Deadly Sweet

    I have begun to feel more like Howard Hughes must have felt near the end; the walls closing in, the floor turning to a vile swamp, and the air no longer fit for a raven to breathe. I suspect it has something to do with Valentines Day, or Sweet Tooth Monday.

    I remember making valentines when in school. Cutting hearts from construction paper, writing something insanely stupid in my best handwriting, and taping a sticky sucker to it.

    We had valentine boxes at school so as not to force us to directly confront the young love of our life, and be exposed to the possibility of rejection. It was one of the original attempts to raise the calypso bar so that everyone, regardless of aptitude, could walk under it, and be assured the illusion of success. Everyone, regardless of lovability, was guaranteed a valentine and a glimpse at what a future life had in store for us.

    Making life inclusive is only fair, but someone should explain to participants that we are not all equal in many aspects of our lives. Some people are naturally successful because of physically inherited traits, mental acuteness, or luck. They are better adapted to success in certain predestined areas. No shame in being last as long as you are not alone. Our gym teacher used to say, “nothing wrong with being second, just be glad you are not third, but remember you are also not first.”

    I could only assume he was attempting to instill in us the need to win, as any other designation would leave us wondering about our ability to participate in society, or even gym class. 

    I understand the need to be inclusive, everyone having the same opportunities, but it should come with a warning label. Because you are not the best at one thing doesn’t mean you are not at least average in another. But lowering the bar to accommodate everyone, does a disservice to those who could care less. Pretending to care less, than, let’s say those that care more, leaves one with the inability to believe diversity can in some cases, cause more harm than good.

   We have, because of the contentious manipulation of the meaning of the word “Winning,” abandoned the idealism of doing our best, or simply enjoying whatever activity we choose to be involved with. It makes us feel good to win, but it should not make us suicidal when we lose. Just as we have accepted being angry for inexplicable reasons, we have accepted either defeat or victory, before the game has even begun. There is a phenomenon called Angry Birds. That should tip us off to where we are being led, and why.

    I’m not saying that love and hate are not opposites; no more than winning and losing, but often more painful. We are however capable of hating love, loving hate, and turning to prayer when all else fails. Perhaps we are predisposed by evolution to mistrust happiness, while expecting sorrow. Somehow we feel less disappointed. It is for that reason we need to add to the school’s curriculum, the supposition that all men and women are created equal. But to allow that declaration to remain true, we must first agree that the starting line has to be in the same place for all.

    Howard had tons of money, fame, intelligence, and yet the thought of going insane, drove him insane. Our obsession with being the best or being nothing, is destructive. We forget, for there to be a winner there has to be a loser; but only when winning or losing matters. How we play the game, whether we adhere to the rules or cheat, I would argue matters more. Principles define the value of winning or losing. They allow for personal deficiencies to be improved upon, not abandoned.

    When anger is used to fuel exceptionalism it has a tendency to recruit backers who are not informed, but are looking for a particular cause to which they can attach their anger, whether it has anything to do with a cause or not. When you begin to believe you are right, and everyone else is wrong, you no longer have the ability to discern fact from fiction, because all evidence either pads your ideology or is rejected, having no value. Education ceases to influence the direction taken, as the strategy becomes what is important, not the goal.

    Strategy cannot be quantifiably measured, and therefore anything that detracts from the strategy has little impact on the goal, as the goal is never fixed, that would give the impression that the fight would end. The end will never arrive, for the promise of reaching the goal, is where the power lies. Much like any game, whether you win or lose, once it is over, the strategy is no longer needed, and the fight dissipates as there is no longer a foe.

    As Paul Simon stated, anticipation far outweighs actuality. Once started down the slippery slope of relying on anticipation to be the guarantee of happiness or whatever the goal, it is easier to abandon truth and fact, they do nothing to increase anticipation, and they often do not agree with the vision peddled. It is the anticipation that causes the blood to boil, the result, the process involved in logic is abandoned in the fervor of the moment. Original goals are changed to suit what the fever demands. The movement becomes a runaway train, and no amount of reason or logic will have any impact on slowing or stopping it.

    There have been prize fights that didn’t last one round. They had been hyped for months, and before most people could find their seats, it was over. The anticipation turned out to be the main event.

    Howard became convinced he was going to lose it all, so he did. When we convince ourselves that the dream is better than reality, we have no choice but to believe heaven is the place where we can finally be who we want to be. We passed go, collected the two-hundred rubbles, and no longer had to worry about incarceration. 

    The cake in the window, the pie on the table, the candy in the jar only a dime. But what if you don’t have two nickels, cake reminds you of old age, and pie prompts you to see blackbirds singing in the dead of night. 

    I began to feel like Howard felt when the sky would no longer hold up his wooden plane, the swamp was full of alligators after it was drained, and the success became the dream we were afraid to achieve, because once reality arrives anticipation dissolves, it has no choice. When the game is over, there is nothing to do but count your winnings, or borrow bus fare. 

    I felt bad for Howard, so I prayed. Not for him, that would do little good; but I prayed to him. I figured perhaps he would intervene on my behalf and kill two birds with one stone. It would give him something practical and purposeful to do once again, which can do nothing but elevate ones belief in ones self, and I could continue to play the game knowing it is rigged, but only if I allow it to be.