Mean people suck; or why all of humanity makes me drink
I’ve about had it. I’ve about had it with people who feel entitled to act like dipshits all the live-long day. People don’t take the time to understand other people. People don’t take the time to think, period. Everyone is too concerned with Numero Uno to worry about anyone else on the number scale and yes, perhaps we’ve all been prone to our moments of unimaginable selfishness and self-importance and greed, but there is a limit, an excess, just like there is with everything else dangerous in life.
What makes a person ignore and consequently forget their duties and obligations to other people? When did those who aren’t us become so unimportant? I’m constantly baffled by the stories I hear from friends and read in the news: parents who belittle and neglect their children, friends who stab one another in the back over something insignificant, and coworkers who create a poisonous environment of treachery, pettiness, and general mean-hearted behavior.
Beth has asked, several times, about motherhood and what makes a good mother/parents and I’ve responded a few times with my childhood memories of my mother, as I have zero experience as a mom myself. One of her posts had something to do with how our moms took care of us when we were sick. When I was little, my mom made me soup and toast (I refused soft boiled eggs – yuck!), poured me glasses of Sprite and apple juice, and made sure I felt comfortable on our scratchy couch. We still have that scratchy couch and I don’t live there anymore but I’ve been sick a few times since moving out of the house. When I lived in StillH2O, she always offered to stop by IGA to get me cold medicine, cough syrup, Sprite, Tylenol – you name it. Now that I live so far away and don’t get home as often as I’d like, I’ve come to miss my mom’s caretaking more than I can even express. When I am home and get sick (usually with a migraine), my mom is ready with soft hands, blankets and pillows, the remote controls, and plenty of offers to get me food or drink.
The thing is, my mom does those things for me when I’m not sick, too. The other thing? I’m 28. See, my mom will never stop being my mom. A few years ago, when my father’s students were shocked at how he “let” (so funny if you know her) my grandma treat him, he responded with, “Your mom is your mom, even when you’re 54.”
Let’s step back a little and expand this circle of people being shitty to other people. I like to call people who are perpetually shitty “puppy-kickers.” Because really, that’s all they are. Boot wearing puppy-kickers. Donald Rumsfeld is a puppy-kicker. Kim Jong Il is a funny-haired puppy-kicker. Hitler was the king of puppy-kickers. And every day, I bet we all deal with at least one p-k. Maybe it’s the guy in your office who ogles all the women and then talks about how he just ogled all the women. Maybe it’s the chick in the next cubicle over who thinks it’s funny to criticise everyone in the office for everything they do. Maybe it’s the lady who does nothing but gossip about everyone in the office while trying to convince you to tell her your life story. Puppy. Kickers.
Sure, this seems like an ode to all things negative and horrible about the world but admit it. You’ve nodded your head in agreement because these bastards have gotten you down on more than one occasion. They’ve turned you into the puppy. They’ve criticized your education, your work, your lifestyle choice, your home, your clothes, your hair. They’ve mistreated you, ignored you, knowingly hurt you and not apologized, pulled your hair, called you fat, and keyed your car. They’ve torn you down and left you to pick up the pieces (and theirs too, if you’re so lucky) and when you turn to someone for a bit of venting and understanding, they’ve told you to suck it up. Welcome to life, where everyone sucks.
Except that’s not the case. Not everyone sucks. I like to surround myself with good people and I think I’ve done a pretty fair job at that. My friends are nice (and all VERY good-looking…are you jealous?) and they all have a bad day or slip into a bad slump but they shake it off and turn their beautiful faces toward the sunshine, determined to do better, to be better, and to love their hearts out as much as possible.
And to my non-assy, non-puppy-kicker friends (that means you!), I want to thank you for not kicking me when I’ve been down. You all rock ass and I salute you.
And to puppy-kickers everywhere, I hope a big donkey comes along and bites you in your hiney, you big meany-head.