking to a new neighbor. My youngest approached her mom and asked if she could go play with friends in one of the play areas that was beyond our sight. My wife reluctantly agreed and said “what do you do if a white van pulls up and asks you to get in? My 8 year old daughter, without flinching, said “hold out for the big Snickers” and jogged off. Our new neighbor was horrified. My wife put her head in her hands. I got an earful. My argument was that it worked, she understands and is still living her life.

Monsters walk among us. There is nothing a “monster” can do that is more horrific than the crimes against humanity that we see every day. Serial killers, sexual predators, kidnappers and even entire governments that continually raise the bar on how to commit savagery on the innocent. When Nietzsche said “those who fight monsters should look to it that he himself does not become one,” it is easy to see what he means. Rogue police officers who abuse their authority and become what they were charged to fight. Politicians who murder their own people to further a personal sometimes horrible agenda. Soldiers who commit war crimes because the fog of war blurred the line for them as to who the protector was and who was the enemy. Abused children who grow up to be the parent they despised. Of course how much of the population these animals consist of is small, they are infinitely more dangerous than an idiot with a machete killing kids at a summer camp.

Brian Laundrie is the latest example. I know that I am convicting him without knowing the true story but in my extensive studies on human behavior and a avid follower of all those who created the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit (formerly the Behavioral Sciences Unit) there is a 95% probability that the boyfriend killed the beautiful 22 year old Gabby Petito. And Gabby’s parents trusted their baby with him, not knowing that he was a monster. Because we don’t know, we can only use our best judgement and hope that our children make good choices. My mantra to my 4 children about “if it feels wrong, it probably is”, has served them well.

For all of the advances in society that we have made, the worst one is the escalation of just how awful people can be to each other. Cruelty, abuse and general savagery aren’t new. But the decline in values such as respect for each other and human life in general have fueled the fire of escalating violence both random and intentional.

Teach your children who the real monsters are. They are to our left and our right, hoping that it’s not in your neighborhood is simply not enough.

Enough

I can’t believe that I am actually reading tweets and FB posts from people hoping that our President and First Lady die of the Coronavirus. What is honestly wrong with people? Such unadulterated hatred is unfathomable to me and it marks a new low in our civilization…and I am speaking loosely here.

This is not a political post. I rarely post anything political on here, for the same reasons that I don’t post my politics on FB. My politics are my own and I don’t try nor do I expect anyone to follow suit or come over to “my side”. There are no sides, only our God-given and Constitutionally guaranteed rights to a individual and protected voice. You can feel however you want but I draw the line at forcing your beliefs on me. That includes hateful speech.

I was the least biggest fan Barack Obama ever had. It had nothing to do with the color of his skin, I strongly questioned his character and his politics. I never once wished harm upon him, I just patiently waited for his term to be over. I respected the office. What happened to that?

The word humanity cannot exist without the word “human”. The word humanity implies distinct qualities only attributed to mankind. The ability to reason, to empathize, to love, to show kindness; most but not all of these things qualities that the lower species are supposedly incapable of. I have begun to question our propensity for Humanity when I see people blindly attacking each other and wishing death upon them.

We’re better than this, people.

Or are we?

My special purpose

On Thursday I entered the dialysis clinic with my bag containing a blanket, books, my laptop, headphones and half of the trepidation I had felt on my first visit. I was greeted by an entirely different Nursing Staff, which gave me the opportunity to drop my “oil change” joke 💀. It was fairly well received. I’m going to ask for a tire rotation next time to test the waters.

I already know the routine. I weighed in and sat down while 2 nurses, 2 potentially new sounding boards for my repertoire of Dad jokes, went through an impressive routine of programming the machine and unwrapping needles and fastening clamps and god knows what else. It really is something to watch, it must have taken a hell of a lot of training. When they were done and I was hooked up, they went on to other patients and I settled in for 3 boring hours.

I wasn’t in the mood for TV and not ready to read so I looked around the room. There are 12 stations in the room and every chair was full. I recognized most of the patients in the room from my first visit. The staff was all new to me. In particular I noticed a thin, older woman with a buzz cut making the rounds of the patients. I figured her to be the Nurse Manager. She was making her way towards me. After spending a few minutes with the gentleman next to me she came over and introduced herself as Kim, the clinic’s Social Worker. She knew who I was, had researched my case and apparently was looking forward to meeting me. Part of me wishes I could say the same. I respect social workers and what they do, but their goal is to get me talking about myself and my condition and how it has affected me and everything else that I don’t want to talk about. I deal well by not talking about “it”. Social workers chew away at my armor.

Kim sat down next to me and asked me a few questions about my overall reaction to the dialysis process, was I feeling better? Did I have any issues or complaints? Standard stuff. I immediately found her east to talk to. I had been anticipating an interview and instead found myself in a conversation. I certainly had time so I decided to drop my guard a bit and see where it goes.

The questions flowed easily from her and although it was standard fare; how long have I been sick; my marital status and my living situation. I answered all of them honestly and in some detail. She was taken back by my story, especially at the saga of my marriage collapsing. She kept asking, in different ways, if there was a chance at reconciliation and I continued to say no. She was surprised at my acceptance of the situation but dropped the subject. She then asked me if I was working, would I be able to or plan to in the future. I explained my situation with SSDI and that seemed to satisfy her. She then asked me what I used to do for work.

I found myself telling her all about my most recent position at the finance company and of all of the things I loved about it. I don’t know how long I spoke of it but when I was done and looked at her she looked captivated.
“If you could see the look in your eyes as you talk about that job” she said.
I had actually teared up as I had told her my tale.
“It meant a lot to me, Kim. You will never hear me utter a word of hubris, but when it came to that job I was damn good at it. I miss it.”
“I can tell.”

The conversation eventually wound down and she moved on to another patient. The emotional reaction to talking of my career lingered on. I explored it deeper and had an epiphany of sorts. Of all of the things I hate about my current situation is that I am no longer needed by people in my life. My family no longer seeks or expects support from me. I no longer go to work each day and try, in some small way. to make a difference in someone’s life. See, I had no throttle control before this happened. I was “all in” on life with family and career. I was active as possible as a parent and a husband, Teaching, mentoring and loving my kids while giving what remained of my ass to my job was what I lived for. I was a doer, a guy that made shit happen. A guy people came to. I was a great father, husband, friend and co-worker. I rode bikes and walked miles in the name of charity. I donated money I didn’t have and didn’t care.

Now I have none of it. Maybe the pace proved too much for my body.

I have beaten to death my family life on this blog and it is well documented that I love my family with all of my earthly strength. But I haven’t discussed work often and it was a big part of who I was. Men have often been accused of strongly tying their self-worth to their profession. I was guilty of this. I vowed never to be the guy who called in sick and no one noticed. My job, to quote Steve Martin in ” The Jerk”, I had found my special purpose.

The days when people came to me for advice; when calls were transferred to me because no one else knew enough or how to talk to an irate customer; having the owner boast that you are the “best in the business”; being given a seemingly impossible situation and finding a way to fix it. I have such fond memories of talking to people where the conversation started as a confrontation and ended with a “thank you.” It wasn’t that I was particularly skilled at everything, I just knew how to talk to people and I really, genuinely cared about them. I was proud to go home many days of the week with the knowledge that I actually may have helped someone through a tough day. I don’t have that anymore.

I have tried to be as useful as possible since the collapse. I volunteer at the food bank, I help some of the older people in town with basic chores. I don’t charge them, they don’t have the money. I am kind to my fellow man and I put out zero negative energy into the universe. I hope to become healthy enough to volunteer at a camp for the families of terminally ill children next summer. I am being the best person I can be.

But I don’t feel needed. I can’t believe how much I miss that feeling.