Americans are increasingly acting like infants or, more charitably, like toddlers. Anything that they imagine, must be. Few things are as wondrous as a child’s imagination but, conversely, that same mode of thinking has no business continuing on into adulthood. Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine illustrates how difficult this can be to let go of, because the world of children is so much more fantastical than the dreary, mundane existence of adults.
As adults, we are prone to chasing this feeling, trying to recapture what has been lost. And, for fleeting moments, we may succeed. I remember getting behind the wheel of a V8 Mustang for the first time, after a lifetime of driving econoboxes. For just a moment, there it was, that magical experience, flying through the corners at intensely unsafe speeds, burning tires and hooning stoplights. Then it was gone, never to come again. It’s still fun to drive, but the first time will never come again. This is true of almost everything in life, from sex to your very first chocolate chip cookie.
The world of the child is one of constant first times. It is no wonder that people search for that feeling so intensely.
Part of becoming an adult is making peace with the fact that your childhood is over. You may have such first time experiences again, from time-to-time, but your life is now mostly about doing that which has already been done.
In many ways, I think this is at the root of what is wrong with America and the West today. Why did Bruce Jenner wish to be a woman? Perhaps he simply wanted something to be new again. Why did Rachel Dolezal pretend to be Black? Perhaps she was simply bored with being White. In the rush to experience everything, people have crossed the moral Rubicon into absurdity. Consider once that the blowjob was once considered abhorrent, rarely practiced outside of brothels. Yet today they are nearly ubiquitous among even faithful, married folk. Now, I’m not going to condemn the practice, but since it has become normal, common, and most have experienced it, it has lost its luster. It is not new. It is not exciting. And so ever-more exciting practices must be invented to replace it, and so on and so forth. Pretty soon, your average bedroom starts to look like 50 Shades of Grey (a terrible story, by the way). Everybody is a sexual tourist.
Tomorrow, perhaps Bruce Jenner will identify as “Gender Queer,” which is the next level, if you will. Are you bored with being a woman who was once a man? Now you change genders like you change clothing. Tomorrow you are “tri-gender” and the day after, a homosexual androgyne. The excitement comes again, and the imagination grows ever more vivid. Needless to say, this also explains much of the drug trade, and the demand for its products, as these, too, are first time experiences. In order to get that first high, of course, ever-more drug is required.
When reality intrudes, as it must, its admonitions must be denied. Like a child pretending he is a dinosaur, the white woman pretends to be a black man. Worse, some have duplicated the child-like practice of pretending to be animals. They are known as “Otherkin” and insist that they were born as the wrong species. I am sure that soon, Otherkin Queers will exist, wherein today you feel like a Wolf, and tomorrow you are a Deer.
Unlike children, however, the West is becoming more insane with age. It is spiraling backward on the maturity scale, to the point that some adults consider themselves to be literal babies. The regression continues rapidly until, as is the case today, those who have declined to participate in this imaginary game are reviled as “cis-gender” and “oppressive” merely by existing. If our 100% dedication and complete approval is not provided to them, they consider us to be evil oppressors. Even if these things are given, they look upon us with scorn and suspicion. We could, they think, interrupt their playtime and good-feels.
Much like how children sometimes regard their parents.
Like children who grow angry when held to a standard, when one child gets the trophy and he does not, so do these people decry the existence of standards by which they can be judged. Everything must be precisely equal, as a child’s sense of fairness demands. It’s not fair that one kid got a prize, and you did not. Another child runs faster, or jumps higher, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone is supposed to tell you that it will be okay, and that everybody is a winner. All is to be forgiven, automatically. All is to be indulged. It is not fair that your parents withheld the cookie from you. You should have the cookie merely because you wish for it.
Much of childhood, for the parents, is comprised of educating out this phenomenon and connecting the child with reality. Sometimes, your child will hate you for doing this, because reality is so much less interesting. But it must be done nonetheless.
Folks, we are the ones standing in front of the wishes, insisting that not everyone can have everything they want. We are the big bad wolves, the evil grownups. Or, more correctly, the cis-gender, homophobic, straight White male oppressors. Like children, they invent interesting word combinations which only make sense to them, you big Poopyhead Scuzbucket. Listen to the chanting of the Leftist protesters, and you will hear the echo of simple nursery rhymes, the brain’s most basic linguistic programming.
Radical Leftists are children.
The adult will, on occasion, indulge himself when the situation permits. But for the most part, he has left his childhood behind. There may be fond memories, the occasional smile to one’s self, remembering running around the playground, innocently pretending to be a dinosaur or a lion. Yet reality has made itself known to you. You are what you are. If you were born male, then you are male. If you were born White, then you are White, and if you were born Human, you are Human. You cannot change this. The adult, then, makes the best of what is given to him and moves on, enjoying those moments that are given to him, and reminiscing about better, more innocent days.
I remember building tree forts as a kid, and pretending they were great and mighty fortresses, under siege by the thundering orcish hordes. Those were good memories. Who would have known that, as a grownup, the political situation would be so similar? The fort of reason, under siege by the thundering hordes of adult-children.