The transformation is nearly complete for a peer of mine turning into his father.
His father wasn’t a know-it-all outside of the house, but I suspect it was quite different inside, for his wife always cried during a visit when, for once, he could neither irritatedly see nor hear her every probably-improvable move.
My peer does not know how to access the Internet, least of all on his own smartphone. Obviously, he is not online enough to know anything of what goes on online, apart from someone else setting up his medical appointments, tax forms, etc. To him, it simply, thus, doesn’t go on.
I know that he saw the segment about the young man with the “Birds Aren’t Real” faux-crusade. When one of our other peers, as savvy as anyone these days, asked him what he thought of it, he responded exactly as his father would: “There’s a reason they call marijuana ‘dope’.”
I’m sure our peer was as baffled as I was, and not only at the lame *humor.* He really doesn’t know the birds-aren’t-real conspiracy theory is satire? He thought and probably still thinks the young man (judged a pothead) really believed it. He was dismissed from white male boomer credence.
Wasn’t our generation a dedicated architect of calling out lies and blindings? How is that able to be forgotten? My peer was a Dylan fan, after all. We all went through the 60s. What happened?
Our mutual peer texted him back, “I’m getting a t-shirt made. It’ll say, ‘Birds Aren’t Real – Stop the Steal.'”
I tried to explain why that was funny.
He’s well aware of the ‘steal” madness, but I went into the part about extremist Q beliefs, and again about who rushed the Capitol and what was underneath it all.
And still is.
I mentioned the many who think (and dare say) 9/11 was “an inside job.” Still.
I even mentioned the jet stream poisoning theory. He’d heard about that long ago. He doesn’t believe anyone (not smoking dope regularly) might actually believe it. Meh, dismiss them all.
He wouldn’t know George Soros from PeeWee.
I told him about the aging father of a co-worker who tried his best to go off the grid. He cashed in his (and his wife’s!) money for gold bullion, stocked up on canned goods, bought water filtration systems, armed himself to the teeth. Every room in the house bore a loaded gun.
His wife gave up and divorced him and the grandchildren weren’t allowed to go to the house without a parent. The parents gave up, too, eventually. By saving himself from the evil government, or some imagined even non-apocalyptic takeover, he lost everything of importance in this life, including his own freedom he’d sought to protect. He couldn’t see that.
Yesterday while hanging out with the Lord (which accumulated in reality to a short time), I said, “What can we do for Your Mother?” –as if He didn’t have that covered! I thought, “A flower.”
Not that kind, and not the Rosary which is like 50 roses of grace for her to dispense — she never keeps them for herself. She is completely about us, her fully adopted children, even in what we call her month. My inaugural flower, so to speak, would be that of a nice thought / prayer for someone I don’t like (/anymore).
It takes two, doesn’t it, for a liking; thus, it takes two for a non- or an un-liking: It can only be that I have my own judgement going on in this.
I am up to five avoidings, now, some more intense than otherwise.. but my friend, God, is not up to five –nor even one. End of story!
Teachable moments are hard, sometimes. Maybe always. Where are we without them, though? Like with this young man trying in his own way to wake us from a bad dream that doesn’t have to be, it behooves us as human beings to be — and to remain! — learn-able.