7/28/2008

Something Foul Is In The Air

Excuse me if this column seems to go over the line, but I promise it is in the interest of creating a more civilized world. My apologies in advance. 

 Have you ever let one rip in public, insulting the sensibilities of innocent bystanders with your foul emissions? Do you let ‘em roar at ballgames so everyone within ten rows can hear you? Or rattled one off at a fine restaurant, thinking those at nearby tables wouldn’t notice? Have you ever set one off just as you passed by someone sitting on a park bench or run into a casual acquaintance you haven’t seen in years, reintroduced yourself, then ripped three crisp ones in quick succession in front of your friend’s young son? 

Thought not. Yet you may be surprised to learn that I’ve witnessed every one of these situations in just the past few weeks. No, I’m not talking about flatulence. Instead, I’m talking about a different sort of f-bomb, one that originates somewhat further north in the anatomy. And it’s one whose use seems to be reaching epidemic proportions. 

 What’s surprising is how similar these two nasty releases are. Though neither cause permanent damage, both are foul. Either can slip out accidentally, yet can almost always be controlled with a little self-restraint. Neither is likely to ease an already tense situation. And the most striking similarity? If the setting isn’t appropriate for one, it probably isn’t for the other. In a job interview? No. Church? Certainly not. Alone with friends? Perhaps. Hunting trip? Practically required. Sitting with your spouse? Depends upon your spouse. With your boss? Ditto. Trying to set an example for young children? Hardly. In public among strangers? Never. 

But here’s one way in which they’re different. A person who lets go with a gaseous sort will act rightfully embarrassed. Question the verbal offender, however, and you'll often get the “Hey, it’s a free country” look. Yes, it’s a free country and I will defend to the death your right to be rude, thoughtless and disrespectful, but you are being rude, thoughtless and disrespectful nonetheless. 

And that’s the thing. I have no problem with a well-placed expletive. I don’t even mind if my kids hear them. In fact, it’s not the word itself I have a problem with, it’s the selfish nature of the act. It’s no different than cutting the grass at 6 AM, carrying on a conversation in a theater or blasting music into the wee hours. There are things some people just don’t want to hear. We should all respect that. Which is what it all comes down to – respect for others. An inappropriate f-bomb is about as welcome as an f-bomb from one’s backside. Put in that light, it’s odd that some believe spewing them makes them cool in a Sopranos sort of way. To our public f-bombers, I’d argue there’s a better word – one that rhymes with cool – to describe how you come across. Try to guess what letter that word starts with.

7/20/2008

Hedges, Home Makovers and Small Acts of Kindness

When I finally reached the age where I could stay home while the rest of the family left town for the weekend, I decided I was going to surprise my mom by trimming the overgrown hedge that had become the bane of her existence. And it wasn’t going to be your typical teenager-style, bare-minimum job. I was going to trim, weed, edge and haul. I could envision both the finished job and the reaction when my parents returned. But then my mom uttered her final words of instruction as the old wood-grained Chevy wagon backed out of the driveway.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to trim the hedge while we’re gone.”

Well, deflate me with a pitchfork. My labor of love now became a chore and my mom’s pleasant surprise was now an expectation. Ugh.

I was reminded of that when ABC’s Extreme Home Makeover visited our little corner of the world. I’ve often marveled at the enthusiasm that surrounds the Big Reveal, when the bus is moved and the new house is seen for the first time. Why are we so thrilled by the big gift and so willing to donate time, goods and cash to a family of strangers, yet so begrudging when it comes to food stamps, school lunch programs and other institutional charity directed at the masses?

Part of the answer may be found in my story of the hedge. It is in the difference between appreciation and expectation. We like our generosity greeted with sincere thanks, rather than a sense of entitlement. Furthermore, there’s always a greater sense of satisfaction when we act out of the goodness of our own hearts than when we’re told to do so, whether by mom or Congress.

I think it also reflects the rather schizophrenic nature of the American public. This is the group that can elect a George W. Bush twice (the dispute over that first election, notwithstanding), then go gaga over Barack Obama. Or choose Republican presidents for 20 of the 24 years from 1968 to 1992, while sending a Democratic majority to Congress that entire time.

What it comes down to is that we are a nation built upon conservative principles, but liberal ideals. We believe in hard work and personal responsibility, yet feel for those left behind. We’ll buy into Reaganesque calls to pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, then reach out to those who haven’t got bootstraps to pull. And that dichotomy likely explains why so-called red states – the conservative ones – consistently rank higher in charitable giving than the supposedly more compassionate blue states. It’s not that conservatives don’t care, it’s just that they don’t believe in the blank check. It’s accountability, not accounting, that determines their generosity.

“Extreme” is the operative word in ABC’s makeover show. But we needn’t go to extremes when trying to make a difference in others’ lives. Small, personal acts can go a long way – and it doesn't require an act of Congress to do them.