Idealism

This was the first poll

Definition of ideal

 (Entry 1 of 2)

1a: of, relating to, or embodying an ideal: ideal beauty

b: conforming exactly to an ideal, law, or standard PERFECT an ideal gas— compare REAL sense 1c(4)

2a: existing as a mental image or in fancy or imagination only broadlylacking practicality

b: relating to or constituting mental images, ideas, or conceptions

3: of or relating to philosophical idealism

4: existing as an archetypal idea

ideal

noun

Definition of ideal (Entry 2 of 2)

1: a standard of perfection, beauty, or excellence

2: one regarded as exemplifying an ideal and often taken as a model for imitation

3: an ultimate object or aim of endeavor GOAL

4: a subset of a mathematical ring that is closed under addition and subtraction and contains the products of any given element of the subset with each element of the ring

I did a two-part poll the other day as I wanted to see what people would be willing to die for. Check out the screen shot above. Twitter would only let me have four options total, and so I had to combine a couple of the items into one item each.

What got me to thinking and ultimately doing this first part of the poll was a scene from Full Metal Jacket.

In the scene, a couple of soldiers had been killed in combat. The main characters of the story, Joker, Rafter Man, Doc J, Animal Mother, and a couple of others were standing around the corpses, paying their last respects.

Rafter Man: “Well at least they died for a good cause.”

Animal Mother: “What cause was that?”

Rafter Man: “Freedom?”

Animal Mother: “Flush out your head gear new guy, you think we waste gooks for freedom? This is a slaughter. If I’m going to get my balls blown off for a word, my word is poontang.”

When I did this poll, everything except “poontang” is an ideal. Social Justice is an ideal. We can’t hold it in our hands, we can’t touch it. We are going to disagree about what it is and what it means. The same can be said about Duty and Honor, and God and Country. None of those things mean the same to everyone. You can’t touch or hold any of them, you can’t take them home with you, except in your head.

A lot of people replied to my first part of the poll asking why “Freedom” wasn’t on the list. At the time I had forgotten about that one and I didn’t want to cancel the poll all in order to do another one. I have a feeling that had I done that, even more people would have voted for an ideal that they would be willing to die for. Yes, our beloved freedom is an ideal too. You can’t touch it, taste it, hold on to it, put it in your pocket and take it home with you. In fact, I’m positive that what you define as freedom is going to be different from my definition of freedom.

When the poll ended, I put up a new poll the next day:

Second part of the poll

I know that there were more respondents to my first poll than my second poll. I’m not claiming any sort of scientific analysis here. I’m sure that there were people who voted on one poll and didn’t vote on the other. I’m sure that some people voted on both and probably voted consistently. However, the difference here is exactly what I thought it would be.

Throw pretty words at someone and they will side with it. Use a nebulous term such as “ideal” and nobody wants to die for an ideal.

And yet you do.

You are willing to die for social justice, duty and honor, god and country, and the beloved freedom that didn’t even make it into the original poll. All of these things are ideals and nothing more.

I chose “poontang” not because pussy is the be-all-end-all, but because it’s tangible. It’s something we can all agree on what it is. Everybody knows it when they see it. We can touch it, taste it, feel it, and in a tongue and cheek sort of way, we can put it in our pockets and take it home with us.

The only other reply that I saw in my first poll that made sense to me was being willing to die for your family and children. Your family is tangible. They are your flesh and your blood. When it comes to children they are your offspring and the future, so I get that one. All of the others are just words. Container words to be exact. None of them have any inherent meaning except what you give them, and what duty, god, country, honor, or even freedom, is going to be different for you as compared to me.

Politicians, persuaders, cult leaders, sales people, conmen, grifters, and all sorts of others that may not have your best interests in mind know this. The question is, do you?

Not according to what my two non-scientific impromptu polls indicate. Most of you are willing to die for something that is nothing more than a word, a container word at that. An ideal.

I don’t consider that there was a “right” or “wrong” answer when it came to these polls. You die for whatever you want to die for. I know for me, if I’m going to die for something, it’s going to be more than just a word with some feelings attached to it. I’m going to die for something tangible.

“If I’m going to get my balls blown off for a word, my word is pootang.”

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“My Legacy”

man talking picture while smiling
Legacy Porn for Power Dads.

I’ve been seeing “My Legacy” tweets and posts a lot lately. If you are on Twitter and are part of the same circles that I run around in, I’m sure you are seeing it too.

Guys showing off their kids and what they are doing with them. Guys talking about their families and posting pictures of them.

On the surface, there is nothing wrong with this, as far as I’m concerned. It’s a guy who is trying to be a positive role model for other guys who either have families of their own, or for guys who are interested in starting a family of their own one day.

But let’s dig a little deeper…

Let’s start off with the guys who talk about “my legacy.” Notice the first word in the quotes. “My.” It’s not about his family or his kid’s. It’s not about their well-being or what they want, or even about how they are being raised. It’s about him. It’s about getting digital high-fives and back slaps. It’s about “atta boys” and recognition. In short, it’s about validation seeking. The “my legacy” types are more worried about their “legacies” than how their kids feel about it.

I may not be a father, but I am a son and I was once a teenager. What happened when I was a teenager and even a young man? I rebelled. I rebelled against my family because they too, were more concerned about their “legacy” than they were with what I wanted out of life and how I felt about it. Many of the father’s and even some of the mother’s that I see talking about their “legacy” have young children. Most of these children haven’t become teenagers yet. They are still at that young, fun, impressionable age where Mom and Dad are gods and good guys. It’s going to be interesting to see how that dynamic plays out in the next few years or the next decade.

Worrying about your “legacy” is self-centered in my opinion. I think a lot of the father’s writing about their families are missing the point. It’s not about you. It’s about your kid’s. They are autonomous human beings with feelings and wishes of their own. Growing up being brainwashed by religion and family is a great way to create rebels and black sheep.

I was raised and grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah. It’s pretty much the LDS capital of the world. On the surface, it looks idyllic. Nuclear families where the father is the patriarch, mom stays at home and raises the kids. Kids are happy, healthy, so on and so forth, etc., etc. The truth is, many of the families are not nuclear anymore. No-fault divorce is just as accepted and legal in Utah as it is anywhere else in the United States. Drug use, prescription drug use, is high here in Utah. Everybody is on anti-depressants. I’m not making this up. Google the statistics for yourself.

Most of the kids that I grew up with rebelled. Drug use, drinking, pre-marital sex, unplanned pregnancies, all of that was a thing during my youth and still is today. One thing that has changed is young people committing suicide. That has gone up since when I was younger. If life is so grand, why are they killing themselves? Boredom? They’ve peaked out and therefore life can’t get any better, so might as well end it now?

No. That’s not it.

I don’t have all the answers to that question because it’s a complex question, but I can say with certainty because I have lived in it and experienced it firsthand, a big part of it is about perfection. Being perfect, having the perfect little life and family. At least on first glance and on paper.

The truth is, Mom and Dad are popping pills and drinking heavily. The kids are doing the same. Mom and Dad are having affairs and the kids are out screwing like the human animals that they are, but nobody wants to talk about it or address it. Everybody shows up to church on Sunday and it’s business as usual. Teenage pregnancy is high because nobody wants to talk about sex except abstinence. “Sex is something that is between a husband and a wife. You don’t do it until you are married.”

I hate to throw around the term narcissistic fantasy, but the “my legacy” crowd is indeed doing that very thing. It’s not about their kids really. It’s about them. The only difference that I’m seeing now is that they are doing it online instead of in the pews on Sunday. Mother’s and Father’s bragging about how great and wonderful their kids are, while their son is out stealing cars. Talking about how their son is going to go on a mission when he is old enough to do so, and that same son is out drinking and smoking weed, saying he will never go on a mission to his friends. The bishop of the ward talking about the sins of premarital sex, and his son is busy knocking up his “one true love.”

I’m not exaggerating when I say this stuff, I witnessed all of this with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears. I grew up with it, and nothing has changed.

I think it’s going to be interesting when the “legacy” crowd has their sons and daughters hit their teenage years and many of them rebel. These young families think they have it hard now, they haven’t gone through the crucible of the teenage and early twenty-something years. What I can’t wrap my head around is, they were teenagers once themselves, and not too long ago. They are closer to their teenage years than I am. Have they already forgotten? Did they not rebel? Did they follow their parents’ blueprint to having a “great family?” Or are they going to “do it different” than dear old Mom and Dad did?

Your “legacy” shouldn’t be about your kids in all honesty. Raising children is something that almost everybody does at some point. Ejaculating in a woman and her getting pregnant isn’t a feat. You aren’t special because you had kids. Your kids aren’t your legacy.

Every time I see or hear someone spout off about their “legacy,” I can think of several people who decided that hanging around and taking care of their parents in their old age wasn’t in the plans. I’ve seen people disown their families, walk out the door, and never look back, and with no regrets. My ex-wife’s oldest daughter has two children of her own as I’m writing this, and my ex-wife, the grandmother of these two children, has never seen those children in person and never will. Her oldest daughter will talk to me, but she won’t talk to her own mother. There’s a legacy for you.

I’ve seen “legacies” end up behind bars. I’ve seen them drink themselves to death or overdose on heroin. I’ve seen them join gangs. Your legacy can’t be your family as far as I’m concerned because they don’t owe you anything and they aren’t obligated to you. They can walk out of your life legally the moment they hit the age of majority and never look back. They are autonomous beings with thoughts, feelings, and desires of their own. Give them the space to explore that without the pressure of trying to live up to your legacy.

You want to be a Dad and raise kids? Fine, do that. I don’t have a problem with that. I hope your kids turn out okay and that they are happy and healthy. But don’t make it about you. You chose to have kids, they didn’t choose you. If you want to leave a legacy behind, make it about something else. Otherwise you’ll probably fuck your kids up. That, and all families have kids right? That’s the very definition of a family. Raising kids isn’t an achievement, it’s what everybody does.

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What Now?

flight sky people high

As I write this, it’s Thursday, the day before the viewing for my Mother, which will be Friday. Ah Friday. Lately seems like all of the interesting shit falls on a Friday. Then there will be Saturday. The day that we bury her.

I’m still sort of in shock. I’m still numb. Maybe tomorrow reality will hit me full force in the face. Maybe not. Maybe that will be Saturday. Then again, maybe not. Maybe it will be weeks or months, maybe even years before this really hits me. I don’t really know.

My closest Brother, Ryan, called me today. He lives in Illinois at the moment. He’s been there for quite a few years now. God I miss him. I really wish he was here. He can’t be though. He’s got his own life and his own shit to deal with.

But we talked. Talked for about an hour and a half. It was really good to talk with him. I got to tell him the things that are going on in my life at the moment and he got to tell me the things that are going on in his life. He’s got some really, and I mean REALLY awesome things that are happening to him. I’m so happy for him. I really and truly hope that they work out and come true.

We talked about my Mom. We talked about how we went to car shows with her and my Dad. He mentioned that she was like a Mother to him as well. He’s hurting too. I know it.

My Mom was a “neat lady.” She was. She was neat. She did the best she could and like all of us really, she had to figure things out as she went. She had to wing it. I’ll always love her for that. She meant well.

I’m relieved that she is no longer in pain. I’m glad that she isn’t suffering anymore. I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful that I got to know her the best that I could.

That being said, my Mom was no saint. She wasn’t perfect. In fact, she was rather heavy handed with me as I was growing up. Even right up to the end, that was how she was. Always giving me unsolicited advice. Telling me what I “should” do. What I “ought” to do. What I “needed” to do. Some of that unsolicited advice was priceless. Most of it was worthless.

I guess in her eyes, I never grew up. I was never the Man before her. I was always her son and the little boy who didn’t have it figured out and would never figure it out. Even at my age of 46. Part of me resents her for that.

I know that I’ll miss her terribly. But part of me is relieved that she is gone. For the first time in my life, I feel truly out from under her. I’m sure I mentioned this in a previous post, but I’m saying it again.

I get to be me now. I don’t have to wear a mask around the family anymore. I don’t have to wear a mask around her anymore. I can be who I am, warts and all. I don’t have to face her judgment anymore. I don’t have to hear her “should’s,” “ought to’s,” and “need’s” anymore. I can be me full time around my Dad now. He can be who he really is around me full time now.

I love my Mom and always will, if it wasn’t for her and my Father both, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t exist.

I still resent her though, to some degree. And like I said, I’m relieved that she is gone. I don’t have to put up with her shit anymore.

I mentioned to my Dad the other day why I didn’t come around much ever since I left the nest and got out on my own. I didn’t have to finish what I had started, he finished it for me.

“You didn’t come around much because you didn’t want to hear your Mother’s shit.”

He’s right. Nailed it in one. I’ve always considered my Father perceptive, but I didn’t realize until then, just how perceptive he really is.

I needed to tell him why I didn’t come around so that he didn’t think it was about him. Turns out he knew all along. He was right.

The girlfriend tolerated my Mother and the sparse visits we made to visit her and my Dad. I knew she didn’t really want to be around my Mom. She said to me one night after we had left their house, “You change when you’re around them.”

“What? How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you become more quiet, more withdrawn, sullen.”

“I do?”

“Yeah you do.”

I never realized I did that until that conversation. But I did. Did it for years. Honestly, I did that my whole life. I tried to show my Mom who I really was when I was much younger and she didn’t want to see it. Couldn’t see it. Wouldn’t see it. Like many things in her world, her life, she only saw what she wanted to see. We all do that to one degree or another. I know I do.

The girlfriend spoke to me the other day, she hopes that my Dad will wait until she gets back from her trip before he starts to remove Mom’s stuff from the house. She wants to help him do it. She wants to hopefully get a better picture of who my Mom as a Mother and a woman was, and she also wants to get to know my Dad better. She actually wants to spend more time around my Father. She likes him. She wants to see what he’s like now that he’s not the caregiver. She wants to see him outside the influence of my Mom. I do too.

My Father and I get to start new chapters now. Chapters without the influence of my Mother. It’ll be good I think.

No, it will be great.

Life is absurd and so is death. But here we are.

There are no rules really, only consequences. Do what you want. Think what you want. Be who you want. Accept the consequences of those choices. Realize for the most part, none of those choices or consequences will kill you.

Set yourself free.

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