"It's no big deal"
"What's wrong with you?" (Various persons with power to intimidate the person to whom they are speaking)
"It's no big deal." Two important words: (1) "childrearer" ("childrearing", etc.) Everybody has a rear end; you wipe yours after you defecate. If you stop in your car at a traffic light and the car behind you does not brake, your car gets rear ended. Self-serving military officers lead from the rear. Overdue accounts receivable are in arrears. Etcetera and so forth. (2) "Raising" ("raise", etc.) implies elevating, making better. In athletics (which most people generally seem to understand at least somewhat), when somebody beats the existing record, they "raise the bar". Sailors in sunken submarines, if saved from death, are raised to the surface. A good employee gets a pay raise. Lazarus was raised from the dead. The flag is raised. A nonprofit or a startup company raises funding. Etcetera and so forth. The sign over the old New Haven (Connecticut) cemetery says:
True story: My former computer genius friend (these days is too busy to talk with me), back around 1979, when he was a middling low grade computer programmer in IBM making a decent but not glorious income, spent a lot of his money to buy a Mercedes-Benz 300D automobile. He took very good care of the car, and he went out of his way to help people not hurt it, in particular, there was a very large unused parking lot some distance from the offices, and he parked his car at the very end of it, so people would not have to watch out to not ding it. He visited a relative who tapped the door of his car into the door of my friend's car. and when my friend pointed it out to him, the relative replied: "It's no big deal." And, in truth, in the relative's relatively insensitive mind, there was no significant damage, maybe a small scratch that maybe could be buffed out? My friend smashed the relative in the jaw and explained to him:
"It's no big deal."
As a toddler, I (BMcC[18-11-46-503]) did not have the resources to deal with my rearers (see above for definition of this word) that way. I have no idea what happened to me. I do know that I was an articulate child and at some point I evolved the word "mother" into: "mud". Mother/mud did not like this. Instead of humbly asking me what she had done to earn this assessment from me, mothe /mud threatened to abandon me if I didn't tell her I loved her. What was I to do? See my page here: MotherBitch. ☠
If childrearers get assigned a child who is "beyond" them, what are they to do? Admit they are incompetent andt ry to find somebody who can raise not just rear the child? Even the most doltish adults find it hard to admit they are incompetent, because they have "paid their dues" and therefore are entitled. Who knows what a child of an evolutionarily higher species would do if left to pyramid one of his wishes on top of another? How do child-rearers solve the problem? They tell both themslvee and the child: "It's no big deal." Because they have declared it no big deal, it is no big deal (since the child, unlike my computer genius friend, is powerless vis-á-vis them, and because it is no big deal, they can ignore it and the child learns to ignore his wishes because they are no big deal. The child, having given up what he hoped for in his little life, must conclude that he is no big deal: just like "them".
Guess what, folks? If what I value has no value for you, then, for me, you have no value because, as you said, what matters [to me] is no big deal. I do not have the resources to subject you to retroactive birth control or to remove you from my social surround, but if you ever are in need of immediate medical assistance. for example from a massive heart attack because you are a few minutes from dying, let me assure you I will try to get you help to save your life as fast as I can, not for your sake, but to appease the punitive superego you planted in my head. Help didn't arrive in time to keep you from permanent paralysis from the neck down and brain damage which leaves you conscious of all you've lost? I tried my best, dude. But, as you taught me....
All my life I have been threatened with two untenable choices: capitulation or abandonment. Lose my soul or lose any help taking care of my bodily and basic personal needs. I have always been fragile: I could not take care of myself. I needed protection from the world. I did not get any. I was not capitalized to the level that I could walk away from "the Them", and I knew that I could not live "by myself" without such funding with which to buy my way out of it because I had no safe house or close empathic and understanding friends who would invite me to come stay with them..
People endlessly demand[ed] that I conform to their expectations, " ". I needed and still need space to breathe and think and play and be me. By hook or by crook the worst has not yet happened. How have I coped with it? By hoping people have short memories and that by tonight they will have forgotten the threats they made upon me this afternoon. This has not been maximally conducive to playful creative self-formation. They often cause me sleepless nights (but they don;t like that I make them feel "upset"). I remember. If I show the least improvement in being able to take care of myself, such as cooking a bowl of pasta, I get jumped on: Go live by yourself because you can take care of yourself! (Being healthy is not healthful.) If I try to express my neediness I am told I'm not so fragile and to shape up because they don't like being around me if I am needy but want a real man. People just want me to be like them. But they do seem to generally have short memories (although not if I make the extremely stupid mistake of telling them anyting about how I function in their world) and they get distracted by the next HBO TV program or whatever. I don't matter so much to them if I am not currently in their visual field.
"We need to have a talk", by which they do not mean they respectfully seek to have a peer-to-peer open discussion with me about something that concerns them, but rather that, like a school principal talking down to a disobedient student, the Royal We they individually are as duly licensed representatives of all social authority needs to tell a subordinate dependent creature (me) what the latter must do to avoid punishment. "We" do not like this, but I am less powerful then they are and they do not decently keep their sword in its scabbard. They never imagine what it is like to me to be treated this dismissive way by them because they don't care what I feel. "It's no big deal, Brad." I.e.: "You are no big deal, Brad", or as they say: "It's not all about you" (But isn't that all about them?). And they tell me I live in my head but they reprimand me for making the obvious philosophical response that everybody lives in their head, because that just illustrates my unwarrented self-assumption of arrogant intellectual superiority and I need to come down off my high horse. They do not refute what I say they just complain it is off limits, like if I was in a boxing match and hitting them below the belt. I will be dead one day; why can't they wait until they can harmlessly beat a dead horse?
"That's unnatural. You must not do such an unnatural thing. Stop it!"
Ah, yes! There are all sorts of "unnatural" things that people must not do because they are unnatural. The most horrific one, in many cases (two of my classmates in "my" single gender perp school 7th grade got expelled for doing it!), being same gender pleasuring and/or release of sexual energy, aka: homosexuality, or as some people call it these days, being "gay". But we know that it is very natural in the unnatural situation of single gender situations: "men without women", which, aren't they, for instance, single gender schools, unnatural? "What? That's not what we mean!" Well then, what do you mean, shithead? Suppose you get cancer and a doctor cuts out the tumor and you are healthy again. Isn't that unnatural? Oh, I see, the cancer was somehow unnatural in the first place. I get it (no I don't, but I'll pretend I do because you are becoming violent because you are getting uncomfortable about your prejudices being disturbed).
OK, then. Why don't people get hysterically offended by women getting "boob jobs", which certainly are unnatural? Or males shaving their faces to look more like females? Isn't that unnatural? Hassids and the Taliban don't shave their faces, you know. "What?" We know what the word "unnatural" means, don't we? "What?" It means that your childrearers told you you shouldn't do it. If your childrearers had told you to jump out an 80th floor window, would you do that? "Of course my loving mommy and daddy would never tell me to do anything that is not good, because they love me very much." I see. They sent your brother to come back from Vietnam brain damaged with half his body missing so he's permanently in a VA hospital, or didn't they?" "I don't know what you are talking about! Stop it! You're upsetting me! Stop it you evil son of a bitch!" (Yes, mommy, you are that, thank you for clarifying the point.) No, madam, my maternal progenitor was not a canid, and you very well know that. "Just go away! You bastard! You're upsetting me!" I believe my male and female progenitors were legally married, sir/madam. "Stop it! I'm getting upset, and you did it to me! ~ Please, just go away! Oh, I can't take this. You are insane; you're psychotic! Go away! You are making me very upset! I'm going to call the police! Go away!" Of course it does not matter that person getting upset has ruined unnatural person's night. Unnatural person should have their brain fried with entirely natural electrically induced convulsions. What a crying shame Abdoullakh Anzorov [the religious bigot who decapitated school teacher Samuel Paty, 16 October 2020 in Paris France, for teaching freedom of thought in a public school classroom] isn't still around to decapitate the person thinking these insensitive thoughts!
But the thirteen years old female gender hominid aka: "girl" that lied to get the whole thing about Mr. Paty started is still at large and has not had acid thrown in her face like the Afghan school girl who did get acid thrown in her face for shaming her tribe by attending school? Little bitch! And her male biological progenitor has not gone before a firing squad for reporting Mr. Paty to the police and starting the social media campaign that ended up getting the man beheaded? I don't get it. there is no justice in this world. As Donald J Trup said: "It is what it is" and his sometime sidekick Mick Mulveney: "Get over it.", Mr. Paty? Are you here , Sam, old boy? You can put you head back on your torso now, it's safe if you just watch your back.
"Jesus loves me, tis I know, for the bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong. Yes Jesus loves me, yes Jesus loves me, yes Jesus loves me, the bible tells me so." I (BMcC[18-11-46-503]) sang that in Sunday School. I seem to recall I was also once locked in a closet in Sunday School and the teacher finally let me out. Yes, Jesus loves her, Yes Jesus loves her Yes Jesus loves her, the bible told her not to give me consolation for my traum:a "Its's no big deal". It could be a false memory. I'm open to being corrected about things I think are true. Are you?
And History continues (ref.: Elsa Morante,s "History: A novel", maybe p.684 -- I'll have to check the page number. It's the last page in the book,)
In the land of the blind...."
In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man, who is a freak of nature, is forcibly restrained by six 240 pound football players while a seventh excises his eye without administering anesthetic, to make the poor wretch healthy and whole like everybody else. Exeunt omnes, except the poor wretch who has not yet healed from the correction of his disability and may be bleeding out like some of the little girls who are made perfect by old hags ripping out their clitoris with who knows what unsanitary instrument to make the girl marriageable by some prick who will enjoy tearing apart her sewn together labia with his circumcized dick -- no, not while eating a Dunkin Donut. they don't have Dunkin Donut franchises yet in Tora Bora or do they? But maybe it's just the North Africans and not the Afghanis who perfect their women?
Of mountains and mohels and a mole
"It's no big deal" that people socially conditioned to hack the foreskin off infant boys' penises without getting their informed consent as adults educated in comparative ethnography first, blithely hop around their social surround, as happy as rabbits, without getting their hands cut off to help keep them from doing it again, is it? It's just a molehill that you ingrate child (BMcC[18-11-46-503]) are blowing up as if it was a mountain (Mt. Priapus? Or: Mt. Mohel, as in blood sucker / vampire). You should be thankful we prepped in school you like and ear of corn in an Agricorp's factory farm field, to yield us surplus value and maybe die for us in 'Nam! Ask not what your country can do for you, but give thanks that you are being allowed to ask what you can do for [y]our country, kid! Remember: You asked to be born; it wasn't our idea, was it?
I don't remember having my penis butchered. But there is something I very clearly remember that was probably even more destructive and proactively ruined my life. Unlike circumcision, it was a crime of omission not a crime of commission. From as long back as I can remember, there was a disgusting excrescence on my chest: a nevis aka: mole. Even if it had been entirely medically harmless and would not have caused me any medical trouble in a hundred years, it was esthetically repulsive, repeat: loathsome. But it was not just ugly. As a teenager, it started getting troublesome. It bled sometimes. A piece fell out of it. Once my ignorant mother told me not to pick at it; why didn't that otherwise limitlessly intrusive woman take me to a doctor to get it removed? In college a doctor cut the damned thing out before it would have murdered me.
But the damage to my soul had been done. For many years after the vile thing itself was gone, my whole life was corroded by chronic fears that any of these wretched things which remained on my body -- these land mines on my flesh -- might become canserous, and that set the stage, once I finally beat down this enemy, for other things in my body taking its place as spoilers. This fear distracted me from my studies, from enjoying my days. Get the picture? My parents were ignorant. My childhood physician graduated from medical school, didn't he? He should have cut the thing out from the first day it appeared on my body as an infant and if I was born with it, instead of cutting my penis, they should have cut out this abominable offense of my own flesh against me. It was indeed a molehill (it was a raised mole) that became a mountain in my less-than-life. Like everything else, nobody helped me to be alive. I was just an object they managed as part of their daily expenses.
It is a big deal for me, now that I have learned enough to know about the crime they committed on me without telling me about it. And, for me, it may be even worse than being a jew: It is possible that the doctor who did it to me was Christian (there were two of them, I believe, and their surnames were not necessarily jewish: "Seeger" and "Diehl"(?)), and that he was, unlike that small time Adolf Eichmann "Abraham" who just obeyed his Deity's orders, not operating under Divine Commandment to do the deed, but just apparently unthinkingly instantiating a secular social custom like me also having to keep America beautiful by getting my scalp circumcised every two weeks -- I mean: haircutted (scalp hair, unlike foreskin, grows back, and therefore is in need of recursive excision). "It's no big deal, Bradford" -- we don't know about any joy even in our ow sacrosanct adult lives except for consuming consumer products and beating Gilman school in head-butting, and so on and so forth in the land of the "free market" where everything including you has a price, and the home of your grave. IHS
"Ask the man who owns one." (Packard Motor Company advertising slogan)
To sum it up once again
You can never "beat a dead horse" enough, since it may not be horse after all but a vampire that will rise from the dead if you stop keeping it dead. That's how this "no big deal" nastiness is.
If what matters to me does not matter, but only what matters to you matters, the consequences are not what you might expect: You don't just want what matters to you to matter to you, do you? You also want me to support it, right? You want what matters to you to matter to me, right? But if what matters to me does not matter, then, by simple logical deduction, if what matters to you does matter to me then it does not matter. So what matters to you does not matter. Why are you still expending your time and energy on something that does not matter?
What people really mean when they tell me "It's no big deal, Brad", but, of course neither say nor even upset themselves by letting themselves think such unbecoming thoughts about themselves, is:
"You are no big deal to us, Brad: We care about ourselves. You are just potential resource to do our bidding. And when we say "we", we are not talking about mere individual mammals like you are: we are the Royal We. We are The Big Deal (who are totally selfless) and we have more than enough power to make it stick. Now: Say 'Thank you" and mean it! Because being bullies does not fit our self-image."
These people should be careful what they ask for, because I'd like to give it to them
These people tell me that what's important to me does not matter. Then they tell me that what they think is important should be important to me, that I should step and fetch it and not scratch my ass and look at them sideways or do something else of nothing.
If what is important to me does not matter, then what they tell me is important cannot matter because either I think it is not important or if I would think it was important they have told me what I think is important is not important, so in that case it is not important either. By simple logic they are telling me that what they think is in no case important, which I think sounds right about them.
Now, of ,course, they don't mean words as logic; they are using as coercive weapons and if they were honest about it they would point a gun at my head and command me to do what they want, and that they do not care about what is or is not important to anybody, only about what they want to do. But they are not honest about what they do. They want to look like they use words to convey semantic meaning, not to be spit in the air like vomitus or tuberculosis bacilli.
They are disgusting, but, as they say, they don't matter so it does not matter that I find them irrational and disgusting. They'rs just Big Bullies who don't want to think of themselves as what they are. Why not? Shouldn't they love what they are? If not, why don't they change themselves? They are what they are and it is what it is and one day, fortunately, they will each be dead, the sooner the better, like they should have been aborted as foeti. Why don't they want to try to play nicely with me instead of being bullies? Beats me.
The line my parents never succeeded in crossing
My parents waged revanchist total war, which because I did not fully capitulate, turned into an endless war of attrition, against me. Their aim, they surely did not have the education to thematize, was to reabsorb me back into my mother's body where, presumably, as a foetus, I had been pleasing to them. Sort of the opposite of Dr. Don Nix, who fought to keep from being born and whom his parents finally defeated with forceps; I fought to keep from being refoeticized.
There was one holdout place they never conquered, mu Masada: I refused to comply with their strategic objective of getting me to blow my nose. I snorted back in the mucous in my nasal passages. They did not like this, but they never got me to eject it out. Obviously, this was the only communication of my being under seige that I was able to get through enemy lines: I would [s]not surrender. Finally, probably at Yale, when I was no longer immediately under their thumbs -- my mother had died and my father was absorbed in his life now freed from her -- it was proabaly at Yale where I conceded to the ojective advantages of expelling the mucous in my nasal passages rather than sucking t back in. And, indeed, objectively, it was the better way.
Had they humbly and with respect proposed to me the advantages of blowing my nose, rather than trying to do the stuff their goose for foie gras thing on me about it, and ended with: "Please think about it, take it or leave it; we love you unconditionally either way and will support your decision but stand willing to help in any way we can", then I might have been reasonable rather than defensive. But this was my last bastion before total obliteration. My life was always their way (first my parents and then my prep school tor-mentors...) or the highway; It is consequently no wonder I have fantasies of dying as roadkill being run over by a motor vahicle. It was the line they never succeeded in crossing, but I paid the price: They did a good job of depriving me of provisions to have been able to grow and flourish as myself.
There was another thing where I sort of got away with something that was really foolish: They wanted me to brush my teeth. So I did it in the most cursory way I could and brushing side to side, not up and down which was not good; I just wanted to get it over (but I could not get them over!). I lucked out on this since most kids when I was a child had lots of "cavities" in their teeth. Once again, had they approached me humbly with reason and respect, I think the outcome might have been different (Mary and Joseph did better in the Bible, Luke 2:41-52). I had to say a prayer each night before going to bed. I elided all the words into a mumble stream. Again, just get it over, whatever they wanted.
Today, when I think of King Vlad the Impaler, it is clear what I would have liked to do with each/both of them: drive a stake up their anus and out their mouth. What kind of society could produce such repulsive people? I do not think it was their fault. I don't think they had plotted obsessively how to make me hate them. Their lives were not anything I would want anything to do with. Capitalist exploitation of the working class: The invisible Hand did it! Were other kids' parents as bad, or were the kids more like Timex watches that can take a licking and keep on ticking, or a synergistic combination of the two? For me the outside world was a Potemkin village, and nobody was home. Then there were piano lessons where I did everything I could to keep from practicing "Anchors away my boys, anchors away! sail Navy down the field and beat the Army, beat the Army gray...." And I was supposed to like this shit or nobody cared or what caused the them to be what they were?