I don’t know if it is aging, the time of the month or year, but my soul aches for the world.
Spending the evening and all morning with my son answered a question that haunted me for a week, “Am I a good Father? While I did not ask him directly he answered it physically. He likes to be in contact with me. Whether putting his legs up on mine while we watch soccer or even, and get this, hold my hand as we walked around shopping today. I was surprised that at even ten years of age he still wants to hold his old man’s hand.
I think the aching of my soul is not only for the world we live in, but also for the world my son will come to inherit from those who cared less about future generations. If I were to let it, I would be angry all the time at such greed, recklessness and utter disregard for the planet and one another. It saddens me to have recently read a story in the New York Times about the death of the American dream. It didn’t really surprise me, it has been dying a slow death for over two decades. Even though people like to place blame on various political parties, we are all to blame for not doing enough.
I had to leave the US because I did not like where the country was heading. It was during the baby boy Bush era that I left, (oh how I long for those days) having seen the writing on the wall.
It has been during the Trump/pandemic era where it is clearly obvious that the dream can no longer be resuscitated. Trump is not the problem, he’s simply part of the contagion.
Truth be told, I was not one to really care for the narrative of the “The American Dream.” Dig a little deeper and it’s a story that hooks you into the system. A system that is simply meant to make money off those that are participating by accruing debt, whether for the purchase of a home, car or any consumer item one cannot afford unless purchased with a credit card. Hell, even one has to go into debt to obtain an undergraduate degree in hopes of making enough money upon graduating to be able to pay it off. Forget owning that dream home and job. Maybe this is where things are meant to be heading.
I can say that I hope my son learns from what I have done. That is to know that stories are just stories and there is a choice in how to play the game. It is a game that far too many people take personally. Those that were fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and knowing how to play it are now at the top. For the rest of you, it’s not personal it’s just business.
Holding son’s hand that day was a joyful and sad moment. I’ll to continue teaching him how to play. At some point it’s up to him how much he will want to participate. I have no idea what the world will be like when that time comes.
Maybe that’s why my soul aches.