I was blessed with the good fortune of spending my formative years in the company of an exceptionally strong and unique woman. My father worked nights to support his family (my mother and I). My mother worked as well- but the larger chunk of my early childhood and teens transpired under the influence of a woman. I’ve come to understand in recent years, a boy spending his adolescence caught in mother’s knowing gaze, is not a rarity among men of my generation. Fathers were quite busy making a living. The notion of the “stay-at-home-mom” was, although flirting with extinction circa 1985, still somewhat relevant.
My memories of this period are vivid and punctuated with an restlessness not uncommon to pre-teen males. My mother, my sister, and her two children, saw movies approximately every weekend of the 80's. I can easily trace my obsession with cinema directly to this period. Woody Allen, Martin Scorsese, Spike Lee, Oliver Stone, Brian De Palma, and many more- deeply marked me. Age six to sixteen- a steady flow of estrogen in the form of my mother, Hilda May Beaver, (who died March 9th, 2016) and my sister, Carol Jean Pace (still kicking in my home state of Missouri), and cinema- provided me with some solid tools that would prove useful later in life.
To be clear- my adolescent world, under the supervision of two women- consisted of the mythic mid-west, a boatload of films, Ronald Reagan, the early onset of the tech explosion (Atari, Nintendo, fledgling computers, etc., etc.) and the formidable tumult/awesome rapture of boyhood. Modern cellular apparatuses- full-blown Internet access- and the Apple apocalypse had yet to materialize.
Recent cataclysms pertaining to 21st century sexuality- how and why it should (from here on) be approached with the utmost attention to etiquette and/or hormonal control has led me (and many other roosters) to examine past and present relations to the opposite sex. We also have, circling the skies like a peckish vulture, the public’s peculiar participation in the surrender of more than a few human rights and their privacy. It's no secret this is extremely dangerous and emblematic of a fractured, decaying democracy. Any vantage point from which I’d be able to tackle such worthy considerations (the recent rift between the sexes and mass surveillance) would be rooted in in the era mentioned above- under the sway of mom- and sometimes, my sister. This is not to discount my father’s influence (that’d require another long essay)- but my mother sculpted a lot of what I’ve been involuntarily employing as of late- regarding things I've observed in the culture that strike me as- well... creepy.
After years of romantic misfires (failure is a word one mustn't apply to the arena of male/female relations- it takes grandeur/bravado to even attempt such relations) I think I've come away unscathed or sans baggage. This, of course, is a perfect deception on my part. Many of us camouflage scars (a thrown pot or pan?), deep facial crevices (love lines?), or countless Gray hairs (I have one for every fruitlessly overblown misunderstanding between a female and myself).
But here’s a trick. Try to reckon there are some things you definitely do not need to know. Accept the mystery and embrace the enigmatic intervals that bookend identifiable signs of life in intimate relations. You know; the gold that occurs before and after mutual stabs at communication. I enjoy the understanding and sharing of a common silence that underlines a relationship’s fragility. Thankfully, my knee-jerk rejection of psychiatric interference disallows further inquiry on this matter (why relationships click or don’t). I am very comfortable with my commitment to mining the depths of the heterosexual “pickle.” I’m currently in a healthy, desirable relationship- so that, as they say, is that.
After all- it’s not important that one understands love- it’s only important that one is interested.
Let me now refer to my meta-physical handbook entrusted to me by my mother on matters of female relations- a kind of guidebook duly transferred by osmosis and years of observation. The primary thing (we’ll say, “Rule Number 1”) I gleaned from mom was the importance of displaying an unpretentious, passably uncontaminated sense pertaining to all kinds of stuff in life. This may seem an archaic concept to those helplessly wired-in to current mass media trends.
I'd like to differentiate between- common sense (a phrase that is always lost on me- what is “common” about “sense”?) and plain, unambiguous sense. Or- sensibility, if you prefer. A synonym for the word sense is consciousness. It is within the bounds of reality to say my mother imparted a certain awareness of self - a consciousness- and how to present that self to the world; specifically- the world of women.
Awareness of self or how one exhibits a persona is a precious commodity these days. A brief perusal of FaceBook nails this down for even the most skeptical of mortals. 2018 American culture appears to worship unproven merit. The evidence is everywhere. The phrase, “Know Thyself”, carries the same weight as a man with a malfunctioning olfactory sense and faulty taste buds judging a pie contest.
Somebody (I don’t recall who) once said, “Show me a man who doesn’t respect women- I’ll show you a man who dislikes his mother.” This sentiment is not a “Golden Rule” by any means- but it may be more often accurate than not. The #METOO phenomenon (a “movement” that commands both respect and suspicion- respect because the legitimate injustices should cease- suspicion because we seem to be losing sight of what an injustice actually entails) has recently, in a fairly predictable maneuver, targeted Woody Allen. I grew up watching Woody Allen's films. A reminder that I’ve made it through another year of life is his annual release (Allen has made at least one film per year since 1977). I like Woody Allen. I won’t go into details (Google it) as I do not wish to support the sensationalist approach and lack of proof regarding Allen’s accusations. I’m on his side until he is proven guilty. This approach used to have cache in this culture. Not any more it seems. Flagrant, unproven bluster reigns supreme. The republic and its perception of right and wrong has been hijacked by a degenerate, compromised media serving depraved agencies that have deemed themselves unaccountable. What is vanishing into thin air is anything remotely resembling sense.
The loaded hand my mother (and sister- to some degree) dealt me in the 80's- that which revolves around contemporary issues connected to my evolving consciousness during that time- be it sexuality (#METOO), the lives/work of iconic movie directors (Woody), runaway technology (enough already), or flamboyant, deceptive politicians with a background in chimp films or reality TV (Ron Reagan- and, as my father calls him, “The Tangerine Disaster”)- I am compelled to ask, "What, in the name of all that lives and breathes, is happening to our sense?"
The hideous Weinstein avalanche spawned a righteous cascade of female wrath essentially calling for men to stop thinking of ladies solely in terms of vehicles for pleasure. Women say, “Stop exhibiting your power and behaving like horny, irresponsible, rabid wolves.” And, yes! That’s Right. I agree to the moon and back. What man who loves his mom wouldn’t? Women deserve respect, care and reverence. They cornered the market on these nouns when they made your existence possible. They housed, fed and insured your bloody entrance into this whack-job world when you were only a pound or so of DNA slush.
The primal, shameless idiocy some of these celebrities and notable personalities have displayed in the last several months is astonishing. I’m a fan of almost all the men who were accused and affected. I am not a fan of predatory, sociopathic (or psychopathic) maneuvers designed to promote a sexual release that conflates one’s sense of placement in the general order of the universe. The mentality of a man who considers masturbating in front of a woman a display of power is a total mystery to me. This seems to me a grotesque- even feeble- display of the exact opposite of power. Effective displays of power require (moral) courage, intuition and wisdom. If you ever find yourself powerful- try these on for size. Real power (read- psychic strength) excludes debauchery and should contain as much selflessness as possible. This is why true power is so hard to absorb and realize.
It's dizzying. The disregard of sense confounds. Sizable glitches came trucking in when reckless media organs perverted the initial issue (ending Weinstein-esque dealings with women in the workplace and beyond) re-framing the argument as impassioned hyperbole for censorship (and the derailment of esteemed careers). Louis CK’s film release, I Love You, Daddy (2017), was shit-canned as a result of his irresponsible actions and the whole ball of wax shifted dramatically to a weird sort of prohibition. What did the other countless people who labored on the making of CK’s film have to do with his sexual infractions? There is also talk of killing Woody Allen’s dependable annual film offering, A Rainy Day in New York (2018). Why? What does this solve? How does the erasure (censorship) of someone’s work demystify anything wrong or right- proven or unproven- trendy or untrendy? The only message a ban sends is- surrender your democracy.
Still- the censorship/destruction of careers continues while democracy winces, limps and howls in defeat. This country’s exceptionally disreputable ruling class is riding the backs of frustrated and, in a lot of cases, principled women, all the way to a case for mass censorship of left-wing (liberal) artistic influence. Why else would the bought and sold corporate cheerleaders and media puppets perpetuate sensationalism, sex scandals, and disinformation with such glee and reckless abandon? One could argue that the media has always been shit. I'd say it has never been identified by such a sudden- expedited brutality (thanks, Internet)- and enormity of malice (is it me? or do people seem to love hating things?).
Lest we forget- it has never been hard to petition an unhealthy, divided, confused enraged republic to support the pre-meditated elimination of other, more beneficial areas of influence- after they’ve been clubbed into submission regarding speculative persecutions of a worthless bunch of lefty bleeding hearts. A Nazi can tell you precisely how this bird flies.
Which brings us back to sense.
A few years ago, at my mother's funeral, I ruminated on the kind of world she was departing and thought of lotus flowers. They're the Buddhist symbol of purity of body, speech, and mind. Lotus flowers are rooted in mud. The flower of the lotus blossoms on long stalks floating above muddy waters- the soiled H2O of attachment and desire. The lotus is symbolic of detachment because water drops easily slide off its petals. I remember feeling my mother may be exiting a world that insists on the lotus flower’s paralysis in the murky waters of stasis- a sort of arrested consciousness. The accelerated, careless, self-satisfied culture of narcissism and entitlement might desire a sublimated and sterile lotus. The West might possess a virtual disdain for enlightenment.
The velocity of technology is indisputably aggravating us. We’re not happier or healthier as a result of it. Social networking appeals to the reptilian side of our brains (fear, jealousy, anger, envy, etc.) and our endless hours online serve less purpose than swine rolling around in dirt (notably- pigs think they are bathing). I often wonder why a supposed economic or technological leap forward that fails to leave behind a better world is considered “progress?”
We are fully engaged in a battle to recover our senses. And all issues might be ill-conceived as a result of our willing participation in our own impoverishment.
Before we can take palpable steps out of the refuse of misguided delirium- we should first acknowledge the modern assault of unprincipled, lowly savages on our already bruised consciousness. We have little choice. Things have come to far and for highly suspicious reasons. And by things- I mean, everything. I'm certain I'm not alone in my yearning to appreciate and debunk the rowdy, fallible leanings of my country’s future intentions. The United States' culture is awash in a morbid atonement (again). It’s big and unsightly this time with more than a touch of menace. But we all share and nurture a redemptive urge for being the person our mothers birthed, yes? In maintaining one’s sense- there's an undeniable profundity that is contagious. So let us be sensible.
Do it for mom.