Disdain

"The older I get, the more disdain I feel for the human race," he posted on Facebook, referencing the horrible movie theatre massacre in Colorado. In his late 20's,  he is at that point where he is no longer a kid, and the grim realities of life are disillusioning him. I know how that feels, for I went through that myself when I was his age. That unique cynicism of the young, where we have lived long enough to see some awful things, but not long enough to be able to put it into its proper perspective. I allowed him his feelings, for they are real, then I commented, "Most people are good. They just don't get the publicity that the others do."

I don't think the world is going to hell in a handbasket. It just seems that way sometimes. Go back in history and we can always find examples of man's inhumanity to man. It's not getting worse. But it's in our face all the time. We have the radio, television, magazines and newspapers that earlier generations had, plus the internet. We have computers in our homes and on our desks at work; why, we even carry little computers in our phones. The horror of all that is wrong with the world is at our fingertips 24/7. We watch the same images over and over, and it's as if it is happening time and again.

We know what is happening anywhere in the world right as it is happening, in real time. We Twitter and Facebook it, and I adore social media, but it has taken us out of our own little world and immersed us into everything that is happening at all once. It's hard to take it all in. It can feel overwhelming. If we aren't careful to manage it well, it can make us feel as though this world that we live in is a horrible place, and it's not. And if we feel that way as adults, how much more so do children when parents aren't careful about what they hear and see and watch.

The human race is no different than it ever has been. The world is a wonderful place, filled with mostly good people. They just don't get the publicity that the others do.

Susan

The Riddler

"He must be very ignorant, for he answers every question he is asked." Voltaire

I love super heroes, and Batman is my favorite, hands down. I don't know why I love him like I do. Who can explain love, really? It might be because the 1960's television series starring the very dashing Adam West was a favorite show of mine when I was a little girl. The villains in Batman are great, too. The Joker and Catwoman, and how about The Riddler? He wore that cool green onesie with the question marks all over it. He would warn Gotham City police and Batman ahead of time of his crimes, in the form of complex riddles. The Riddler is cool. And riddles are fun. But not in every day communication.

She loved to ask questions. It was her main form of communication. She tended to be passive aggressive. You know the type. Smiling sweetly on the outside, smoldering subterfuge on the inside. She was my family's version of the Riddler. She did it to everyone, so it wasn't just some weird dynamic between the two of us. I caught on early in our relationship that when she asked a question, she was actually making a statement. And it was up to everyone around her to figure out the complex riddle and give her what she wanted. It did not go well if you came up with the wrong answer to the riddle, either. Here's a classic example of how my Riddler operated, from the earliest days of our relationship. She never called me to chat, only if she wanted something.

(Landline phone pre-caller ID days. Phone rings: ding a ling a ling.)
Me: Hello.
Riddler: Do you guys have the flu? (whiny sad voice, no "hello" first)
Me: No. We are all healthy.
(Pause.)
Riddler: Oh.
(Another pause to allow me further time to solve the riddle)
Me: Do YOU have the flu?
Riddler: Yes! I have been so sick...

I know it can be difficult for some to ask for what they want or need. I know that some were raised in families where being direct was frowned upon. I know that women of this Riddler's generation can be a little coy and think it's feminine. I know. I know. I know. Over the years, I tired of the Riddler's game. And it is a game. So I began to answer her questions very simply. She became quite frustrated with me when I no longer played along. It was no great loss; there were plenty of other people for the Riddler to riddle.

My Riddler passed away a few years ago, but I still find myself stinging from the experience. I am a little overly sensitive, I suppose, to the passive aggressive riddles. It is a lot of work to try to put all the clues together, to read between the lines, to interpret tone of voice, to guess at what those Riddlers really want from me. When a Riddler starts to riddle me, maybe I should riddle her back with, "Is there something you want to say to me?"

And now I have a riddle for you. Why does Snoop Dogg need a raincoat?
Fer drizzle.

Susan