Post by david on Nov 11, 2008 22:58:05 GMT -8
I've been to town
I've walked the highways
And the harbors too
I've done some things
I never thought I'd ever do
Now, as I stand here
looking down at you
You ask me why it is I frown
I guess it's 'cause
I've been to town
I've been to town
beyond the boulevard and down the beach
I've learned some things
that only time can teach
For instance love is more
than just a speech
It's got to find
a common ground
I know, because
I've been to town.
Don't tell me any more lies
I can't waste any more years
I've seen my image in your eyes
dissolve in disappointed tears.
I've been to town
You ask me do I know the Milky Way?
I do, and furthermore I'd like to say
it isn't milky white, it's dirty gray
`
Especially when
your world breaks down
I know, because
I've been to town...
– Rod McKuen
When my son Jesse was just a little guy we lived in an apartment complex. Down the row was an even younger little boy named Jeffrey. Jeffrey was a Michael Jackson fan.
I remember watching that kid strutting alongside the swimming pool clad in a bathing suit. He gyrated as he walked and he raised his voice in what can only be described as joy, singing:
“I’m bad. I’m bad. I know it. I know it… I’m bad. I’m bad. I know it.”
Of course, what Jeffrey meant – and what Michael Jackson meant – was, “I’m good. I’m good.”
And at that time – in the mid-80s – I believed that I, too, was good. At that point in my life, I believed that all people – especially children – were good: inherently good. I had concluded some 15 or 20 years earlier that I was not only good, but that I was happy. I often thought of myself, and occasionally referred to myself as being “basically, a happy man.”
Sure, I knew about Hitler and realized that man’s inhumanity to man is documented throughout history. I knew about mass murderers and sociopaths like Ted Bundy who had been in the news during the early ‘80s.
But, up to that point in my life, I had been able to rationalize that the evil actions of the Hitlers and the Bundys were explained by events in their lives; that in different circumstances they would not have been guilty – or even capable – of such deeds. In short, I believed that all people were born good.
Now, that statement may sound naïve – and in retrospect, having learned a good deal more about Michael Jackson, among others, it seems naïve to me now, too. But, at that point in my life, I still was naïve. While I didn’t cling to a belief in Santa Claus or of an infallible president, I wasn’t ready to accept the notion that some people were better than others in terms of inherent goodness.
I was director of recreation in a Los Angeles County community and responsible for a daycare program that served about 200 families. I had been in the “kid business” for nearly 20 years and was pleased and proud of being responsible for other people’s children.
And then the McMartin preschool trial began in my county. It turned into the longest and most expensive trial ever and press coverage led to a panic among parents that changed daycare, probably forever.
At exactly the same time that the question of evil was hitting me full force in my profession, I learned of terrible events that had taken place earlier in the lives of some members of my own family. This brought the matter into my world in a dramatic and personal way. I was confronted not only by the reality of evil, but by its impact on the lives of the victims, victims that now included people I loved. In fact, I became a victim, too, second-hand.
Suddenly, the world no longer seemed the same. I felt a real sense of panic. Within two years, I quit my job and temporarily abandoned my family. I fled to New Mexico, alone, and tried to find my way through a landscape that had become threatening and foreboding.
I attempted to reinvent myself. Actually, I know now that I was trying to reinvent the world – it no longer fit the comfortable parameters I had previously applied. Where I thought there were limits or boundaries, I now knew there were none. I lived in fear that I might fall through one of the cracks that had opened beneath my feet.
I sought a safe haven and thought that I found it at the university. I enrolled in classes and took advantage of the free counseling services offered to students. With help from a therapist, I began to see the world – and myself – with new eyes. It was a difficult process; but, in the long run, facing the truth was probably better than averting my gaze.
A few months later, I returned home and to my family, but not to my former profession.
Recently, despite the passing of time, I realized that I still haven’t resolved inner conflicts that sprung into being 20 years ago. A combination of unhappy events and self-destructive actions on my part made those two decades turbulent and troubling.
During those years I experienced the loss of loved ones and a stalled and somewhat half-hearted new career path. I finally took refuge by retiring early and then taking a second flight from family and friends in the form of my move five years ago to Merced.
I was discouraged and felt abandoned. I know now that I had lost my way. Not that I had become evil or had performed evil acts; but that after recognizing and accepting that some are evil, I think I gave up on people in general – including myself.
After these 20 years in the wilderness – only half as long as Moses’ lost generation – I believe I am finally emerging on the other side.
Michael Jackson’s words proved prophetic a few years ago during his trial. He, like some others, truly is bad. But little Jeffrey is not bad; and I’m pretty sure that neither am I.
Henry David Thoreau, in Walden, wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” For the past one-third of my life, I have been one of those desperate people.
But I believe I’m on a better path today and that soon I’ll be able to say, once again, “I am basically a happy person.”
Though I’ll never regain my former faith in the goodness of all others, I am becoming convinced that most others are fundamentally good – including, unfortunately, many who are also quietly desperate.
In short, my faith in humanity has been restored and that has empowered me to have new faith in myself. And I’m proud of myself for surviving long enough to have reached this point.
Like thingyens’ Dr. Mannete in A Tale of Two Cities, I now believe that I am being “returned to life” after two decades in my own emotional version of the Bastille.
And I’m hoping that after enduring some of the worst of times, I may be moving into some of the best of times.
What has been lost cannot be restored; but tomorrow is another day and the Promised Land may be just over the next hill.
[youtube]When my son Jesse was just a little guy we lived in an apartment complex. Down the row was an even younger little boy named Jeffrey. Jeffrey was a Michael Jackson fan.
I remember watching that kid strutting alongside the swimming pool clad in a bathing suit. He gyrated as he walked and he raised his voice in what can only be described as joy, singing:
“I’m bad. I’m bad. I know it. I know it… I’m bad. I’m bad. I know it.”
Of course, what Jeffrey meant – and what Michael Jackson meant – was, “I’m good. I’m good.”
And at that time – in the mid-80s – I believed that I, too, was good. At that point in my life, I believed that all people – especially children – were good: inherently good. I had concluded some 15 or 20 years earlier that I was not only good, but that I was happy. I often thought of myself, and occasionally referred to myself as being “basically, a happy man.”
Sure, I knew about Hitler and realized that man’s inhumanity to man is documented throughout history. I knew about mass murderers and sociopaths like Ted Bundy who had been in the news during the early ‘80s.
But, up to that point in my life, I had been able to rationalize that the evil actions of the Hitlers and the Bundys were explained by events in their lives; that in different circumstances they would not have been guilty – or even capable – of such deeds. In short, I believed that all people were born good.
Now, that statement may sound naïve – and in retrospect, having learned a good deal more about Michael Jackson, among others, it seems naïve to me now, too. But, at that point in my life, I still was naïve. While I didn’t cling to a belief in Santa Claus or of an infallible president, I wasn’t ready to accept the notion that some people were better than others in terms of inherent goodness.
I was director of recreation in a Los Angeles County community and responsible for a daycare program that served about 200 families. I had been in the “kid business” for nearly 20 years and was pleased and proud of being responsible for other people’s children.
And then the McMartin preschool trial began in my county. It turned into the longest and most expensive trial ever and press coverage led to a panic among parents that changed daycare, probably forever.
At exactly the same time that the question of evil was hitting me full force in my profession, I learned of terrible events that had taken place earlier in the lives of some members of my own family. This brought the matter into my world in a dramatic and personal way. I was confronted not only by the reality of evil, but by its impact on the lives of the victims, victims that now included people I loved. In fact, I became a victim, too, second-hand.
Suddenly, the world no longer seemed the same. I felt a real sense of panic. Within two years, I quit my job and temporarily abandoned my family. I fled to New Mexico, alone, and tried to find my way through a landscape that had become threatening and foreboding.
I attempted to reinvent myself. Actually, I know now that I was trying to reinvent the world – it no longer fit the comfortable parameters I had previously applied. Where I thought there were limits or boundaries, I now knew there were none. I lived in fear that I might fall through one of the cracks that had opened beneath my feet.
I sought a safe haven and thought that I found it at the university. I enrolled in classes and took advantage of the free counseling services offered to students. With help from a therapist, I began to see the world – and myself – with new eyes. It was a difficult process; but, in the long run, facing the truth was probably better than averting my gaze.
A few months later, I returned home and to my family, but not to my former profession.
Recently, despite the passing of time, I realized that I still haven’t resolved inner conflicts that sprung into being 20 years ago. A combination of unhappy events and self-destructive actions on my part made those two decades turbulent and troubling.
During those years I experienced the loss of loved ones and a stalled and somewhat half-hearted new career path. I finally took refuge by retiring early and then taking a second flight from family and friends in the form of my move five years ago to Merced.
I was discouraged and felt abandoned. I know now that I had lost my way. Not that I had become evil or had performed evil acts; but that after recognizing and accepting that some are evil, I think I gave up on people in general – including myself.
After these 20 years in the wilderness – only half as long as Moses’ lost generation – I believe I am finally emerging on the other side.
Michael Jackson’s words proved prophetic a few years ago during his trial. He, like some others, truly is bad. But little Jeffrey is not bad; and I’m pretty sure that neither am I.
Henry David Thoreau, in Walden, wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” For the past one-third of my life, I have been one of those desperate people.
But I believe I’m on a better path today and that soon I’ll be able to say, once again, “I am basically a happy person.”
Though I’ll never regain my former faith in the goodness of all others, I am becoming convinced that most others are fundamentally good – including, unfortunately, many who are also quietly desperate.
In short, my faith in humanity has been restored and that has empowered me to have new faith in myself. And I’m proud of myself for surviving long enough to have reached this point.
Like thingyens’ Dr. Mannete in A Tale of Two Cities, I now believe that I am being “returned to life” after two decades in my own emotional version of the Bastille.
And I’m hoping that after enduring some of the worst of times, I may be moving into some of the best of times.
What has been lost cannot be restored; but tomorrow is another day and the Promised Land may be just over the next hill.