Lately I’ve been missing my parents a lot. They were always a support system for me in difficult times, much more than I realized when they were around.
And I was thinking about them today, in the car driving to McDonald’s for a Quarter Pounder meal with a Diet Coke. And I thought, “I am so grateful for my parents teaching me not to be an asshole.”
The assholes are ascendant in this country right now – in a big way. I guess it’s understandable that if your bad behavior is not only not condemned but celebrated, it must feel like a huge relief to give in to that. But I have never felt the pressure of the assholes as keenly as I do right now. They are everywhere, and they are shouting in my ears.
I don’t know exactly how people get that way. Lots of psychologists and sociologists have complex theories about this. But to me, thinking about myself, my brothers, and the people I grew up with, the enormous influence of our parents looms large in this regard.
My parents were many things. But they were both unfailingly kind, thoughtful, and respectful of everyone around them. I wouldn’t say they demanded the same of their children, because it wasn’t a demand. It was just the air we breathed.
If you made a mess, you cleaned it up. If you made a mistake, you apologized and tried to make it right. You told the truth. You were respectful of all people around you, no matter who they were. Everyone is connected.
It was so far from a Mike-Brady-style “Here’s the lesson, kids” thing. They just lived it. And I thank god we had that, every single day.
In a weird way, of course, this makes the current perfect storm of assholes more difficult to deal with, because it’s so outside my experience. I have trouble wrapping my head around why anyone would scream racial slurs out a car window at strangers, or spit on a Wal-Mart greeter, or bring an assault weapon to a state capitol because you wanted a haircut.
On some level, I know where it comes from. Blaming others, not taking responsibility for your own life, projecting anger outward – these are easier paths. But this outlook is also utterly foreign to me. These people, my fellow countrymen, seem like aliens. It also feels like an exhausting way to live your life.
And I think about Bob and Barbara Blust. And I wish that I could hug them tightly and tell them, “Thank you for making me not an asshole.”