I’ve made an exception and decided to write in a very sarcastic voice. Pardon the truth, but it is my truth.
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The adoration of the era when children were ignored and hurt continues.
If a stranger were to raise their hand to your mother or sister, wife or daughter, wouldn’t you at the very least wish to protect them? Why then do we continue to put in pedestals the people who hurt so many people we know today? There are statements going around like:
That treatment gave them character.
They are stronger adults because of it.
Important lessons were taught and learned.
No one was really hurt.
… and others.
We adore and reminisce about a culture where it was good and right to subdue certain people based on a criteria. Slaves come to mind right? Well, my mother was made to stay home and clean, cook and tend to the children, not have friends, or even a life to call her own. We adore that age. She lived in a home where her children were enslaved to a schedule that could not be broken, where doing anything outside the established meant beating them with available belts, or other things. We can’t get enough about those wonderful memories. My eyes still tear up when I think of the times when ignorant of what was happening I hid under the bed trying not to get hit while on the other hand I was being pulled from under it forcibly by an adult who overpowered me, was double my size, and snapped his hands or belt upon my flesh until he was satisfied of something that to this day I have no knowledge of or understand. I learned my lesson… that lesson being that I could do nothing because it would most likely end up in the wonderful beatings we praise as part of the backbone of good culture and responsible adults.
Am I successful today? I don’t know. I suffer from PTSD, I never leave my home, I’m partly OCD about everything, I am completely impartial about 100% of things in life, I have no feelings, and that’s just on the days when the depression is not pulling me into the dark abyss that is my life. Let’s hold hands and together continue to praise that era. Let us hold meetings and gatherings where we share memories of being told not to do things not because it was wrong, but because the adult said so; because they were busy and could otherwise not attend to their progeny trying to have a childhood.
Did I get to play with friends? Sure. One of my fondest memories of childhood was when my friend Javier came over my house, that one and only time. We played outside by the pea plants, and let our imaginations roam as we used the plants, cement fence, and other things as bases for our toys, or hideouts, and other things. Then, when it was my turn to go to Javier’s house I was not given permission. I lost his friendship after that. Why was I not allowed? Who knows, ‘cause I don’t. Truly fond of that memory.
We praise a time when we were in fear all the time. We didn’t do things not because we understood that nature of the thing, but because doing so would get us beaten. Let me see here, what other parts of my life are like that today where I cannot do something I want to do but have no clue of what that is, what I can get out of it, etc.? There isn’t one. There isn’t one because generally speaking when people don’t understand something they ask questions about it, or read a bit in order to understand, or in this day and age look it up in the Google Search to see what other equally ignorant few had to say on the matter. So many choices as an adult. But in a childhood where that isn’t really explained, shared, taught, or even ambiguously presented, ignorance then tends to be what is learned. It is alright to be ignorant because only stupid people ask questions. Think about it, if you are a kid in this age we praise, ask a question, and then hope for an answer, what was the common response? “Get out of here”, or maybe “go play with your toys”, perhaps a “not now I’m busy”, or anything else that would allow the person to go on about their business as long as that was not the child. What glorious days. What happy times. How incredible it must have been to be a parent those days, a male parent at that.
No one else in the world understands how hard it is to work and then have to come home to tend to the children you helped create. So tough. Absolutely no one else in the world can understand the unbelievable pressure that is. No one in the over 7 billion inhabitants of this planet has any semblance of understanding how tough they had it… apparently that was the thought.
So, how did they deal with problems, especially those having to do with children: ignore it. Alright, let’s say I learned my lesson. I will ignore… my light bill, water bill, cellphone bill, cable bill, car bill, and home bill. I will ignore my boss, my wife, my son, neighbors, and police. If anyone comes to the door to ask any questions I will do as thought and beat them up. Hell, I’ll just look for something readily available like a broom and just beat them with it for asking me questions like “when are you going to pay”; after all, my wonderful upbringing did teach me all about that, you know: asking questions gets you a beating. Here’s a good one, whenever a female coworker comes to me at work for help with an issue, I will tell her to go home and tend to the house, because that’s how I was raised. My favorite, whenever my son comes to me with an inquiry, I can just beat the sense, purity, goodness, and love out of him because who the hell wants to deal with children.
Let’s continue to praise those wonderful times. Movies, books, documentaries, blogs, movements, and other things have surfaced by the very people who were hurt during these times, but does anyone care, truly care? The best example we have on record of how completely irreverent people were at a point is that of Sigmund Freud. Better to say that a woman is suffering from sexual tensions and other traumatic things due to her sex or lack thereof than actually look at the society where they come from, how they have been made to live, what standards were expected of them, how incredibly insensitive the world was towards every one of them, and more. No way! Better say they are sexually frustrated than actually deal with the problem. Let’s once more joyfully praise those wonderful times.
If I hear one more person say: “I remember the old days”, I swear I may just have to teach them what I was taught in the same way in which it was taught to me.
