Sorry, But I Just Don't Feel Sorry

There must be something wrong with me. I actually feel good about myself. I like who I am and I am proud of my heritage.

Apparently, though, I should be hiding my face in shame. I should be wracked with self recrimination and disgrace. Not that I’ve done anything wrong personally mind you, but I have rather pale skin. Not only that, but I am a British descendant, a heterosexual and a male. You know, the type of person who has no right to feel good about him self for any reason whatsoever.

Have you ever heard of ‘white pride’? Me neither. That’s because white people have no right to be proud. I bet you’ve heard of ‘white guilt’ though. That’s because white folk have no right to not feel guilty. How about ‘straight pride’ - have you ever heard of that? I bet you haven’t. After all, being straight is no reason to be proud. ‘Gay pride’ however, is another story altogether. It’s fabulous.

Just look at me. My white male ancestors have done all sorts of unsavory things. We’ve enslaved, oppressed and even murdered all kinds of people throughout history. I know this because, well, because there’s a lot of people out there who will never let me forget it.

I am white. and by virtue of that, I am required to feel guilty. And if I don’t feel guilty about some crime committed by someone else who lived far in the past, I am told that I am a racist and should at least have the decency to feel guilty about that. It’s all too much guilt for this white boy to bear.

Years ago, Chinese immigrants were forced to pay the government an exorbitant head tax in order to come to Canada. White, male railroad barons used Chinese immigrants like slaves to build a railway. Many were maimed – many more died. Now, over 100 years later, I, apparently, owe all Chinese Canadians an apology. And not just an apology, but also financial reparations. I don’t even know them and my forefathers weren’t railroad barons, they were dirt poor peasants. So why do I owe anyone anything? And anyway, since when is a son responsible for the crimes of his neighbour’s father? What is the logic that drives such an irrational, divisive demand?

Canada also, apparently interred some Japanese people and others during World War II. For this, the Japanese community demanded an apology and guess what – yup, reparations. Leaving aside the fact that, in that time, interment was a perfectly reasonable wartime reaction to Japan’s despicable decision to side with Hitler and Mussolini, we are faced again with the ridiculous notion that the descendants of the people who did something should somehow accept responsibility for it.

The Natives too, are restless in their endless demands for apologies and white man’s moola. They claim that the white man stole their land and attempted to eliminate their culture. As if this was something that only white people did. In reality, everybody did it back then. Sure, Europeans came to North America, conquered the natives and took ownership of the land. But, before that, the natives were doing the same thing to each other. Brutality, rape, murder and genocide were nothing new to them. They were enthusiastic participants in these activities already – amongst themselves. We came and stopped all the inter-tribal warfare and gave them the chance to live peacefully in one united, democratic nation.

And the white part of me isn’t the worst. There’s also that vile male side of me. You know, the side that, throughout the ages, waged endless brutal wars and raped, plundered and pillaged their asses off? All the atrocities that have ever occurred were orchestrated by men. The holocaust, the crusades, an incalculable number of atrocities, massacres and wars - the scourge of (pick one): communism, capitalism, fascism, nazism, socialism, islam, Christianity, nuclear weapons, gas guzzling SUVs - all totally the doings of males.

Of course, males have also invented, designed and produced pretty well everything of practical value to humans in the entire freaking world, including all tools, machines, structures, electronics and transportation devices; as well as being responsible for virtually all advancements in engineering, agriculture, medicine, technology, democracy and justice.

But, alas, I am told that I have no right to be proud and should, by all measures of decency and justice, be groveling on all fours begging the forgiveness of anyone my race and gender has slighted throughout history.

Well, OK. I’m tired. I have had enough. Truce. In the interest of reconciliation and good will, I offer this:

On behalf of everyone who shares my skin color and my gender, allow me to say - to the descendants of anyone our forefathers may have wronged who believe we owe them anything because of it - I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you’ve got a chip on your shoulder. I’m sorry you continually live in the past. I’m sorry you can’t get it through your head that I owe you nothing. And I’m sorry my children have to share the nation their forefathers built with anyone who harbours a grudge against them for what their forefathers did.

More Stuff - Less of What Matters

Every generation of adults deserves to be able to tell their kids and grandkids how much better off they are. It’s like a god given right, or one of Darwin’s main theories, or something.

........Cut to the toothless old man sitting in the rocking chair gumming an old pipe while the kids sit around him on the floor: “You kids got it pretty good these days. You got nothin’ to complain about. Why, when I was a young-un, I used to walk 6 miles to school, in minus 20 degree weather through 8 foot high snow drifts….…..barefoot.”

Yep, the old refrain. No adult should be deprived of the pleasure of saying it and no kid should be deprived of the pleasure of rolling their eyes at it. (Or, at least a variation of it.)

It’s a right of passage – a proud tradition. It’s not about shaming the younger generation. It’s about expressing pride in our advancement and development as a society – the pride of actually being able to provide our offspring with a better life than we had. And indeed, here in Canada, every generation since the great depression has been better off than the one before. Every generation, that is, except the current one.

When I tell my 11 year old daughter about what it was like to be a kid in the sixties and seventies when I was growing up, she sighs and expresses her regret that she didn’t get to experience it. And, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her world is different. It’s harsher, faster, more superficial, way more sexual and far more materialistic than mine was when I was her age. It’s also full of strangers.

Earlier this year, my six year old came up to me and said “Daddy, do you know what the white boy in my class said to me.” I said: “White boy? …Hmmmmm……..How many white boys are there in your class?” “One” she answered.

Yep, it’s a brave new world out there for Canada’s founding peoples.

And not only do our children have to struggle to try and understand how to fit in as a fringe minority in their own schools and neighbourhoods, they have to do it with hardly any family to support them. Many of them are the only child born to their parents. Many of their parents were an only child themselves. This means that many kids have no uncles, aunts or cousins. Their families are smaller and there are fewer people in the world connected to them by blood who can offer a sense of belonging, comfort and protection. I can’t even imagine having no family, and yet this is the fate we have bequeathed to our children – a familyless future as they grow old. And it will be even worse for their children as this pattern of white extinction plays out.

When I was 13, I would bound out of the house early Saturday morning, run or bike up the street, find my friends and play with them all day. I knew everyone on our street. Sometimes I wouldn’t even make it home for lunch. And my mother never gave it a second thought. She never told me to be careful as I left. She never did anything to street-proof me. There was no reason to be concerned. The neighbourhood wasn’t a place to be feared, it was a place to live. And live I did. In trees, in fields, in ravines, in bushes - wherever I felt like being at the time. We’d take the trail through the woods and go swimming in the lake, with *gasp* no adults present. When I rode in the car I’d ride in the back, no seatbelt, with my chin on the front seat visually drinking in everything - part of the action. I’d take my bike on 20k trips with my buddies deep into the countryside. I was on the go all the time and that was that. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be when you’re a kid? Why would any parent agonize over something so natural – so right?

Compare that with today. Good-grief, most parents are quivering, neurotic basket cases when it comes to worrying about their precious children. As a result children are given far less freedom than I had growing up. And they have far less fun too. I don’t know why, or when, we became a culture dominated by fear and worry for our children. All I know is that our children are worse off and their world has become smaller and less welcoming because of it.

Sometimes, when I have a day off, I walk my kids to school or go get ‘em for lunch. Their school serves a pretty densely populated neighbourhood. No-one lives more than a half a kilometer away from the school. And yet you would not believe the number of kids who get a drive to school. Instead of walking with friends or class mates, these often pudgy kids travel separate and apart from everyone in their own little self-contained metal and glass bubble. And we wonder why kids are so self absorbed these days. Hell, even if I had the time to drive my kids to school everyday, I’d make ‘em walk anyway. Not only is it good for them physically and socially, it’s good emotionally for them to understand that Dad is not their personal chauffer. And while they trudged off to school, I’d be able to finish my morning coffee in peace and chuckle about how so many parents these days cater to their children like subservient toadies.

A few generations ago, parental love meant providing kids with comfort when they were hurting, advice when they were confused, food when they were hungry, a warm coat when they were cold and a good smack on the ass when they deserved it. Children learned appreciation, humility and respect. These days parental love is measured in how much stuff they buy their kid(s). It’s a compensatory measure, I think, to assuage mom’s guilt for having to (or, in some cases, choosing to) work. Whatever the case, kids these days got it all. Well, not quite all, as is demonstrated anytime a parent takes the little blighter(s) out. “Gimme, gimme, gimme….Can I, can I, can I…..I want, I want, I want……” Ipods, TVs, DVDs, CDs, computers, cell phones, the latest fashions, junk food.…My god, they’re like little versions of government - no matter how much money they suck out of you, they can always find a reason to demand more. Then they waste what you give them on selfish frivolities.

And the endless commercials and ads targeting kids doesn’t help. When I was a kid, there were no ads for toys on TV except for at Christmas time. It’s almost impossible to imagine, isn’t it. Compare that with today. Now, toys are advertised on TV every frikken day. When once kids could expect presents only at Christmas and birthdays, now, they expect them twice a month, or more oftener. And, many of them aren’t often disappointed.

Sadly, though, no matter how you slice it, my children’s lives are far less rich and considerably less fulfilling than mine was when I was their age. I suspect most parents feel the same. Kids have so much more than we did in the way of material possessions and yet so much less in the way of satisfaction, contentment, optimism and freedom.

I figure I’ll never get to give my version of the ‘six mile barefoot walk through snow to school’ spiel to my kids. It is, after all, a parable about how things were so much worse when I was a kid. For it to sound authentic, I’d have to believe that my kids are somehow better off than I was at their age. I’d have to actually feel a certain level of pride and accomplishment at the ‘better’ life I was leaving them. Sadly, all I feel is a mild sense of pessimism. Oh well, maybe my kids don’t have as much in the way of personal freedom, individuality or spontaneity as past generations did. And maybe they don't have as many adventures as I did growing up. But there ARE these DVD’s they’ve been asking for. A quick trip to Wal-Mart and everyone will feel a lot more optimistic, I’m sure. At least ‘till tomorrow.