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June 19, 2006
john’s second law
I invented the Second Law early: never blame your misfortune on how rough your life has been, because you never know when your audience had things much, much worse. Quite justifiably, they will think you a whiny maggot. This isn't to say I don't occasionally get caught bellyaching about having no shoes to men who have no feet, but such moments are rare now. More often lately, I'm the footless guy.
A couple of baby boomer parents were remarking to me about their miracle baby, age 31. He's a miracle because he has three kids and the occasional job. "Oh man," the parents chuckled. "We didn't think we'd ever say that, there for a while."
It turns out that from 19-21, he did some drugs. He stopped doing them. Good for him.
Apparently I was insufficiently impressed with the miraculous nature of a 19 year old white college student doing drugs and living to pay taxes at 30. "You have to understand, John, he had a really rough life."
"Very rough," added the other parent, sadly shaking his head.
"How so?"
"Well, he started associating with the wrong sort of people. Drug users. Real nasty people." It became apparent to me that they were done making their case. Their kid didn't screw up; someone else screwed him up.
My mind flashed back to all the crack dealers and, very likely, murderers that I used to ball with. Odd that d'Andre and I so effortlessly escaped those associations without drug habits or arrests. And with our degrees. This kid's friends must have been insidious indeed to have been a lower element than ours. Perhaps his friends specialized in selling crack to orphans.
"Let me get this straight," I replied. "And stop me when I'm wrong. This kid is born healthy and into a middle class family. Gets the finest medical care from word go. Never worries for a moment about where's he's gonna sleep or get his next meal. He has every material thing he could reasonably want. His only job as a kid is being a kid. His whole life, he has two healthy parents who love him and one another. He's never beaten or molested. When he turns 16, his dad buys him a car on a credit card. When he turns 18, his housing and college are paid for. He decides he doesn't like college, so he drops out and does drugs and never returns and starts a menial career...and this, this is the 'rough life' that's supposed to buy him sympathy? Sounds like a spoiled kid tripping on his own good fortune, to me."
"Well, when you put it that way..."
As if there's another way. Whiny fucking maggots.
This post is affectionately dedicated to Becky, the first person to ever make me hug my own hardships, so grateful was I not to have had hers.
posted by john at 7:48 AM • permalink