As I get older, I hear words
come out of my mouth that I used to hear come out of the mouths of my mother,
and later, my father-in-law.
I remember how I felt hearing
those words too, words that began with the phrase spoken or intuited, “back in
my day”. This would appear to be the same way those around me feel when I utter
that same concept—if their eye rolls are any indication. There’s a tendency, I
suppose, to dismiss out of hand some of the grumblings of the senior generation.
I understand that, actually, because I do fully recognize and accept that the
older I get the crankier I can be.
That said, I do believe,
unrelated to the emergence of my inner curmudgeon, that it can generally be said
that in this day and age, two very important—dare I say sacred?—qualities
seem to be lacking in our society: common sense, and the art of
compromise.
Lack of common sense, when I
was a kid, used to get me a swat on the back of the head—or a more severe
punishment, like being grounded. Lack of common sense used to be something most
people avoided like the plague. To be accused of having no common sense was a
stinging indictment, a horrible insult, or in other words, a really bad
thing.
When, and why, did that change?
Why did we kill common sense? I don’t have the answer for that, but I sure as
hell see the results of it in the news nearly every single day. I’ve read
stories of a kindergarten boy being suspended from school because he placed a
kiss on the cheek of a female classmate. Georgie Porgie anyone? Actually, school
administrators are the most bereft of common sense, if you ask me. The latest
asinine school admin decision I’ve read about? A boy brought a clock he made to
school to impress his teacher and ends up suspended and being considered for
charges—hoaxing a bomb, wasn’t it? If you want to charge anyone with that,
charge the dumbass teacher or principal who panicked and called the
police.
Yes, I know. Perilous times and
blah blah blah. People, do I have to say this? Yes, hold the line. Be vigilant.
But if y’all are going to run around like chicken little, divorcing your common
sense and, apparently, your intelligence, guess what? You’ve handed those
terrorists a huge victory—a bigger one, in fact, than the one you’re trying to
prevent.
I can just hear them over there
now at terrorist central. “Ha! Over in North America they used to have
freedom, they used to be caring and kind to one another, they used
to have rational discourse between political factions. But we fixed all
that!”
Just think about it for a few
minutes. It might sink in.
Thinking of those political
factions brings me back to the second virtue that’s been murdered: the art of
compromise.
Didn’t our parents tell us that
we could not have our own way all the time? Mine did and I am positive yours did
too (you know, in the days of common sense).
Here’s how I will explain the
art of compromise it in terms relevant to my husband’s and my life for those
younger folk who don’t know what it is. We married young, and went from our
parents’ homes to our own. We had but a weekend honeymoon. David grew up in a
family with both parents, but more, a father who was the Commander In Chief.
He’d say “jump” and everyone would ask, “how high, sir?”
I grew up in a house where my
dad was the head of the family until he died when I was seven and a half. After
that, my mom was in charge, and did everything from earning the money to cooking
the meals, to fixing the toaster when it broke. She built window valances, and
planed one of the plank floors upstairs to make it level.
David and I got home from our
honeymoon and my dear new husband tried his hand at edict-issuing a la his dad.
He said, “I’ll tell you right now, I eat roast beef, roast pork, mashed
potatoes, cream corn and canned peas.” I looked at him and said, “I’m sorry. We
don’t earn enough money to eat roast beef and roast pork every night. So you’ll
have to eat what I put in front of you.”
We very quickly compromised: he
would try everything once. What he didn’t like, I would not make again. In those
days the only thing he didn’t like was liver. Now he’s older, and he even likes
that too.
I hope we can all get back to
common sense and the art of compromise. In my opinion, they can make the
difference between living a good and meaningful life, and merely being
alive.
Love,
Morgan
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