Mrs R and I have a mutual friend of many years who knows both of us extremely well. For the sake of brevity, let us call her “A”. This came home when we were having a chat on the phone over the Christmas break, where I was described by the aforementioned friend as a “Rebel” and a “Maverick”. While these adjectives are somewhat helpful in describing the character of your author, they are both highly emotive and inaccurate. Yes, I am not the easiest individual to live with, I am by no means house-trained to the point that many “Normies” are, and the values that are important to me would strike some as antiquated and irrelevant in this post-democratic society. I do not suffer fools – even gladly, and the best response that you can hope to receive from me under such circumstances is a dignified and moody silence. More often than not, I will attempt to correct the error, and just as frequently I will encounter another layer of foolishness until I come to the inescapable conclusion that I am just casting pearls before swine. Depending on the size and relative authority of the individual concerned, I will then either go quiet (a very bad sign), or I will voice my opinion in no uncertain terms. This has, not surprisingly, led to many misjudging me and putting me very firmly in the “Awkward” camp.
I stand unequivocal on a number of issues. The first of these, which totally flies in the face of A’s character sketch, is that I am the first to admit if I am wrong. Now this attribute has a very wide latitude attached to it, it might take minutes, it might take years. Nevertheless, I am not so full of hubris and pride that I am not willing to walk the walk of shame and say “I’m sorry, I got it wrong”. What is important here is that I am open to change, and when presented with sufficient unbiased and clear empirical evidence, I am no stranger to eating humble pie. This has led to a very strange personal phenomena, insofar as the number of hills I am willing to die upon has decreased, the level of violence that will be required to dispense with my presence has multiplied considerably. For example, I may have stood on a particular hill in my youth, provided that my end was swift and relatively painless. Older in years and wisdom, I understand that even that was vanity. If one is to stand on the hill, one must be willing to be boiled alive in oil, eaten alive by vultures, or suffer some equally painful end. The process is the punishment, those responsible are more concerned with distributing suffering than any relief of death. Such is the dark and very deep understanding one must make if we are to take a stand against evil.
Passing through this febrile and uncertain year, one common thread Mrs R and I share is our cumulative horror that our society, and indeed most of civilisation, has so rapidly descended into the end times scenario which is so clearly reflected in the final books of the Bible. Historically, many have thought the same, the great depression and the dropping of the first nuclear weapon being two of the most recent events, the plague and the collapse of the Roman empire being others. Pragmatically, Hiroshima was the stopping of the doomsday clock at the fifty ninth minute, while mankind had the power to wipe itself out long before then via biological warfare, the A bomb was the first global and public indication of the true might of the military industrial complex. It shook the world, and brought home the very clear realisation that while technology is neutral, in the wrong hands it can bring either immense benefits or unimaginable horrors. Similarly, the more “Outlandish” scriptural prophecies are becoming a political and social reality, such as the inability to buy or sell without a mark. It would be interesting to ask the unrepentant atheist Richard Dawkins to explain that one away.
It is always tempting to try and shoehorn events into our own understanding. That is my second personal value, while I am happy to go stand on a hill somewhere, I always qualify this with “I could be wrong”. Certain hills, naturally, have this qualification removed and the rider replaced with the sentence “We will have to agree to disagree abut this”. Such hills include the existence of God, the sanctity and importance of the two-parent committed nuclear family (Definition: a chick, a dick and some offspring) and the utter wickedness and selfishness of abortion. I could go on, but I will no doubt bore you. Some attributes are implied, and one of these, the focus of this piece, is not so immediately apparent from the previous list. It is freedom; freedom of thought, freedom of words, but most vitally, freedom to be ourselves. For without that final grace, we are but animals fit for the abattoir.
It is not easy being a parent. One of the trickiest balancing acts that is demanded of you is how much freedom do you allow your child? Where do you draw the line between smothering care and reckless abandon? Having been brought up in the former environment, I can testify to the long-term emotional damage such an approach can inflict upon a child. There are shivers running up and down my spine as I type, recalling childhood events that happened fifty years ago. Thankfully, I have managed to come to terms with most of them, but the scars remain. As a consequence, I always vowed to let my children develop as individuals and not attempt to live vicariously through them, one of the most inhibiting and cruel forms of control that there is. When I see mothers dress their daughters the same as them, right down to the accessories, I come close to gagging. This whole concept of “Mini me” I find repulsive, any clearer demonstration of child abuse I cannot imagine, maybe apart from the obvious ones. Conversely, just letting your children run wild will end in delinquency and a total lack of respect for proper and decent authority. The middle ground is where you want to be, but this, always, will result in many sleepless nights for mum and dad. While the resulting pride is immeasurable when your child succeeds, the road to independence is rough for all concerned.
One of the horrors that Mrs R and I rail about constantly is the current fixation that the establishment have for modelling, shaping and controlling every aspect of the culture surrounding children. Everything from diet to political belief, birth control and sexuality, is being wrestled out of the arms of parents to the influence of school and wider society. Is it because we have become so inept at raising balanced individuals? Has the plethora of single mothers and lack of responsible fathers demanded this shift? Or is it because a compliant and docile society requires adequate doses of neurotoxins [Read: fluoridation, psychoactive drugs] and political correctness [Read: just about everything else] delivered to growing individuals? The parent is rapidly becoming obsolete as the state takes control over more and more facets of childcare and education.
This is but a symptom of what I am really getting at here. Yes, the natural order is being undermined, but there is a much more fundamental issue at stake here. How do we as human beings learn, understand and gain wisdom? Is it through rote, parrot like repetition, being faced with a fait accompli that the system wishes us to embrace? Or is it through the freedom of being able to make decisions for ourselves, and mistakes if necessary? Of course, nobody in their right mind would put an uneducated dolt in charge of a multi-million pound project, the risk of failure would be too great. Yet at the same time, some of greatest idiots are those with qualifications after their name straight out of college or university. You need to have a fine balance of knowledge, wisdom and experience. This is the problem, the best learned lessons are often at the cost of personal failure, getting it wrong. No amount of education can ever replace that gut-wrenching moment when you know you have really blown it and have to face the consequences.
That is why I am a bit of a maverick, a rectangular peg in a triangular hole. The university of life has taken a clean slate and carved her doctorate on my face like a ragged scalpel. Yes, I have been around the block a few times, and sadly, there are many scars to show for it. My daughter, likewise, is mature beyond her years, partly, no doubt because I have always told her the truth no matter how uncomfortable, yet encouraged and given her the freedom to mess up and learn from her own mistakes without penalty or condemnation. My parenting style is probably not the most popular as it takes effort, rather than throwing a sop, pacifier or dummy in the direction of the child.
Hence my immense pride in my 21 year old daughter who holds down a full time job, owns her own car, owns a home (purchased with her partner), all debt free apart from a mortgage and not majorly subsidised from the bank of mum and dad. Mrs R and I must have done something right. What is important though is that we have encouraged our daughter to be herself, warts and all. Somehow, we have managed to walk that knife-edge between discipline and unrestrained freedom, personal choice and social responsibility. Like her father, she is a true individual. It is not been an easy path to follow, and both Mrs R and I are now decidedly grey of hair. It is never easy letting your children make their own mistakes. This they must do however, if the are to grow into well rounded individuals.
Conversely, the state wants to have more and more input into what a child believes, thinks, does, and aspires to. The more I think about this, particularly when it comes to the LGBT and woke agenda, there is something deeply sinister and wrong about this. We have taught my daughter to respect everyone, regardless. This she does without judgement or prerequisite.
For the State to demand more and more control over our children, be it their beliefs, sexuality or aspirations can be summed up simply.
It is evil beyond measure.
© Rookwood 2022
