A Journey to the West

Well, it’s Sunday again, and you probably know by now I do not like Sundays. Sunday at the end of what is essentially a four day holiday is even worse than a typical Sunday. I’m sure there are newsworthy events around the world, even on Sunday, but as we get very little news of the world to begin with, we get even less on Sunday. As this is so, I have decided to attempt a kind of memoir. It is my intention to occupy my Sundays with writing a bit more, week by week, until I arrive at some form of ending. The title of this memoir, of which this is the first installment, will be:

A Journey to the West

Although I later learned that I entered the world with an enormous fuss, I have no remembrance of it whatsoever. Nor did I, at the time, have any knowledge of where or who I was. My arrival was, to me, unexpected, and the means whereby I arrived were mysterious. Eventually I was told that I had emerged from the body of one of the creatures I found myself among, and it was that same body that nurtured and protected me for quite some time. More importantly, I did not comprehend that I was embarked upon a journey to the west, a journey, the end of which was predestined by the Great Mystery, and the basic itinerary of which was to be determined by biology and culture. My life, as that is what my condition was called, was in the beginning, as described by one of the ancestors, a “booming, buzzing confusion.” Slowly I began to distinguish sounds and shapes, as well as light and dark, and I soon discovered that through simple sounds I could alter my circumstances, hunger and discomfort could be controlled. I have no memory of this portion of my life. I was later informed I had been a “good baby,” had soon slept through the night, smiled a lot, and learned to crawl at the appropriate age. My completely idyllic existence ended when I learned to crawl and first encountered “rules.” I soon learned that objects external to me were not things I could necessarily control. I was not allowed to eat some of them, break most of them, or even handle them at will. In the process of learning these rules I also learned what it was to be “frustrated.”

As I slowly matured I learned there were two distinct types of creatures, distinguished by their anatomy, but also to some extent by their behavior. These creatures were called, respectively, “men” and “women.” While men seemed to be mostly in charge, the women were more nurturant, available, and affectionate, and seemed to be more in charge of everyday affairs and discipline, as it affected us “children.” Children were smaller versions of those termed “adults,” and like them were also of two types, “boys” and “girls.” Boys and girls were distinguished also by anatomical differences, but also by differences in expected behavior. Boys and girls were both powerless and controlled by adults.

Adults were expected to do something called “work.” Women’s work, at least when I was small, was mostly “housework,” as it took place either in the house or in other domestic activities that had to do with the house, which in a larger context was also known as a “home.” Home came to have an exceptionally powerful hold on everyone and provided a sanctuary from events that occurred outside the home, such as altercations with other children or adults, the weather, hunger, and whatever other frustrations and problems might arise in the course of the extended journey to the west. Men’s work was different. It was done away from the home where your “father” would disappear for several hours a day to perform duties that were not always explained to you. You learned that your father received something called a “paycheck,” which was of the utmost importance to the “family.” No paycheck, no home, no food, no clothing, no treats, and etc. Fathers were allowed much more freedom of movement that either “mothers” or children, and tended to spend more time away from the home, along with their fishing or hunting, golfing or bowling, racing or drinking “buddies, They were also far more likely to be “fans” of various sporting teams they followed.

One of the most traumatic events for all children was something called “school.” You could not avoid this once you attained a certain age. School was a place where you spent several hours a day with a “teacher,” who was employed for the purpose of imparting knowledge to children. This knowledge consisted mostly of learning to read and write, do arithmetic, and acquire certain social skills. As you matured you were also taught things like language skills, history, social studies, civics, and other bits of cultural knowledge passed down from one generation of your group to the next. Only much later in life did you realize that much of which you had been taught was not true, in some cases not even remotely true, and you realized that what you had really acquired was a tolerance for regimentation, conformity, and what your culture regarded as right and proper. You were not much encouraged to engage in creative or independent thought, although school was, fortunately, not always completely successful in repressing creativity and individuality.

To be continued