The Ultimate (and Impossible) Cure For Bigotry

by Thomas M. Pender

I have always had a major problem with bigots.  Even as a very young TV addict, I never liked Archie Bunker.  It took many years for me to figure out that the audience was laughing at his small-minded character.  When I would watch the show with my grandmother, all I saw was an awful person with horrid ideas about people, based on elements that should not be used as human categories.

The amazing thing was that Archie Bunker’s daughter Gloria didn’t have as small a mind as her father.  Typically, racism and all other forms of bigotry are force-fed from generation to generation.  As babies and small children, we revere our parents, and believe that every word from their lips is gospel.  This is where bigots come from.  If all a child hears from a loved one is that any particular group of humans is worthless, that child will believe it, just as they believe everything else their loved one teaches them.

So years ago, I came up with a solution to all bigotry as we know it.  It will never happen, but it brings a smile to my face to muse about it.  In this fantasy, the procedure would go as follows: Adjust the questions on the census polls to include attitudes about immigration, various ethnic, social and belief-based groups, and other bigotry-inducing topics.  Use this information to locate all the households in the country (and the world would follow after our tremendous example, no doubt!) that include both bigots and children under the age of four.  Next, take the children under the age of four away from the bigots, and give them to households with more humane views on other humans.  Then wait about 100 years for all the existing bigots over the age of four to shuffle off the mortal coil.

Voila!  With no children to whom bigots could teach bigotry, the practice itself would eventually die.

But again, this is sheer fantasy.  The good news in the real world is that interracial and interfaith marriages and families are much more common, which means that future generations will have such mixed heritages, that there will be very few groups and individuals against whom they could even form prejudices.

Since childnapping – even for the greater good – is not only highly unlikely, but rather creepy, perhaps what humans should aim for is the creation of an actual “human race,” through the fine art of comingling the existing races.  According to the Old Testament, the races and nationalities were created as a punishment.  Let us prove we have learned our lesson, and while we promise not to challenge God again or be silly enough to believe we can build a tower to Heaven, let us become one society.  Let’s not wait for the Martians to attack in order to find a common ground with our fellow humans.

Simply love your brother and sister humans for the sheer joy of bigots’ discomfort.  That’s an awesome enough reason in itself!

Darned by Pete

by Thomas M. Pender

While it seems that children – particularly very young children – are running around screaming and engulfed in their own little imaginary worlds, what they are really doing is observing.  Soaking in the world like little sponges, taking notes, investigating curiosities, and deciding who to be and how to act.  Their first and strongest influences are their parents.  These two giants of authority (ideally) have the most focused time with the children, and are the primary examples to the youngsters of how people should behave.

My sisters and I were blessed in this sense by two parents who were loving and unique.  “Unique” is the textbook politely flattering term.  “Goofy” is the truth.  Thus, the blessing.

Around the same time I figured out that my mother had two distinct laughs used for two distinct purposes – the softer, short bursts of inhalations for the telephone and the open-mouthed gale of laughter for in-person humor – I learned that she also had some favorite sayings.

Adults who have children, as many comedians have certainly taught us, edit themselves when their children are born and in the more sensitive stages of growing up.  My mother was never a cursing type, being raised by a Sunday School teacher who never ever cursed in front of ladies, but the way in which she “sort of” cursed was a bit like someone would if they were toning themselves down for the kiddies.

My mother “darned” herself an awful lot.

Mostly on the phone, and generally in situations where she was amazed, surprised or stumped, she slowly shake her head and say, “I’ll be darned.”  This verb took some years to nail down.  I had to wait years and get out into the world to meet less cordial adults who freely damned themselves whenever something unexpected came their way.  Only then could I retroactively understand what my mother was saying.

And then there was Pete.

My family consisted of a father (John), a mother (Joan), an older daughter (Debi), a son (Tom . . . that would be me!) and a younger daughter (Kristi).  For a few years, the household was also peopled by my mother’s parents, Claude and Ferrell.  None of the many dogs who came and went had typical human names.  Yet somehow, one of the most important and influential people in my mother’s life was named Pete.

No one knew who Pete was, nor ever met him, but as teens we used to tease my mother about her “boyfriend” Pete.  He must have been somebody that close to her, for she was often heard saying “for Pete’s sake.”  This would happen quite a bit while she was inhale-laughing on the phone.  Not for Debi’s sake or Kristi’s sake or even John’s sake.  Mom did it all for Pete.  Whoever he may be.

Connecting the two didn’t help to answer these baffling questions, either.  Mom never darned herself for Pete’s sake, or I’d believe he was a mender of socks.  Years later, after Dad had passed and Mom started dating, she brought around a couple of men for us kids to meet, but no Pete.  If she was, in fact, doing everything for his sake, I’m sure he would have disapproved of her seeing other men and not even giving him the courtesy of a dinner.  She eventually married a Jerry, but his middle name isn’t even Pete.

Wherever this Pete may be, I sure hope he appreciates how devoted my mother was all those years.  If he came to realize it someday, I bet he’d be darned.