Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Newsletter -- Only Child
INCREDIBLE -- Hard to believe I'm not an only child, because I'm my biggest fan. I reread my first newsletter post of a couple days ago, and I have to say "Bravo!" That business about me posting about DQ as far back as 1971-72 was really prescient, since it continues to be an abiding interest today. I guess I had incredible wisdom back then as well as today! Pointing to something deep, the theory that each of us has things in our consciousness that we are not entirely aware of, at least in their full bloom. The seed is there but it's not in the form we recognize as anything. I'd like to develop techniques to enhance this faculty. One technique I remember from somewhere -- I'm floundering to remember what it's called -- oh, yes, it's brainstorming. What can you say about the world of such amazing techniques?
SUBSCRIPTIONS -- The newsletter idea is bringing out the best in me. I credit this to the fact that I've always been a fan of the idea of a good newsletter. Whether you're sending it out to every employee in a company, to every member of a church, or, as I envision it here, to every member of the online community who makes a full lifetime commitment to receive it, and further, who pledges to make the most of it, i.e., as far as their own wisdom and development, as well as becoming even more of a life-affirming person than they already are. Beware of subscribing, but you're blessed if you do.
ONLY CHILD -- A good newsletter gives you the feeling -- as the writer or the reader -- that you're someone special, because it's just for you, a relatively small group of people, the in-crowd. For me, in my generation, unlike every scrawny honyock today, we didn't have the sense all the time that we were special. The closest you came to that sense was if you were an only child.
My mother had so many kids she didn't know what to do, and I was first. So I was an only child for a while. Looking back on it, if I had then the knowledge I have today, I would've screamed bloody murder every time my parents retired for the evening. They would've thrown their arms up in disgust, gotten mad at each other, each accusing the other of being a bad parent, and I'd have kept them to myself. But of course I love my siblings, that's not the issue.
OK, big deal, I was deprived back then, but that doesn't mean I can't write a newsletter today ... and catch up!
These days, though, there's so many "only children" the kids have it incredibly good. They're made to feel so amazingly special that I wonder what's going to happen to them when they're thrown to the wolves of the world when they leave home. Assuming they ever have to, since Mommy and Daddy's reach is so much longer now, being online and connected 24/7. On the other hand, maybe it'd be better to be thrown to the wolves, then they could be like me, grasping at every crutch that drifts along, which truly is what this newsletter idea is. I notice none of the "only children" in my family have a newsletter...
Yes, I have "only children" in my family, and I see them daily on Facebook. They've just colored another picture! They put the candle on their birthday cake all by themselves! They just wrecked the car, but, good news, we've already got a new one! Don't get me started...
And wouldn't you know it, there's a big difference between these "only children" and me, their incredible success. They haven't got a newsletter, but that doesn't mean they aren't using crutches. Mostly Mommy and Daddy's continued helicopter parent intervention. And now with drones, I'm afraid what the next generation will be. Both parents have a drone on you, you can't do anything wrong so you may as well be an extraordinary success!
I had some other stuff to say about "only children," but it's coming out a bit harsh. But I'll just say, if my parents had a drone on me when I was in college, things would've been different for me too.
OLD NEWS -- It's the third day and I'm about out of old news. That's how little happened in the past. Oh, I have one. When I was a kid I used to go around the neighborhood singing "Long Tall Sally." You know Little Richard's version, and Elvis' version, fairly tame. Then there was The Beatles' version, with Paul McCartney shrieking out the opening, "I'm gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John, Claims he's got the misery but he's have lotsa fun, oh baby!" I'd be out shrieking that and I remember this one time, a neighbor lady came running out of the house like she thought it was an life or death emergency. She was ticked off to find it was just me singing, but probably relieved too.