Family Model as the Basis of Political Leanings Part II

Liberal thought arises from what he calls the "Nurturant Parent” family model. There are certain assumptions inherent in this model:

• The world is filled with evils that can harm
• It is the nurturant parent’s responsibility to protect children from harm
• Open, two-way communication is crucial
• It is the parent’s willingness to entertain questions about their authority that legitimizes it.
• By being respected, nurtured and communicated with children learn to develop respectful, open, caring relationships

Associated metaphors for this model are:

• Morality as empathy
• Morality as nurturance
• Compassion
• Moral Self-Nurturance
• Morality as social nurturance
• Morality is  happiness
• Morality as self-development
• Morality as fair distribution
• Moral growth
• The moral strength to nurture
• Moral self-interest
• Restitution over retribution

There are a multitude of implications deriving from these metaphors as described by Lakoff and summarized below.

The concept of empathy goes even further than the golden rule by saying “Do unto others as they would have you do unto them.” Egocentric empathy, which can go no farther than ones own feelings, is contrasted with absolute empathy which might be characterized as feeling for others with not strings attached. The parent of a child who rejected certain values would still be shown empathy but with accompanying moral instruction.

Lakoff also cites what he calls the “wooden rule” : Do unto others as you would have them do unto you – providing you can afford it easily. This is directly related to an analogy of moral accounting that is common to both nurturant parent and strict father model except that in the nurturant parent model it is charity that accrues “moral credit” and makes one a better person.

With respect to political ideologies, the competition between this ideal and the notion that government can show no favor or require nothing more based on ability, as with graduated tax schedules, is familiar to us all.

Morality presupposes empathy, has associated rights and duties and as nurturance, extends beyond the family in the sense that the community is a family. Community members have a responsibility to see that people needing help in their community are helped.

Model differences for things held as public trust (i.e. the “ownership society”) and government funds spent for the social good or “where needed most” provide rich and starkly contrasted examples of how “sense of community” plays out.

Unhappy people are not likely to be compassionate so it is right to be as happy as possible as long as it does not harm others. The morality of happiness is a long-standing part of Buddhist tradition, often depicted as a smiling Buddha.

The nurturance of children is done in the service of moral growth, a central idea in religion and law. Sincere evidence of remorse has always been grounds for leniency in our legal system. Moral growth has always been associated more with progressive than conservative politics as exemplified in ideology-linked attitudes to our prison system and rehabilitation.

The nurturant parent must have moral strength since nurturing is hard work. However moral strength, common to both family models, has a much different meaning. It means that one should empathize and be nurturant towards people with different values rather than demonizing them. The notion of internal evils, for which there must be strength to resist, are also much different in the nurturant parent model, consisting of things that interfere with empathy, nurturance etc. Moral strengths include social responsibility, generosity, respect for others regardless of rank and status, openness, community-mindedness and self-respect.

Clearly this model includes an orientation to discipline so classic criticism of being “soft” or lacking toughness due to an unrealistic world-view is often leveled. Strength-with-sensitivity might be a more apt characterization, a merging of anima and animus, if you will.

With the nurturant parent model moral boundaries are not defined by prohibition of specific actions but in terms of prohibitions against actions having anti-nurturant consequences.

There is an inherent complexity in this concept, often a liability when it comes to our thumbnail-sized, sound-bite mode of communication so typical of the mainstream media. It is often much easier to cite a concise egregiously offensive or fearful anecdote to get across a point than to explain the consequences of action.

Parental response to a child’s violation of moral behavior is to require restitution rather than seeking retribution but parents should fiercely protect their children by seeking retribution against those who hurt them such as polluters, drug dealers and manufacturers of dangerous products.

The nurturant parent model minimizes hierarchical relationships because legitimate authority should be a direct consequence of the ability to nurture. There is a belief that interdependence is a non-hierarchical relationship and that authority should not come out of dominance. These tenets are the exact opposite of those in the strict father model.

This aspect of the nurturant parent model differs drastically from the metaphor of moral order implicit in the strict father model. Lakoff expresses this metaphor as:

• God has moral authority over human beings.
• Human beings have moral authority over nature.
• Adults have moral authority over children.
• Men have moral authority over women.

Though even a passing familiarity with these models starts the synapses firing these definitions only bring us to the doorstep of a house full of multi-sided issues from public life, each having markedly different prescriptions from each family model.

Luckily, Lakoff does not stop at the doorstep. He attempts to demonstrate the issues involved and the political ramifications. He is not without value judgment, as he takes great pains to illustrate when each model is suitable and their relative success or failure inasmuch as they are manifest in political prescriptions to a wide variety of social issues.

Lakoff’s writing did not impress me as being didactic or opinionated as he often cites examples inviting the reader to answer the question of “Who’s right?”  However, he is not without his own ideas regarding the effectiveness of liberal or conservative policies.

I found Lakoff’s analysis to be a remarkable and intellectually compelling blend of both research and rhetoric, high on pathos and logos and low on ethos. He both engages and challenges the reader to think but you will find that, depending upon your ideological bent, you will be more or less challenged. Undoubtedly, all will be stimulated to think past the label and engage themselves on crucial issues of the day at a much deeper level than before.

As for myself, social responsibility compels me to do so.

NEXT: The social implications of morality models

Some Call It Progress

A friend recommended two books that were phenomenal. I love it when friends do that. I can think of no better gift. This is also rare because most people are incurious even to the point of myopia in the way they seek out comfort of that closest to them and shun analysis of ostensibly distant events that move them in dark ways so that they'd never suspect or notice that they themselves have changed fundamentally. So this happens much less than, for example, others might tell you about a good restaurant.

First there was Leadership and Self Deception which he described as "life-changing". The friends and family that I passed it along to all rave and tell me that they now look at themselves and their relationships differently in light of the ideas they took from this book.

But the one I really want to write about is The Cult of Power by Rex Warner which was written during an earlier time but if you hadn't known when it was written you would have thought it was written yesterday. The author has written extensively on allegory and tragedy, particularly Greek since they do this best, he observes. His fictional works rely heavily on allegory in getting its points across. This particular work starts by giving one an idea of what will follow:

The worship of violence, of absolute power, of lawlessness, the setting up of the individual against the universe--all these are old things.

He distills commonality from historical opposition to power by individuals and groups. It all starts with a group of “rugged individualists”,  bold iconoclasts all, admirable in some respects, and united in their goal of shirking off one yoke of oppression or another. This examination of the commonality, framework or mechanisms by which we evolve socially in fits and starts is interesting and it’s my belief that any but the dullest will be hard-pressed not to be startled by how closely it tracks current events…things we’ve all seen happen in the last 40 years or so. I was left with the open-ended question of whether the distinctly American manifestation will end in widespread tragedy for those who are sucked along in the wake of a media-amplified, fervent few.

He describes the role of what he calls the “brilliant and irresponsible individualist” who is “conscious of the pressure of society and convinced of his own ability to break free from it.” He calls this the “philosophy of the self-made man”, noting that the so-called self-made man will usually admit that he has “made” himself at the expense of others. He also notes that in its intellectualized form this philosophy has “never been able to sway great masses of people.” and that the “self-made man” often wins “the grudging admiration of his fellows but seldom their enthusiastic support.” These are, the author claims, arguments for moral anarchy and an irreligious form of individualism signifying “the break-up of a whole social system of values which have, for one reason or another, become too weak to inspire respect or to enforce obedience.” At its heart is the “assertion of the individual combined with a refusal to admit the existence of supra-individual forces…” He adds that these arguments for moral anarchy are an important stage in “the sequence that leads us to the position in which we find ourselves today”, but that was yesterday he wrote about and not today so it’s left as an exercise to the reader to decide for themselves whether there might be parallels with the current time and what those might be.

He examines the sequence of steps by which all the valiant yoke-shirking, hard work in itself, inevitably leads to tragedy. History leaves us with no shortage of examples which bear this out. But is it applicable today? Maybe things are different now. Has he captured something of the essence of human nature that provides insights into the present and future?

Humanity is lifted and moved as if by waves. As individuals it’s easy to get lost in the necessities of life and creature comforts of family and the familiar so that tumultuous change at first seems to to leave everything more or less in place relative to visible markers or reference points. However as subtle and almost imperceptible as it might be, it all happens outside the periphery of the focus of our daily lives so we are unavoidably affected yet understandably hard-pressed to identify the causes. Those who eschew analysis and merely consume the reasons offered by the simplest “common sense” explanations (often all too common and sort on sense) embrace the same narratives that work so well in our insular, day-to-day lives in what becomes an approximate myth to explain what is happening on a much grander and almost infinitely more complex scale. Those simple narratives often fail to pass a basic smell test regardless of how comforting they might be.

Author and psychologist R.D. Laing expresses this impeccably:

The range of what we think and do is limited by what we fail to notice. And because we fail to notice that we fail to notice, there is little we can do to change; until we notice how failing to notice shapes our thoughts and deeds.

Alas, we are puny finite beings but it is always within our power to grow, if only just a little…a far cry from the irreligious hubris of the self-made man, one perceiving himself as some minor god…master of the universe. Warner also affirms the inherent puniness of humanity, conjuring up an image of the individual as mindless automata that might make Kierkegaard proud:

What , in our present situation, would strike one as most remarkable, if one had not observed much the same thing happening before in history, is the rapidity with which generally accepted ideals of the early twentieth century such as toleration, kindliness, objective truth, freedom have been replaced in many people’s minds by their exact opposites. More remarkable still is the enthusiasm with which people have accepted the substitution. It is true that we see this process most clearly in fascism and, among fascist states, most clearly of all in Germany; but it would be most unwise to regard it as a process that is wholly alien from ourselves.”

It is the “unwise to regard it as a process that is wholly alien from ourselves” looms larges in that quote and would boldly defy the very spirit of American exceptionalism. But really, we’ve seen these things within our own lifetime, haven’t we? We see people grounded in a capricious “common sense” that just ain’t so with doozies such as “America was founded as a Christian nation” and “the federal government shouldn’t stick its nose into capitalism”. Most firmly believe that their outer world was torn asunder (and even find feet at which to lay blame) while they themselves remained constant when, in reality, it was the other way around with them being both in possession of an ungrounded “common sense” that goes whichever way the winds blow and active participants in the destruction of tradition and all they claim to protect. Today the waves of change occur more frequently but this only increases our alienation from ourselves and our extreme thirst for something to believe in, so aptly described by R.D. Laing:

We live in a moment of history where change is so speeded up that we begin to see the present only when it is already disappearing.

Laing goes even further, suggesting that there is only a thin line between so-called normal is nothing of the sort citing ones acculturation including the madness of war

We are bemused and crazed creatures, strangers to our true selves, to one another, and to the spiritual and material world—mad, even, from an ideal standpoint we can glimpse but not adopt. 

Normality highly values its normal man. It educates children to lose themselves and to become absurd, and thus to be normal. Normal men have killed perhaps 100, 000 of their fellow normal men in the last fifty years.

Laing gazed back upon a different 50-year period than we do today so this 100,000 number must be adjusted upwards by more than a factor of 10 given advancements in military technology...which seems to make it all the more important to take care with the truth.


I would never spoil it by telling those who might be curious how it ends but to me the remainder of The Cult of Power is a credibly applicable account of where America might be headed. Decide for yourself. I’d not suggest anyone do otherwise.

On Blogging

I finished a couple of books on writing. No they didn't help, but they were interesting. Despite blogging being to writing as sugar is to food, we can fantasize about Poet Laureate, Pulitzer Prizes... being sexual Bodhisattvas, Wonder Woman, heavyweight champion, firemen and astronauts, can't we?

Reading On Writing by Stephen King I thought I was really on a roll until he asked why anyone would read a book on writing instead of spending the time writing.

Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande is a timeless book written in the 30's that describes qualities of successful writers and idiosyncracies that are impediments to writing. Given all the whining, me included, about bloggers block this is relevant here. But's let's not delude ourselves by calling it writers block.

She speaks about learning to see with the intensity of interest that a sensitive child feels of his expanding world and how we sometimes lose this ability as we become wrapped in our personal problems. The true neurotic may be engrossed in a problem so deeply buried in his being that he could not tell you what it is that he is comtemplating...the sign of this neurosis being ineffectiveness. Even the most normal among us are insulated by habit.

The dullness of apprehension to which we spinelessly submit is a danger to a writer. As long as there is a blockage in the flow of daily observations, fresh sensations and new ideas there is no alternative save salvaging material from a job or early life and rewriting endlessly of these things.

A writer is characterized as one more versatile, more sympathetic, more studious than those around him, more universal in his taste and less at the mercy of the crowd, either in his susceptibility to its influences or his cynicism and condescension towards it.

I've referred to compartmental thinking by which various perspectives can be maintained. Assuming a perspective or entering a compartment provides an observation point of sorts from which the view is uniquely different from what would be had from another. Brande refers to being multi-faceted.

How could one investing all their psychic energy in projecting an unwavering image of a hands down winner, not just winning but winning effortlessly, write evenly or believably about competition? The fear of losing that supplies the motivation to win? How could anyone who is him or herself  challenged in demonstrating sympathy, walking through life with nerve endings perpetually guarded give adequate treatment to the sensitivity of characters or even make them appear likeable? How could one investing their energy in mocking the earnestness and innocence of others maintain an emotional innocence of their own and a freshness of response that is so vital to an author's talent?

Brande handily addresses all the questions in a book I highly recommend for would-be writers, bloggers, laureates, super heroes and heroines etc. etc.

some thoughts on writing and the facades that we inevitably carry around with us which server not only as defensive barriers from others but from ourselves

Foray Verboten

DISCLAIMER: I wandered onto this site despite knowing that I shouldn't. My curiosity got the best of me. It was pure rubbernecking on the Internet Superhighway. I just couldn't help myself or resist taking a look at how the other half, or maybe 3-4% lived. After a couple of encounters like these I thought I'd fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole and quickly skeedaddled from that strange place which was definitely not for me, lacking most signs of intelligent and even empathetic life.
 
 

...6:44am...

After being pinged by HotYoungSexyThang274 (hmm...that thang thing, maybe southern), a 22 year old female, curiosity got the best of me.

SixFootGlass1: Hi. Wazzappenin'? You rang?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Hi there sexy.

SixFootGlass1: That I am. What's on your mind?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Some hot action, that's what.

SixFootGlass1: and what kind of action might that be?

SixFootGlass1: wait, don't answer...I think I already know. Cam girl, right?

HotYoungSexyThang274: I'll be honest with you. I'm a cam girl but for the next 3 days we have a special running. With signup you can get unlimited access for 3 days. Your membership then goes month-to-month but you may cancel at any time.

SixFootGlass1: That sounds interesting. You are young right?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Uh-huh, I am 22 and I have a really hot, tight, little body that is just aching to be seen by you.

SixFootGlass1: Oh, I am sure your body is really nice but I was just wondering.

HotYoungSexyThang274: Oh, it is. Wondering what?

SixFootGlass1: Well, with your dancing, cam work or things that it entails are you skilled?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Yes I am. And I have a really hot body. Would you like to see?

SixFootGlass1: There might be time for that later. I'm sure your body is very nice. With your line of work do you find that you get better with more experience?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Why yes, as a matter of fact.

SixFootGlass1: That's true about most things in life. I have a cam too. We could video-conference, right?

HotYoungSexyThang274: Sure. We could do that.

SixFootGlass1: I'm just worried about one thing.

HotYoungSexyThang274: What's that.

SixFootGlass1: Well, I'm a little older and more experienced so you might enjoy it more than I.

HotYoungSexyThang274: Your joking.

SixFootGlass1: Well not really. In 23 more years you will catch up in experience and be even better.

HotYoungSexyThang274: But I'm a professional.

SixFootGlass1: and that is supposed to mean what? Good Housekeeping seal of approval?

HotYoungSexyThang274: I am a professional

SixFootGlass1: But I have more experience and if you enjoyed it then I might have to charge you.

HotYoungSexyThang274: I have a hot body.

SixFootGlass1: Well, so do I actually. No extra charge for super-sizing it either.

HotYoungSexyThang274: You aren't serious, are you?

SixFootGlass1: I am completely serious that...

HotYoungSexyThang274: that what?

SixFootGlass1: I am friends with your parents

HotYoungSexyThang274 has ended the chat session



...11:43am...

I am again interrupted from my plaintive musings and writing by one FindMe86x, a 23 year-old male who according to his profile (one does have to take a quick peek for some context, right?) lives 3 miles from me, is gay and is looking for older men.

Oh me oh my. Well, he'll never go away unless I explain. This is the 10th ping I've gotten from him. Besides, I fancy myself an open-minded, urbane, sophisticated and worldly-wise male, I should be able to chat with anyone. I'd actually traded 3 lines with him one morning as I was rushing off to work. Just long enough to explain that, while I would chat with anyone, I am not gay but rather hopelessly...frustratedly heterosexual.

FindMe86x: hi

SixFootGlass1: Hi dude, howzitgoin?

FindMe86x: Need someone to be with tonight?

SixFootGlass1: Thanks but no thanks, but if I were in the market you'd be the first I'd call on.

FindMe86x: whats wrong don't you like me?

SixFootGlass1: No, it's not that.

FindMe86x: what is it. are you playing games with me?

SixFootGlass1: No. I don't play games. Well hardly, not without making the ground rules clear.

FindMe86x: i don't understand

SixFootGlass1: I'm not gay. I explained that the other day. Have you even read my profile? Where does it say I'm gay or even bi-curious?

FindMe86x: but your profile say you cried at movies. your writing is so sensitive. You indicated that you were a man's man.

SixFootGlass1: It did but if you just scrolled down a little bit more to the fact sheet you would read "straight." You'd also read up at the top about "Women, Groups or Couples (2 women) for Discreet Relationship or Erotic Chat or Email."

SixFootGlass1: My eyes do well up sometimes but I don't bawl! C'mon, even if you are gay you have to understand this. Didn't you cry in "Old Yeller" when they had to put Ol' Yeller down? I think every male got a little misty eyed over that. Besides women like men who are in touch with their emotions. The man's man reference does not mean...like, for sex. It means being bro's, goin' to titty bars (though I prefer calling them Gentlemen's Clubs) for booze and lap dances, boasting about sexual conquests with women, watching the Man Show, UFC and the military channel, tractor pull and NASCAR (if you live in the south)...that sort of shit.

FindMe86x: oh

SixFootGlass1: C'mon there cupcake don't be so crestfallen. There's someone for you out there. You'll find 'em.

FindMe86x: I know but it's just so hard sometimes.

SixFootGlass1: Buck up and be a trooper. If I meet any nice gay guys I'll send 'em your way.

FindMe86x: you will?

SixFootGlass1: You betcha. However, I am curious about one thing.

FindMe86x: yes

SixFootGlass1: Have you ever considered someone more your age? This older man thing just seems like it has the potential for confusion regarding parental authority. Has this been going on long? I mean is there something that happened way back being acted out?

FindMe86x has ended the chat session.


Poor FindMe. I actually felt a little sorry for him. I'm afraid that my attempts to mentor or disentangle alll of his undercurrents of unknown origin might be misconstrued. Sadly everyone cannot be saved.

I do hope he finds himself though, whatever that may be.

I'm conflicted. There's a fine line to walk between honesty and enablement. I'm not trying to be mean. It's an emotional wasteland out there and empathy is a rare commodity.

Should I try to be more caring and empathetic? It's all a matter of opinion though, isn't it? Who really wants help or even think they need it? How can sensitivity be shown when so much remains hidden and is not out on the table?

I'm drained. Maybe some TV...

Epistemological

This should be filed under metaphysics or perhaps epistemology (how we know what we think we know). Which is a "whole 'nother topic" unto itself that deserves closer examination which can be a pain in the ass because that would be self-examination, something rare and much more difficult than absorbing the prejudices of those around us and letting it pass for truth. There's truth in numbers, you know...or was that strength? In any case, the much sought after feeliing of being amongst vast number of the like-minded is so consoling that we grow ornery when that good feeling is threatened in any way. It is easier to blame another than to revise one's thinking or to assimilate new ideas into one's world view.


Given that the great debate healthcare has reduced many to hysterically screeching hyenas and has resulted in a lot of verbal feces hurling it might also be good to take a look at how to argue intelligently, a primer of sorts.

This is a basic breakdown of the ways in which disagreement can be expressed and the relative merits of each from low to high. I submit that the lower levels mark the speaker more than the subject of the speech but like venting, hurling verbal feces feels good and if one gets in the last word...well, doesn't everyone know that makes you right? Ok, just kidding about that last one.

Anyway the levels are:

1. Name calling
2. Ad Hominem
3. Responding to Tone
4. Contradiction
5. Counterargument
6. Refutation
7. Refuting the Central Point

The idea is that the lower forms are cruder and the higher ones are more compelling and effective.

This topic on how to disagree leads to questions of "What is true?" since we all believe what we believe is true. Oh sure, we sometimes admit an element of faith, belief, or that something is right for us and "to each their own", but such attitudes seem more and more rare today.

Too bad it eludes us most of the time.


From British Playwright Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize Lecture:

In 1958 I wrote the following:

'There are no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.'

I believe that these assertions still make sense and do still apply to the exploration of reality through art. So as a writer I stand by them but as a citizen I cannot. As a citizen I must ask: What is true? What is false?

Truth in drama is forever elusive. You never quite find it but the search for it is compulsive. The search is clearly what drives the endeavour. The search is your task. More often than not you stumble upon the truth in the dark, colliding with it or just glimpsing an image or a shape which seems to correspond to the truth, often without realising that you have done so. But the real truth is that there never is any such thing as one truth to be found in dramatic art. There are many. These truths challenge each other, recoil from each other, reflect each other, ignore each other, tease each other, are blind to each other. Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.

It goes on and on and is quite a read. In any event I was impressed...

People arrive at conclusions of the same relative degree of veracity in a variety of ways. Some latch on to some idea or another in a desperate emotional leap, others reason within themselves, others try to seek confirmation or some demonstrable affirmation of sensibility from others or from various sources outside themselves while still others recognize that for some things there is an inability to really "know" in some perfect, divine, absolute or god-like way and (sensibly in my opinion) call it faith. This doesn't mean that people arriving at what they would insist on calling truth do it similarly. In the end it is just one person saying something is true.

I am increasingly impressed by the tribal nature of truth. At times we hardly seem more civilized than the fearful villagers with pitchforks and other implements of destruction, trying to get the courage to march up to that twisted Dr. Frankenstein's castle on a stormy night. Then when we get our courage up by reinforcing one another we are like a hasty, wild west posse so certain and equally wrong that innocent strangers riding in off the prairie would be luckier if they rode on to the next town.

There is a smug satisfaction derived from the feeling of being in a community of the like-minded. It has nothing to do with making smart decisions. It has more to do with feeling that one fits in. There have been times and places where the conventional wisdom was just wrong...or at least in retrospect, years later it was widely recognized to have been so. But as we live it in realtime, almost in slow motion, rarely do we see any ugliness in ourselves or think that our actions might be species or culture-limiting.

John Cleese, captures our essential obliviousness quite well. His vid likens us to junkies or addicts to projection, self-righteousness, deflection and a host of other techniques we use to distance ourselves from any recognition of responsibility for our actions or actions made in our name which we somehow find a way to endorse. While we need a sense of local and "fitting in" we serve the darker sides of our nature by creating our own mythical evil-doers and boogeymen in the form of ethnic, nationalistic, demographic and ideological pettiness because it makes us feel better about ourselves.

Growing Up Southern

 I'm a southern boy and more recently city slicker, having lived my life by thirds in Central Florida, Atlanta, and Southern California. People are mostly the same everywhere, but regional differences do exist.

I grew up in central Florida, a land dotted with lakes and rivers, horse farms, and some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. This is in stark contrast to the distorted image of a Florida separate from the deep south... presumably impressions of those who might have visited their grandparents who had relocated to Miami from points northward. This is the Florida of the Barefoot Mailman, The Yearling, Cross Creek, Hemingway's To Have and Have Not and John MacDonald stories.

Circumstances surrounding my upbringing, a domestic ironing clothes to the sounds of her favorite radio station, had it that I was exposed to Southern Black Gospel Music for hours per day from age 0-2 years. No, my parents were not poor white sharecroppers. Dad was a liberal southern lawyer a la Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird. I suppose that affected me, sort of like the imprinting by which a baby chick thinks the first thing it sees after hatching is the momma hen. Even today, I hear that Gospel Music and start twitching uncontrollably all over, raising my hands to the sky in a cross between calisthenics and the hokey-pokey, like some devil-possessed Pentecostal....and make no apologies for it. My tastes have since become more eclectic, but I still love that MoTown sound.

People tend to overlook the exceptional aspects of their upbringing until time bears it out. I'm no different so from this point in my life looking back two things stand out. We could go barefoot 9-10 months a year and the society of the day was segregated. There's that for sure but there is so much more.

There's the sacrosanct triumvirate of preacher, football coach and politician. There's a society that was, up to a point, primarily agrarian, acutely aware of its lack of sophistication, and respectful of cultural lines dividing black from white, educated from uneducated and working class from their betters. There is an unquestionable grace, gentility and kindness against a backdrop of intransigent, stalwart reliance on the social structure as it has been for as long as can be remembered. And there's a viciously mean streak that bubbles to the surface in response to threats to this social order.

While these aspects of southern society might explain a lot one can only go back so far, and since I'm the one doing the writing here we'll start with the world as I came to know it...as it was upon my entry into it. When YOU write it can be all about you but until then it's the SFG show.

Despite already having some sense of race and what either did or did not come with it, what is a child of 6 to make of the tv images of marching blacks being attacked by dogs, doused with fire hoses and clubbed by policemen for no more provocation than walking down the street together? There was always that nebulous accusation of "uppity" I suppose. Some sense gets provoked, either a sympathetic response or presumption of guilt to the extent of some faith that life is fair, that people get what they deserve and that if the nice white policeman was beating them they must have done something wrong. And so it was, that a fork in perceptions might occur at such an early age as to lay the foundation for later life and in one case a hurtful bigotry that spares neither the perpetrator nor the recipient.

But please, before one is consumed by stereotypes as ridiculously ignorant as the crude Hollywood attempts at replicating southern accents for the silver screen consider that this is human nature and definitely not confined to the south. Soon after my arrival in Los Angeles, that hotbed of liberalism, I witnessed the closet racism of supposedly progressive people who complained about "my lazy Mexicans who I practically need to whip to get them to do any work." Generalizations can be risky to make when it comes to individuals.

I saw the tail end of overt racist symbols such as "Whites only" signs, expensive, ornate KKK robes like the one my neighbor found in his deceased grandfather's attic and inequities that assaulted the sense of fairness of anyone who might fleetingly imagine walking in the other's shoes -- disparities in medical care, education, employment opportunity, representation in government, community infrastructure and much more.

Despite the awareness that life was not so great for some, my life was idyllic. There were acres of woods right out the back door, a free-roaming dog to greet me upon return from school and horses to ride. No self respecting kid except for some emotionally stunted momma's boy would be caught playing indoors with such a wonderful, awe-inspiring playground outside. Tree climbing, cave spelunking, swimming hole loving kids all to themselves until after dark when either force or hunger propelled them homeward. In my case it was a ringing bell the translation of which was "get your ass home, NOW!!!" much to the frustration of my playmates, given its similarity to the ice cream man's bell. I went home and all the other kids ran outside with nickel in hand, cruel joke that it was.

I distinctly remember being in the car at age 4 with my 3 year old sister when our Mom pulled into Lavinia Washington's dirt driveway to pay her for the weeks work she did as a domestic. Her kids were playing outside and we'd been given strict orders to STAY IN THE CAR. I cannot explain why some things get etched into memory and others do not but I remember an awkwardness and a desire to strike up a meaningful conversation by observing "Y'all sure do have nice suntans." I cringe at the memory but laugh at the innocence. In our little white world we'd known that we got darker in the sun so upon encountering kids so dark we figured they'd done some serious time in the sun.

Years later my father found himself doing some legal work for a black doctor. He took me with him into the medical office where my sense of justice was provoked in the cruelest of ways. The examining room was open to the rest of the office and consisted of a single wooden table for the patient without that nice sanitary paper that would be pulled down to cover the table for each new patient. There was no autoclave for sterilization of equipment. Everything was shabby and in disrepair. That gave way to a pervasive sadness on that day as, once and for all, the realization set in that life was not so wonderful, that not everyone's parents were able to give them what mine did and that this seemed to be OK with some. That day marked my eviction from the garden and for some time life seemed cold, gray and cruel as I continued to gnaw on what I'd seen.

Kindergarten through grade 6 were spent in a church school, not so much for racial reasons but because of the small classes and superior education. Luckily I stockpiled enough time in church at a rate of 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week, 39 weeks a year, for 7 years to absolve me of further religious obligations. At least that's what I told myself whenever my older driving age friends took me surfing with them on Sundays to avoid the monotonous drive without someone available for conversation.

Finally, at age 12 I entered the real world and community-at-large as afforded by the public school system. There were my friends who'd been more or less chosen for me by virtue of church, school classes of size 15, and parent's social network. There were kids from outlying ranches and farms. There were the black kids who walked from the westside shantytown we passed through on our way to football games, the field with wooden bleachers being located squarely within the borders of the black community or "niggertown" as it was known to some.

The "N" word was never spoken in our home and I often wonder whether it contributed to the way I took the world in and the basic presumption of "goodness until proven otherwise" that I found myself extending to all types of people. On the other hand it might have something to do with the fact that, had I used it, I would have been slapped silly. The legacy of my parents was not a bad one.




In 9th grade I began to notice this inexplicable condescension by some white friends towards the blacks and to a lesser degree the bussed-in country kids. Profligate use of the word "nigger", crude jokes about a stench that had no basis in reality and more stupid jokes about a driving point system based on size and weight of blacks as targets...the kinds of things that would have earned me a thrashing had I shown the slightest sign of them at home. It was the day of Woodstock, Black Panthers, Abbie Hoffman, and Gil Scott-Heron...something stirring in both black and white cultures.

As if the quest for one's own identity wasn't hard enough already the labels and identifications became even more complicated. For whites long hair and bell bottoms were the order of the day...if you were a hippy. The brothers sprouted 'fros and the 'fros held their pics. They also wore these black nylon tank tops which were good for the classroom and PE.

One bright, sunny, spring day I'd forgotten my T-shirt and risked a lower grade in PE if I didn't think up something quickly. My brother from another mother, Leroy Fulton, noticed my predicament and offered me this extra black nylon tank top to wear so I took him up on it, thanking him. You'd have thought I'd sold the commies all our nuclear missile silo coordinates...the disbelief, the incredulity, the complete and total confidence by many that I had lost all my marbles and gone over to the dark side, pun unintentional. This unfathomable betrayal rattled many to the core. I found their utterly profound sense of betrayal all-at-once telling and humorous but did not crack a smile. Inside I was laughing at them and most definitely not with them.


Leroy and the brothers took the top row of the bleachers in the gym for roll call. I entered the noisy gym a little late from the locker room and by the second step you could have heard a pin drop. The brothers were grinning ear to ear, enjoying every second of the spectacle they knew was about to unfold. After all life had already instilled in them this sixth sense for things of this nature.

Stevie hissed demandingly at barely audible volume "What the hell are you wearing that for?"

The progeny of white society looked on smugly stone-faced, waiting on the answer they thought they deserved, solidly lined up behind Stevie their spokesman.

From the peanut gallery came the stream of inanities as I caught Leroy's gleeful grin out of the corner of my eye and returned one of my own, albeit somewhat muted.

"Hehe, I think his whitewash might be starting to come off!"

"You'll never get the stink off you"

"I'll be just fine" I replied without a hint of worry and proceeded to play basketball until class was over.

Back in the locker room I found Leroy and returned his tank top meeting his gaze in what could only be described as one of admiration and mutual respect. That day one friendship grew deeper, others faded, and I gained a sense of the world that I wanted to live in as well as the means to secure it.

The Goddess of Love Revisited

One fine spring day Aphrodite emerged from her ice palace and ventured into the world of mortals. Preceding her, a host of attendants lay down a soft bed of rose petals and sprayed a fine fragrant mist, portending her emergence into a sun-dappled glen. Attendants to each side scurried to keep up while carrying mirrors, serving to magnify the beauty that might adorn her view.

In her wake followed an entourage of frolicking children, puppies and doe-eyed suitors, enamored by her beauty. She entered the glen alongside a babbling brook as all those fortunate enough to be taken in by the sight knelt in awe and admiration of her beauty. The elderly suddenly felt spry as in their youth, broken hearts were mended and clenched fists relaxed.

Once in the heart of the glen the clouds parted as the diffuse sunlight changed to golden rays warming her and all those within her presence. As she turned to look beyond the mirrors at the beauty which surrounded her the most unusual thing happened that elicited a concerned, muted murmur first from her attendants and then propagating through the gathering throng of onlookers.

She felt a tug at her long sable cape as a hush fell over the throng, waiting in anticipation of what might happen next.

A strapping young man approached, his shirtless torso glistening with beads of sweat which seemed to hang on every ripple of his well-muscled body as they dripped slowly down the glossy matted hair below his navel and onward towards the damp and bulging seat of his manhood. Past the attendants he wove a path directly towards the Goddess of Beauty, his athleticism and grace apparent with each cat-like step as he neared, every person in the glen transfixed upon the sight unfolding before their eyes.

Within a millisecond Aphrodite underwent a flash of disbelief that melted into curiosity at the audacity of this puny mortal who dared approach her while also noting approvingly that he was not just any run-of-the-mill human. He seemed to be starting to kneel and a look of smug approval settled in. She imagined him some tasty morsel to be consumed then retired as a welcome addition to her concubine, into which he'd surely clamor for admission upon first glance at her voluptuous splendor upon disrobing.

But as the man stooped he did not follow through by either kneeling or bowing to pay homage. He did however lean over to pick up a errant frisbee that had struck the Goddess' cape.

"'Scuse me ma'am, my dawg Booger missed" he explained pointing back at a panting, slobbering labrador retriever who was now gleefully rolling on his back, sharing his non-neutered doggie glory with all who gazed his way.

Aphrodite grimaced as a disapproving grumble moved through the crowd of onlookers, not so much because of their personal reaction to the spectacle but rather the potential for the placid calm that buoyed their spirits being cruelly broken by the well-known wrath of the Goddess of Beauty at her impetuous worst.

"Wooooo-weee" the man exclaimed. "That sure is a pretty outfit you got on. Is that real animal fur? You know that in these times, harming animals in the course of clothing yourself is really in bad taste. PETA might raise hell, ya know?"

All in attendance drew back from the pair as the man continued his chit-chat with the one whose identity was surely unknown to him. Incredulity overcame Aphrodite as she began to regard the mortal as some disgusting insect that had landed on her garment. The glen fell into shadow as gathering storm clouds blocked the sun.

"You sure are a looker, that's for sure but all that ornate lace and fur is outdated and a bit frumpy. Might I suggest something a little more form fitting? My girl Amber knows a great boutique on Melrose. She comes home all decked out in latex, hotter'n a stolen tamale. Sure gets me goin'..."

Aphrodite snapped.

"SILENCE!!!" she roared as a stiff breeze shook the trees surrounding the glen then subsided.

"You know NOTHING!", she shrieked. "It is not like that at all. I was, am and always will be pure, unrivaled beauty...the wanton desire of men and the envy of women everywhere. YOU WANT ME, you...you piss-ant, you insignificant dung beetle. You shall regret those words" she screamed in a fit of rage, unbecoming of the Goddess of Beauty.

"Now let's not get all pissy. Jeez lady there's no need to get your undies in a bunch. You're more than beautiful. Why dressed like a hottie you'd outshine even Amber but you'd have to work on your pole dancin' cuz Amber's one hell of a pole dancer. Why she..."

With the man in mid-sentence Aphrodite let fly with a look so wrathful that lightning bolts flew from her eyes, reducing the man to a heap of ash.

In unison the crowd ooh'd and ah'd in much the same way as one might expect during a spectacular burst of fireworks.

"Nice ash, mortal" she quipped snidely.

The sun broke through the clouds bathing the glen once again in its warm glow.

"Where were we?" cooed Aphrodite. "Oh look, a puppy."