Somewhere between here and the curb

We don’t automatically become cynical when we get old; it is a learned and slowly developed attitude that is established through repetitiveness.  It is a systematic dismantling of that which we were taught as children; old behaviors replaced by new as a result of frustrating and disappointing experiences.

As children our spark is strong and we experience some sensation of unity in our fight to make sense of it all.  We exist in a world that spins very close to right and wrong on a daily basis.  We are continually immersed in the educational process of what is acceptable behavior, in the classroom, on the playground and at home.  Our wonder years become saturated with ethics, and expectations and we grow into young adults who are expected to go to war to fight for these very principles.  

Growing into our own we shed most of that child-like feeling of unity.  We’ve become the adult, the educator and respected citizen.  We’ve become responsible.

Our spinning world, however, is no longer close to right and wrong.  We have been distanced from it and the part we once played in it is now being done by someone younger, fresher and stronger.  The unfortunate reality is that our replacements are still in the learning phase, so our daily experiences and interactions are now with the inexperienced and undeveloped. 

The person bagging my groceries is doing it wrong.  The lady at the social security office lied to me, the cable company is charging me more every time I turn around, and each thing I do, each interaction becomes a fight, a struggle to get closer and back to what is right.  Our spark, however, is weak and our patriotic flag waving no longer hides the realities.  The wrongness appears widespread and is reinforced through the bungling and moronic behaviors portrayed by television families.

If any solution exists it does so, hopefully, just short of throwing it all away and starting over.  The evolution of a society is like the slow-motion blossoming of a flower, it is not sculpted by its members.  It has its own DNA and we are not privy to the end result, but we are subjected to the growing pains.  These pains are seen through the eyes of the aged and well seasoned; those who talk of how things used to be, of the good ole’ days.  And it is witnessed by those who have given up, who don’t see a potential flower at all but rather a weed needing to be picked and set out on trash day.