Friction (lyric essay)
”Any more…” My 90-year-old parents disapprove of all this cultural change. Apps to run your hearing aids, 24/7 news but no newspapers, people dressing funny again, selfie filters, email scams, people who are not cis/white/abled wanting them to think new thoughts, books that always come in series, politicians who commit flagrant crimes, weather forecasters who get it wrong while showing their knobby knees in skimpy dresses. Any more, new things happen without their say-so. My parents are warm, loving, self-sacrificing, intelligent people. They’re also tired, overwhelmed, and afraid. When they had an A game, they kept up. Now they can’t. So they’re upset at it all.
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160 years ago, “Uncle Dick” Wootton leased land that straddled the border between Colorado and New Mexico, including a precarious mountain pass. He contracted with both territorial governments to build a better way across, employed Ute laborers to do the work, and then charged travelers a toll. Danger was alleviated for a fee to a private man. Now Raton Pass is part of I-25. As you crest the pass going north, the land drops away and the grandeur of the Spanish Peaks opens before you. Going south, you see the grasses of New Mexico’s northern highlands waving in the wind. The history has disappeared in wide, paved roads with gentle curves.
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Driving on US 285 today, I saw an SUV with the license plate “LESGOVT.” I wonder—not rhetorically—which part of government the owner would like less of. Licensing? Roads? Taxation? Bureaucracy? Farm and ranch subsidies? Trade? War? I know people who purposely earn very little so that they pay no taxes which would fund the military. Who gets to say which parts of government stay, and which ones go?
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When I was a kid, I don’t remember anyone older than about 25 brandishing a slogan to the world. If you wanted change you joined the PTA or ran for school board or belonged to the Rotary Club or got involved with your church. You up and did stuff. But any more…
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I don’t trust flags, crosses, or Coexist bumper stickers. I’m not interested in what you believe. Show me by your actions what you value. Even better, show me when you’re under pressure.
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A 2008 study showed that people with multiple bumper stickers are more prone to road rage than people without them, whether the stickers say “Protected by Smith & Wesson” or “Visualize World Peace.” The authors theorize that the stickers mark the vehicle as personal territory: territorial instinct trumps even peaceful ideals. As someone who lived nomadically for several years, whose vehicle was her home, I wonder about that relationship between ideals and instinct. Sometimes my ideals won; sometimes they didn’t.
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I was sitting at a rest area when the man in the pickup next to me suddenly yelled, “Start the revolution already! Wake up, people! Fuck Israel!” He screeched out of his space and back to the highway. Belatedly I locked my doors.
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Technology has made big things easier to do than ever—get a degree online, communicate with loved ones around the world, receive medical care in your home. But any more, daily-life tech is one damn nuisance after another.
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My parents don’t have an A game, but they still feel like the same people they’ve always been. They’re finding that the world isn’t built for their current abilities. I think they’re chafed by the constant friction of being on the margins.
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Who can teach you how to be old except the old? Once you’re old, it’s too late to ask. My parents have no role models for how to be very, very old in the 21st century. They are the role models.