What's the Difference?
I was spending the holidays with the fam, and I started to zone out and lose myself in the mess of food and booze. Red Wine.
Anyway, I was sitting there watching my family drench my baby cousin with love and affection. Blood line. It wasn’t anything special; you know the baby deal, coochi coochi coo and shit. So I started thinking about babies and why we swarm to coddle them, like they’re something better than a filthy little bag full of vomit and shit waiting to come out, like they’re more than a comically proportioned person, like they are something more than helpless. Why do we need to feel a part of babies whenever they are around?
I then saw my great uncle. Poor guy, his whole life now is gentle conversation about coupons, prescription medications and Jesus. Everyone avoids him; he's the opposite pole of the family magnet. Babies attract; geriatrics repulse. They all fled to the baby like my great-uncle wasn't the one who uprooted a family of farmers and took it to America with nothing but his wisdom, courage and working-papers, like he didn't coddle each and everyone one of them when they were kids, like he isn't the most spectacular person in the room. What’s the difference?
The baby wears diapers, so does my great uncle. The baby takes frequent naps, so does my great-uncle. The baby is utterly helpless, so is my great-uncle. What's the difference?
If you look to their lives it's obvious my uncle deserves more respect and reverence than that beautiful little slug. That being the case, why doesn’t everyone coochi coochi coo my great uncle? What has the baby done besides squeeze fingers with its cute baby hands and drool?
If it's not the deeds done by each, then what is the difference? Is it the fact that my great-uncle has no future for anyone to be a part of, whereas the baby has a bright one? Is it that my great-uncle's age forces all the members of my family to confront their mortality? Is it that everyone thinks that they can somehow quell their own fear of violent death through the baby, albeit temporarily? As if they can elude death through this little one that is so close to birth, they do all they can with the baby.
So still sitting there, as still as my great uncle is in his chair, I lean over and ask him what he thinks about the baby. He has the clarity of mind that his skin lost to liver spots and scars from years of manual labor. His response is "that's our family's future. I did my part; I wonder what hers is. What's yours?" I didn’t know if he meant my feelings about the baby or part in the family, so I ask him. He says, "is there a difference?"
I guess there isn't. The baby is the physical representation of the future of my family, and my part in the family will help determine the family's future.
Seeing my great-uncle's intelligence, I return to my thoughts on people's motives behind coddling a baby. He says, "of course they want to be a part of the baby's life. They disregard me because I'm at the end, she's just beginning."
So I say "then they aren't coddling the baby, they're coddling themselves. They’re just selfish and seeking to do that which is best for them, not because it makes sense but because it feels good."
He says, "good boy, I didn’t realize that all people are selfish death-fearing cowards until my tour in the war.”
He gets it, and now I do. Family brought me to the same conclusion as war did for him. Babies and battlefields rendered the same results. Life is war. People are selfish. I can do nothing but accept these horrible indictments of mankind.
Meh, I’m over it.
Alcohol is a mood-enhancer: if you're happy, it makes you very happy; if you're sad, it makes you very sad. I hope my dismal revelation on human motives is due to the alcohol exaggerating my emotions.
Anyway, I was sitting there watching my family drench my baby cousin with love and affection. Blood line. It wasn’t anything special; you know the baby deal, coochi coochi coo and shit. So I started thinking about babies and why we swarm to coddle them, like they’re something better than a filthy little bag full of vomit and shit waiting to come out, like they’re more than a comically proportioned person, like they are something more than helpless. Why do we need to feel a part of babies whenever they are around?
I then saw my great uncle. Poor guy, his whole life now is gentle conversation about coupons, prescription medications and Jesus. Everyone avoids him; he's the opposite pole of the family magnet. Babies attract; geriatrics repulse. They all fled to the baby like my great-uncle wasn't the one who uprooted a family of farmers and took it to America with nothing but his wisdom, courage and working-papers, like he didn't coddle each and everyone one of them when they were kids, like he isn't the most spectacular person in the room. What’s the difference?
The baby wears diapers, so does my great uncle. The baby takes frequent naps, so does my great-uncle. The baby is utterly helpless, so is my great-uncle. What's the difference?
If you look to their lives it's obvious my uncle deserves more respect and reverence than that beautiful little slug. That being the case, why doesn’t everyone coochi coochi coo my great uncle? What has the baby done besides squeeze fingers with its cute baby hands and drool?
If it's not the deeds done by each, then what is the difference? Is it the fact that my great-uncle has no future for anyone to be a part of, whereas the baby has a bright one? Is it that my great-uncle's age forces all the members of my family to confront their mortality? Is it that everyone thinks that they can somehow quell their own fear of violent death through the baby, albeit temporarily? As if they can elude death through this little one that is so close to birth, they do all they can with the baby.
So still sitting there, as still as my great uncle is in his chair, I lean over and ask him what he thinks about the baby. He has the clarity of mind that his skin lost to liver spots and scars from years of manual labor. His response is "that's our family's future. I did my part; I wonder what hers is. What's yours?" I didn’t know if he meant my feelings about the baby or part in the family, so I ask him. He says, "is there a difference?"
I guess there isn't. The baby is the physical representation of the future of my family, and my part in the family will help determine the family's future.
Seeing my great-uncle's intelligence, I return to my thoughts on people's motives behind coddling a baby. He says, "of course they want to be a part of the baby's life. They disregard me because I'm at the end, she's just beginning."
So I say "then they aren't coddling the baby, they're coddling themselves. They’re just selfish and seeking to do that which is best for them, not because it makes sense but because it feels good."
He says, "good boy, I didn’t realize that all people are selfish death-fearing cowards until my tour in the war.”
He gets it, and now I do. Family brought me to the same conclusion as war did for him. Babies and battlefields rendered the same results. Life is war. People are selfish. I can do nothing but accept these horrible indictments of mankind.
Meh, I’m over it.
Alcohol is a mood-enhancer: if you're happy, it makes you very happy; if you're sad, it makes you very sad. I hope my dismal revelation on human motives is due to the alcohol exaggerating my emotions.