The Need To Please

Blogreader,

Today I was ashamed.
This always happens when I do or say something absent-mindedly. I feel it is amplified when the person affected by my carelessness is a member of the older generation.

It's important for me to clarify what I mean when I say old. (I've run into some trouble on this.) When I say old, I mean a person who reminds me of my grandfather or grandmother when I see them. When I say old, I mean a person whom I wouldn't ask, "What movies are playing?" When I say old, I mean a person who could cut in front of me at the grocery store and I wouldn't mind. Old is not a number, as Aaliyah might have said, it's a feeling.

Okay, on with the blog.

I go to the post office to mail things. Call me old-fashioned, but this is how it's done in my family. So, this morning I went to the post office to mail something and as I'm zooming through the parking lot, trying to find a space, I see a group of people crossing the road and quickly stomp on the break. The group doesn't notice a thing, but the old man exiting his car to walk into the post office does. His furrowed brow is all that is needed.
My shame is as deep as Warren Buffet's wallet.
It slows me down for a while, makes me think about my life. My decisions.
Am I making the right ones?
Shouldn't I be doing something in Africa with AIDS? Shouldn't I be teaching poor children in a third world country?
But during my drive to work, the feeling fades.
I'm singing a Regina Spektor song (My radio is broken, don't judge) and I'm happy, having forgotten about the shameful scowl I received a mere twenty minutes earlier.

Then, I zoom in front of another driver. I had my turn signal on, but he still had to hit the break. It wasn't that big of a deal until I looked in the mirror.
An old man.
Not the same old man from the post office (that would have meant he was following me, which is an entirely different blog), but one with the ability to produce the same, shame-inducing scowl.
A pound of potatoes was dropped on my shoulder blades.
My bucket of mud was dumped on my head.
In a few words: it was a rotten feeling.

The old man soon passed me. There were no curious gestures, just the efflorescence of shame with which he left me. Combined with earlier incident, it was destined to be a bad morning.

However, my driving was spot on from that point.

Blogreader, as long as members of the older generation are able to induce shame in me, whether deserved or not, it's a good sign. It means our culture has not lost its framework, that we still desire the wisdom that comes with age and experience. We still fear the rebuke of our ancestors in our daily lives.

As long as that's going on, regardless of supposed moral shortcomings and the threat of economic breakdown, I think our society will be all right.

Of course, once that wanes, you can bet the apocalypse is coming. (Keep a look out.)

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