Yeah. Sparrows. Ants. Crows. Toads. Snails....If this was a Rings Trilogy they would speak the name munk in hushed tones. Munk the Reaper. Mom told me of going to a boys back yard in the 1930's and all the song birds laying dead in the grass. "I never played with that boy again."
Terrible news for Mom; she gave birth to that boy.
When I was younger I could not understand the balance between sorrow and happiness. I could not understand why I would cry over a simple thing, yet torture my small enemies so carefully. We grew up in a War Age, of course, WWll movies, cartoons full of war and death, and the friendly neighborhood air-raid siren to remind us we could become nuclear toast. Those sirens went off rain or shine once a month 'for testing'.
I was set loose on pavement, asphalt everywhere, the arms race boosted Orange County Calif economically into the heart of the American Dream. I remember I was five and tried to walk out of there- get me land, I wanted to see free land.
But there was concrete and buildings, drive-ins and drive thrus. The Hippies were coming but that made no mind to me; I was still in childhood, the Beatles would have to wait a few more years before they got my full attention. My parents were atheists; there was no God. But if there was no God, why were these thoughts in my head? Why did the damaged kids come to me for help? What could I do for them? Back in those days there was still a little polio around- the braces were thrown into a corner with the coats at school. And it was nothing for a kid to have one eye staring at you, and another watching the desk next to you. Teeth weren't straight. Some kids were bald. What a collection of misfits before the cosmetic perfection of the children we see today.
There was a neighbor's cat that trusted me. It had taken many weeks of coaxing to get the cat to come close. She was my friend now. She was one of those coddled yet ignored creatures, a real Burb 'pet', with a combed show coat. I reached the inner cat- the friend inside. She'd hang on the fence and wait for me to come out of the house when I got home from school. We had our own cats, but this was special because I'm reached out for the friendship.
One day I took the cat and tossed her into the neighbor's pool. Howling, wet, angry and hurt feline. Off she went, and you can bet she was never my friend again. What had I learned? Not a lot. I never did that again, nor hurt any animal. (except a snake- does that count?) The more evolved animals were off my list anyway, and it was about this time I stopped once and for all harrassing or hurting anything.
The questions:
Was I bad?
If I felt your pain, and did you wrong, was I bad?
If I felt your pain, and witheld, was I good or bad?
Did I have to fix everyone I met? Who could fix all those people?
What of the ants and toads and the bodies in my mind; did anyone care? Did they 'count'?
I must have been born into terrible war, or with past war in my soul's lives. Childhood is a long ndn torture test, like the line of sticks and blows one might run to test 'courage'.
I've never seen any adult more cruel than the kids I knew in my childhood.
And we didn't change all that much. I waited years for an answer- for the savagery to release to something greater. I kept thinking; 'This year they'll all grow up and stop hurting one another." And the 7th grade passed, and the 9th, and we 'graduated' in the 12th, and many went on to college.
It never happened.
This is what childhood is: it is publishing stories and pictures of alleged Israeli cruelty to Palistinians which are patently false and despictable, yet looking the camera in the eye and burning a city down in rage because the Prophet Mohammed was ridiculed in a Danish paper.
Childhood is learning to be the first to put the big lie down, so all things flow freely from there. Sort of a high water mark of liars. If I say it first I win. If I'm bigger than you and beat you up I'm brave. If you are smaller and run, you are a coward. (and very sensible)
Anything goes, and there is no one counting the cost of the small land toads munk killed when he was a child.
I count them now. I live in Montana where I don't have to interact with the worst of what we've become, and I do what I can. I lose count when my brain gets tired. That's OK. I don't always say things right, nor treat my friends right, nor vote for the right politician. I'm pretty sure there are a few folks I should have helped more along the way.
It took me a long time to understand that if I could see the pain, then I had the heart, and God did not make a terrible mistake. And I could stop hurting people.
We do what we can and we just keep pluggin along.
munk
Terrible news for Mom; she gave birth to that boy.
When I was younger I could not understand the balance between sorrow and happiness. I could not understand why I would cry over a simple thing, yet torture my small enemies so carefully. We grew up in a War Age, of course, WWll movies, cartoons full of war and death, and the friendly neighborhood air-raid siren to remind us we could become nuclear toast. Those sirens went off rain or shine once a month 'for testing'.
I was set loose on pavement, asphalt everywhere, the arms race boosted Orange County Calif economically into the heart of the American Dream. I remember I was five and tried to walk out of there- get me land, I wanted to see free land.
But there was concrete and buildings, drive-ins and drive thrus. The Hippies were coming but that made no mind to me; I was still in childhood, the Beatles would have to wait a few more years before they got my full attention. My parents were atheists; there was no God. But if there was no God, why were these thoughts in my head? Why did the damaged kids come to me for help? What could I do for them? Back in those days there was still a little polio around- the braces were thrown into a corner with the coats at school. And it was nothing for a kid to have one eye staring at you, and another watching the desk next to you. Teeth weren't straight. Some kids were bald. What a collection of misfits before the cosmetic perfection of the children we see today.
There was a neighbor's cat that trusted me. It had taken many weeks of coaxing to get the cat to come close. She was my friend now. She was one of those coddled yet ignored creatures, a real Burb 'pet', with a combed show coat. I reached the inner cat- the friend inside. She'd hang on the fence and wait for me to come out of the house when I got home from school. We had our own cats, but this was special because I'm reached out for the friendship.
One day I took the cat and tossed her into the neighbor's pool. Howling, wet, angry and hurt feline. Off she went, and you can bet she was never my friend again. What had I learned? Not a lot. I never did that again, nor hurt any animal. (except a snake- does that count?) The more evolved animals were off my list anyway, and it was about this time I stopped once and for all harrassing or hurting anything.
The questions:
Was I bad?
If I felt your pain, and did you wrong, was I bad?
If I felt your pain, and witheld, was I good or bad?
Did I have to fix everyone I met? Who could fix all those people?
What of the ants and toads and the bodies in my mind; did anyone care? Did they 'count'?
I must have been born into terrible war, or with past war in my soul's lives. Childhood is a long ndn torture test, like the line of sticks and blows one might run to test 'courage'.
I've never seen any adult more cruel than the kids I knew in my childhood.
And we didn't change all that much. I waited years for an answer- for the savagery to release to something greater. I kept thinking; 'This year they'll all grow up and stop hurting one another." And the 7th grade passed, and the 9th, and we 'graduated' in the 12th, and many went on to college.
It never happened.
This is what childhood is: it is publishing stories and pictures of alleged Israeli cruelty to Palistinians which are patently false and despictable, yet looking the camera in the eye and burning a city down in rage because the Prophet Mohammed was ridiculed in a Danish paper.
Childhood is learning to be the first to put the big lie down, so all things flow freely from there. Sort of a high water mark of liars. If I say it first I win. If I'm bigger than you and beat you up I'm brave. If you are smaller and run, you are a coward. (and very sensible)
Anything goes, and there is no one counting the cost of the small land toads munk killed when he was a child.
I count them now. I live in Montana where I don't have to interact with the worst of what we've become, and I do what I can. I lose count when my brain gets tired. That's OK. I don't always say things right, nor treat my friends right, nor vote for the right politician. I'm pretty sure there are a few folks I should have helped more along the way.
It took me a long time to understand that if I could see the pain, then I had the heart, and God did not make a terrible mistake. And I could stop hurting people.
We do what we can and we just keep pluggin along.
munk
(age group not headcount)
