“They are contemptuous of authority, convinced that they are superior. Typical adolescent behavior, for any species.” – Star Trek: Voyager
Okay, I couldn’t resist that one. If I were a lawyer I’d never pass a bar.
The Mrs. used to watch several reality shows, one of which was Intervention. If you hadn’t seen it, a drug or alcohol addict is followed around for several days by a film crew. Why they let them follow them around while they drink (in one case) five liters of vodka a day, every day, is a mystery. My bet is that they don’t make many good decisions, so inviting a camera crew to watch and record as their personal misery unfolds is just another bad day, just another bad decision.
I have never felt like less of an addict after watching that show. To put it mildly, those people had problems.
Now I see where Intervention got the idea.
At the end of each episode, family members and friends ambush the addict with an intervention, where people who love the addict gang up on them in a room and offer a choice: go to rehab or get cut out of their lives. Most chose rehab. On the follow ups, most of the rehabs failed.
I have to be fair.
After a while it became clear – the stories weren’t all the same, but each one rhymed with the others. And I noticed one particular facet of almost all of the stories that was the same: intense trauma of some type on the addict when they were between the ages of 11 and 14, which I call by its scientific name: The Idiot Zone. Again and again horrible things happened. Parents divorced. A parent died. Something else that was dramatic happened.
I have theories about most everything, and my theory on this one is that middle school kids are awful, horrible people, probably the worst people on Earth, which makes me wish that we could just abandon them in a forest for four years.
Why does the Idiot Zone exist? Middle-schoolers have developed feelings. They have learned to be mean. They just haven’t learned either empathy or how to be nice. If I were to pick a crucial age range for character development (and development of virtue!) I’d pick ages 11 to 14. Having a parent to model for character is crucial.
Screw this test up as a parent, and you’ve lost your last major chance to influence them. After that, you lessen as an influence every day.
Everybody’s kids do stupid things – The Boy and Pugsley are no different. I specifically don’t give out much information about my sons, and nearly none of it is negative because these words will live on long after they’ve moved to make their own way in the world. That’s okay. I make plenty of mistakes to keep the Internet entertained.
But Pugsley is now in the Idiot Zone, and he and I have been on an escalating aggression trend for several weeks. It’s a long game, and I’m older than he is and I can hold out forever to get a win. And I will get a win. But today I had an idea. I looked him in the eye when I got home from work.
“I have decided what I’m giving up for Lent, Pugsley. I am giving up anger. I’m not going to get mad at you for the next 38 days. No matter what. Like that idea?”
He nodded.
In looking up Lent and the history of fasting, I read a story of a seminary student who didn’t select what he gave up for Lent – his roommates did that for him. I decided that was good enough for Pugsley.
“In return, you’re going to give up _______ and _______.” You can fill in the blanks with minor character faults. You could even do a Madlib®: “being an idiot” and “not bathing after rolling in three week old rotting deer carcass”
Okay, they weren’t that bad, and he’s not a dog. He rightly responded, “You know, Dad, we’re not Catholic.”
My rejoinder: “Well, you could be. I hear you get a pretty white dress on your confirmation. Also, be careful. If a Catholic bites you, you rise from the dead and become one.” The Mrs. and I had considered becoming Catholic, but didn’t – the sheer amount of paperwork was huge, and I was told the written approval of the Pope himself would be required, given that I had previously been married to a shape-shifting she-demon.
He was obviously not amused by the confirmation dress comment and, in best adolescent form, ignored it entirely. Pugsley is also going to Catholic school, and getting an “A” in religion so he fully understood that Lent was the period from Ash Wednesday lasting until Easter. I continued, “Besides, giving up being a _______ and ________ would be good for you.” And it would be good for the rest of the family, too. Nobody likes living with a ______head. And Pugsley has been a real royal _____head recently.
I’m not sure Pugsley believed me when I said I was going to not get angry no matter what. Consciously or subconsciously, he tried to push every one of my buttons this afternoon. He knew very well which behaviors of his drove me nuts. And in the span of fifteen minutes tried them all.
I didn’t get angry, not even inside. Finally, when he saw that no matter what he did I wouldn’t react he became emotional. He discovered it’s tough to have a fight when the other side just won’t escalate.
I’ve long felt that perhaps the only thing we entirely control as humans is the way we feel about things. People or the government can take away my guns. My vast fortune. Sedation dentistry. Stately Wilder Manor. All those material things can be taken away.
However, no one can take away my thoughts. I can choose not to be angry, which may also explain why I don’t listen to NPR® on the way to work. My feelings are my choice. Pugsley will figure that his feelings are his choice, too, and when that happens? I’ve won.
This is a health post, what with it being Friday. Giving up anger isn’t the only thing I’m giving up for Lent, but it’s a big one, and there are tons of health reasons why not being angry at Pugsley will make me healthier – lower stress, I won’t be hoarse from yelling, but the negative is that my home state will no longer be to exploit my blood pressure as a renewable energy resource providing 54 megawatts of power.
I am religious, but even if you aren’t, I think the practice of giving up things has value. I rarely drive my favorite car. Why? Because if I drive it every day it loses its magic. Giving up pleasures for a time makes us stronger, and makes the pleasure that much better when you finally get to experience it again.
I am so going to enjoy becoming enraged on Easter. I might yell and scream for days.
I had a friend that decided he needed to stop drinking. He did, so when we had band practice, I’d bring soft drinks. This went on for a few months, but one afternoon, I noticed he was again drinking beer.
I asked him why he started drinking beer again. He explained he had a beer the Friday before, and then spent a few hours catching up for all the beers he didn’t drink. This led to the realization he never drank much, and his wife much preferred his occasional beer, instead of his binge to insure his yearly quota was in line with the passage of time. That, and removed the guaranteed headache, with explosive vomiting.
So, if you give up anger, you might find you have a rage so terrible, controlling it will be impossible, and you might have a headache, with explosive vomiting.
But wait . . . does that mean I can never be angry again?
Shucks.
I taught my daughter to get over her 3 year old tantrums in about two weeks by critiquing them. “More leg kicking! Harder! Flail those arms! I’m just not feeling it. You’ve got to do better.”
I like the cut of your jib, Sir. The Missus and I worked together to cure our daughter’s lack of humor via constant mockery and pranks. It worked, and it was awesome fun.
I agree with Steve, genius! The next time Pugsley flips out, I’ll let you know how that works on an adolescent . . .
I have a choice:
Frustration or fascination.
For example:
“This traffic is amazing… and irrelevant!”
“Bumblebrats* are hilarious… and irrelevant!”
“Breathing and upright this side of the dirt is wonderful… and irrelevant!”
To belabor the point unnecessarily, this might help:
How does my choice in this moment support the long-term big-picture instead of the little local drama?”
The ancient Persian poet Rumi writes:
“Am I loving or waiting to love?”
*The term ‘bumblebrats’ is a form of shorthand for ‘minor tin-hat dictators overly-impressed with their self-importance while defending and building their imaginary empires’, and is not meant to imply my passionate dislike for bureaucrats or other politicians. Who are entirely likeable swell folks and always operate with my best interests at heart.
The esteemed author of today’s excellent column bears zero resemblance to a bumblebrat. At least to me.
That IS the nicest thing that’s been said all day! Yeah, I’m not in favor of bumblebrats. They see terror when they can, and lord it over all. But I just described every Homeowners’ Association, well, ever . . . .
Well said. Thank you.
My pleasure!
I can’t remember for the life of me where I read it, but I once read an excellent explanation of the difference between liberty & freedom.
To paraphrase, the State may incarcerate me, and thus deprive me of my freedom. I am still able to say that I think the head of state is a fool (or any other term I choose). My assigned guards, whomever they may be, are probably not able to say the same thing, without consequences. I can still think anything I choose. I can be deprived of my liberty by being confined; I can only be denied my freedom by being deprived of my life.
I feel bad that I can’t remember the source: I think it’s one on the tip of my tongue, or the corresponding metaphor for the brain.
♫ Burn the land and boil the sea; you can’t take the sky from me. ♪
Now I’m gonna be humming that all day . . .
This isn’t the right one, but I couldn’t resist posting it:
“Cast me into a dungeon;, burn me at the state, crown me king of kings, I can ‘pursue happiness’ as long as my brain lives — but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can insure that I will catch it.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, Starship Troopers
My issue isn’t anger itself but spending too much time being angry about things that don’t matter/I can’t don anything about and not enough getting angry at things that deserve my ire.
Having given it all up . . . (for now) it’s working. Can’t you feel the mellow vibe?