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The Tantrum Gene


The Freedom to Laugh

The events of the last days have affected me very deeply, and by merely opening my eyes and looking around I can see that they have affected most of the world. Tuesday, and the first day or so afterwards, were surreal for me. The line between fiction and reality melted away and nothing was anchored to anything solid or believable at all. My eyes saw and my ears heard, but my mind could not comprehend.

Gradually, ever so gradually, the horizon came back into view, but it hasn't been the same.  There is a physical feeling that something is missing inside, and that feeling persists.  It seems like a portion of what makes me me has been anesthetized.  I can walk, I can function, I remembered to put the trash out on Monday morning, but nothing fits quite right.  Commonplace sounds seem out of place.  Things I used to enjoy don't carry much pleasure anymore.  I've been trying to comprehend what has changed, and have struggled to find words to describe how I feel.  I've come to the conclusion that I've lost the freedom to laugh; outwardly, but also inwardly.

Before the terrorist attack, my dry wit and quips were frequent.  I'm not an extrovert, so I rarely giggle or shout or have a public belly-laugh, but I would often laugh inwardly and I enjoy all sorts of comic situations.

Now, laughter and mirth seem somehow sacrilegious. I can let myself inwardly enjoy a pleasant experience, such as the outdoor music concerts we attended this past weekend, but I cannot bring myself to express that enjoyment; to clap loudly and stamp my feet at the raucous music. Not only does it not seem appropriate to express outward pleasure or crack a joke or utter a quip, I have no desire to.  It's not that I'm stifling the mirth. It's just not there.  Life feels quite serious right now.  I've lost the freedom to laugh.

I'm sure that in time the laughter will return, but its not there now.

 

The Tantrum Gene

Unlike some people who claim to have memories of their earliest years, I do not have such long-lived remembrances.  Through the fog and mist of time, I think I remember some specific instances and experiences, but I really can't be sure if I'm remembering the experience, or remembering looking at an old photo of me having the experience.  I think it's telling that all the experiences I think I might possibly be remembering, also have photos or old home movies that go along with them.

Anyway, people tell me that I had a terrible temper when I was little.  I think I can remember instances of it from those early years, but I'm not sure. My older sisters can probably tell some tales.  I do know that I can remember instances of my temper from later years, like the time I was so furious about something (I forget what), I broke my hand punching a hole in a wall in the cellar of the house where I grew up (a plaster wall in the cellar of an old house, unlike a wall in other parts of the house, often has a stone wall right behind it).

I've mostly learned to control my temper over the years, but I have not been able to purge myself of it.  The seething that boils under the surface, especially when I've done something stupid or careless, is an all-too-familiar feeling.  It is worst when the offense (self-inflicted or not) is quick and surprising; a sudden, startling insult or physical affront.  Talk about seeing red.  When someone says that they were so mad that they just wanted to break something - anything - I can relate.  I can really relate.

Some people have a temper, some do not.  I believe its caused by an over-active tantrum gene. My tantrum gene has gotten me in trouble in the past, and I've never really been able to see any good come from it. People and situations and things in general will often improve if I hold my temper and don't explode, but it never works out well when my tantrum gene prevails and takes over a situation.  I know that.  My brain knows that. But sometimes it just doesn't seem controllable.

Our country - perhaps the entire civilized world - has been hit with a crushing blow to the heart.  It was a sucker-punch of astronomical proportions, out of the blue, with no warning, delivered when we least expected it.  The sudden rush of outrage and anger, the intense desire to strike out at someone - anyone - is very very real and apparently universal. But it is not the real us, not the decent and good people of the world who react this way; it is the tantrum gene doing it work, sowing its foul seed.

But we must resist the urge to succumb to our tantrum gene, to the overwhelming urge to strike out in retribution and lay waste to anyone and everyone who isn't "with us" (for if you're not "with us", of course, you must be "against us" - everything is always cut and dried, black and white).  If we succumb, then we lower ourselves to the same level as the vile and evil ones who have done this to us.  In this 21st century, if we pause and really think, we know in our hearts and in our heads that the only thing an eye for an eye accomplishes is self-inflicted blindness.

Our country was founded on the rule of law.  It has been a guiding principal for well over 200 years.  We cannot abandon that principle now, or we shame and despoil all those who died so tragically.  We need to carefully and methodically determine who has done this horrific deed (what persons, what groups, what governments), and then carefully and methodically make sure they can never do it again. Indiscriminately bombing entire countries into the stone-age or beyond will only assure that terrorism will be with us for generations and generations.

In the final analysis, there is only one true and guaranteed way to stop terrorism, and that's to put an end to the conditions that foment it - injustice and inequality.  It should be the easiest thing in the world for us to do, because our very identity as a country is based on the doctrine of fairness, equality, and the basic human rights of every of each and every individual.  In the 21st century, that doctrine should expand far beyond our borders, not stop at the shoreline.

 

 

 

 

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