My parents were nice people. They’re still nice, and I’d tell people that, too, if they cared enough to ask. They usually don’t. People often inquire about my childhood, and I can’t tell if it’s an innocent curiosity or some attempt to draw an answer up about some question imposed by my current self. Believe me, I’m not that unbearable to be around, but don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell anyone, either, that my parents had little to do with my up-to-date loathings and hatreds, and subsequent ill behavior. This is natural. Pure, unfiltered Darwinism.
Anyway, my parents were nice. They were divorced which I’ve never held against them, and wouldn’t, still, had I been old enough to even remember it. I wasn’t. My first nightmare was about the Flying Monkeys from The Wizard of Oz, not of my parents being divorced.
Both my parents believed in God, and I never really held that against them, either. Unlike my normal, people-caused views, I didn’t think this made them stupid. I still don’t, and in a way, I’m glad they have that — God, I mean. Or Him. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter, as long as they have something to look forward to, and I don’t call them stupid for it. I think it’s nice.
And that’s what it is. Nice. Nice, because they’re not telling me homosexuality is an abomination, or that Hell is a place God sends sinners. I think they realize that God’s Will, as a thing, eliminates any possibility of Hell. I don’t always capitalize God. In regards to my parents, I will. Hell or no Hell, they strive to be better people. I like that.
I have two friends, both Atheists, who don’t believe in Marriage Equality. There’s nothing scarier, as there is no belief system, no matter how flawed, backing this up. It’s pure intolerance for no reason other than disliking a group of people. I hate them.
I bring them up to show something. It isn’t people like my parents who have made me spit at the world. It’s people like these two “friends” of mine. I think their views on god are lies. I think they disbelieve purely because it’s becoming the cool thing to do, as if somehow it’s now edgy, like immortal rebellion. I think deep down they’re just two more god-fearing, hate mongers. Their ideologies are confusing. Both of them are racist, sexist, homophobes, who have actually questioned me as to why I’m so disgusted by rape. Seriously. Needless to say, they are both republicans. This, generally, goes against everything an atheist usually is. I don’t like Liars. I don’t like fakes. They attempt to insult me by calling me ” Fucking Democrat”. They don’t understand what it is about them that I can’t stand.
The world is full of them, these fakes; these liars, and so are our TVs. My parents never watched reality television. This, I am grateful for. They never got into celebrity gossip, either. No TMZ or HLN. No MTV or E! News. My heroes were never destined to be Perez Hilton or Kim Kardashian. I never looked at anybody from The Real World, or Jersey Shore with anything other than disdain. The only reason I even know who these people are is because of people other than my parents. I had boring ex-girlfriends who didn’t like to do much more than watch American Idol or Desperate Housewives. I’ve had, and still have, friends who spend their time wasting away, being brain-murdered by Buckwild; Survivor; Operation Repo; the likes. Suicide really does seem painless compared to sitting through that shit.
My parents, instead, taught me the value of books. Now I scroll through FaceBook, and see people who’s favorite book’s section reads: I don’t read; Fuck Reading; or I hate Books. Look at their favorite movie’s section to find a list longer than Netflix’s. Look at their hobbies: Partying. Girls. Hunting. Cars. Busch Light. Wrestling. Shootin’ Stuff.
Are you starting to see where my negativity comes from? It was never my parents. Never my childhood. It came from growing up and meeting people. When I was in High school, it didn’t matter whether someone had the same T-shirt, it mattered who got it first because it would have been more expensive. Why the fuck would that possibly matter. The separation and divider of students grew and grew right in front of my eyes, as kids who had always been cool no longer were because their plain white T was different than the exact same plain white T with a certain name over the left side of the chest. Kids became walking billboards and clothing company’s reaped the benefits. It’s at its worst today. Back then, even the nicest button-ups were about $60. Today, they’re about $99-$130. And parents buy their kids this shit, instilling in them this idea that what you wear defines you. So now, we have spray tanned, roided-out, pink-lipped, debt-growers all circling around the shallowest beings they can find, looking for acceptance. If parents simply taught acceptance, we could have avoided this cycle. My friend just bought a fedora. A fucking Fedora. With a skull on it. He sleeps with a different girl every week. He never calls them again. They don’t mind. This. This is what happens.
Can we go back. This awful cynicism I have (and no doubt many others), would die if parenting were done the way it should be. We all cynics need to unite and breed and have cynic children, so that this wave of douchebaggery can die under the cogs of our brutal machine called progress; under these swinging iron fists war-bent on beating back the hordes of culture cannibals. Down with modern culture. Down with the dumbing of our nation. Down with materialistic competition. Teach your kids to read and to be curious. Teach them the value of work and the honor in respect. Above all, teach your kids to doubt.
“The biggest cause of trouble in the world today is that the stupid people are so sure about things and the intelligent folks are so full of doubts.” -Bertrand Russell