Thursday, September 20, 2007

People Always

You people make me sick. Absolutely disgusting. Pigs. Any hint of human frailty or genuine sensitivity and you animals are all over it like maggots on meat. My son C, my wonderful son that I don't talk about so much posted a private video from him to me on YouTube, and you vile inhuman butchers get wind of it and invade our personal privacy and just attack attack attack. Ha ha. It’s so funny. Because feelings is funny so let’s pile on like the swine we are, right? Pigs? Right.


I don’t know why it’s so funny. I actually laughed. Outloud. No, doofus, he’s not my son. My son is a real blond -- not one of those two-tone jobs, like a ’56 DeSoto. Along with a few other salient differences.

This boy. He’s so young, to be ruined already. He's not very bright. And he's sorta creepy. Well, you can see it for yourself. But good lord. Someone really did a piece of work on his head.

Incongruity is the heart of humor. And this lad acts like a girl. What are we to make of it? Gender roles have a purpose. They are pretty much biologically determined. As a fetus develops, testosterone works in shaping the structure of the brain. Male brains are more compartmentalized than female brains. One theory of autism has it that too much testosterone accounts for the problem. Maybe. I test at the extreme end of the continuum, re female/male brain structure. In any case, regions of male brains light up more brightly but over a smaller area, compared to female. Men are spotlights, women are floodlights. I've gone over this before.

We might suppose that young Chris here didn't get his fair share of testosterone during a key phase of his in utero development. That would account for any non-standard brain structure for this young male human. But what about his behavior? Because gender roles are learned. The lefty feminists are right about that. Just as there is a natural faculty for language acquisition, yet language still has to be learned. Even birds have to be taught how to sing. So even a little boy with a more feminine brain can still act masculine. It's socialization as much as determinism.

But the boy talks about his grandmother, with whom he lives. And there's talk about his mother ... or at least her vagina. No man. No man. Well, yes, the molesters, but no real man in his life.

This is why fathers are important. And if not fathers, then decent men who notice and who understand, and who take the time to do what is right. Because not all gentleness is queer, and not all mildness is fag. A boy with a sensitive nature, even a feminine nature, doesn't have to dress up in drag and turn his anus into a sexual organ. That's learned behavior too. Young Chris never had a chance. Some person or persons unknown, or known, molded him into what he is. There is a millstone the size of, well, the size of Uranus awaiting them.

The gay cliche is, God made me this way and God doesn't make mistakes. The theology is non-standard, since it ignores the effects of the fall from grace. God didn't make any mistakes, but he made creatures who could err. In any case, God doesn't make volitional behavior. Even someone who is burdened with a desire for his own kind has outlets other than sodomy and its variants. And there's nothing biologically determined about high heels and feather boas. That's learned. I've gone over this before as well.

Well. Young Chris. He just signed a contact for his own TV show. He's done being funny. From now on it will all be about scripted spontaneity and fey camp. They'll try to recapture the raw angst and compelling authenticity of his passionate Britney vid. Can you bottle the wind? Can you freeze lightning in its path? Alas. As much as it was possible for a catamite to be innocent, it's lost now.

We laugh at the absurd. We're not wrong to do that. Such laughter acts as a mechanism of social control. Harmful if it lapses into ridicule, but salutary in discouraging foolishness. Young Chris, with his feckless emotion over nothing, was funny. But I have a father's heart, and there is some foolish part of me, some sensitive part that wishes I had been there for him, to balance out the malignant influence of the incompetent adults who shirked their duty to raise him up in the way he should go. Too late. Too late. The pixilation has taken hold of him, will o' the wisped away and what stray wayfarer is ever called back from fairyland?

So many lost boys. With so many men in the world, how is it possible? My guess is that they're not, most of them, really men. Just boys, grown older.

Funny, how it's not funny anymore.


1 comment:

MuscleDaddy said...

Too true, Jack.

The buzz-phrase used to be "Babies having babies," - incredible how much more completely telling that phrase has become.

Every so often, I run across a child (often the child of a friend or acquaintance) and see the potential for either greatness or for the horrific waste of that potential, and I think to myself "If I could just scoop this one up and take him home with me - raise him with my kids - Ye Gods, what could be accomplished..."

But the best I can manage is to try to remain nearby with a timely word, lesson or direction - and hope that it's enough.

- MuscleDaddy