"New Dark Age"

            Trust your religion and religious leaders more than science, logic and reason. Trust your gut over scientific research and objectively collected data. Trust the story about a friend of a friend’s third cousin over documented and investigative studies. And then—TRUST NO ONE!

            Our slippage into an under-educated population occurred gradually. First, we forced the content of our public schools to dumb down to standardized testing levels. Then an Us VS Them mentality bloomed that tainted legitimate media. Finally, we allowed Christian religious beliefs to seep into public and governmental institutions, to become a litmus test for viable candidates for many elected positions. The message shifted to TRUST NO ONE (unless that person has the same religious views as you).

            So now we find ourselves, as a country, mired in obvious lies and more obscured half-truths that our gullible population cannot unravel. They blindly turn to sources for information that foster more confusion and promote distrust.

            These are the most recent theories I’ve followed. Each one disturbing because they prey upon fear. Fear that someone’s out to take your jobs, undermine your marriage and family, or physically harm someone you love.

THE NEW DARK AGE BELIEFS (in no particular order):

               First, women should have no rights to determine their own reproduction. This includes using any birth control. Women are secondary to men in many faiths, and therefore, deserve lesser pay. They shouldn’t expect respect within the work force. Legal protection for women being abused by men should be limited.

Troubling, isn’t it! We actually have a growing population that believes a woman’s place in in her home, where she may not even be safe.

            Second, all of the “research” on climate change is false. Climate change is a liberal lie to undermine our profitable use of fossil fuels. They have some kind of secret agenda that will wipe out our economy if we turn to reusable energy and protect the air we breathe and water we drink. They have a plot, as yet unknown in details, to subvert the entire course of modern civilization by implementing laws internationally that could begin to contain the destruction of our environment. Many people actually believe that God will step in, wave his magical hand, and wipe away all of the damage we’ve done to the planet.

I cannot fathom why anyone would risk our entire planet just to prove they are right about a possible liberal agenda.

            Third, anyone who’s different from you threatens you, your family and your community. Therefore, anyone immigrating here is suspect of engaging in behaviors ranging from taking your jobs to murdering you and your entire family, as you sleep peacefully in your home. (Thus, you must arm yourself with an arsenal of weapons and ammunition). Anyone who has a difference in sexual orientation must be ostracized. You have a duty to deny this group their rights to job security, medical care, purchasing homes, or even marriage. Many people actually shift blame to current weather disasters to God’s punishment for acceptance of “differences.”

I keep wondering why God punishes all of the “innocent” people, too, through these floods, famines, and other natural disasters.

            Fourth, Big Pharma controls all of our doctors and scientist. Therefore, any program that benefits pharmaceutical companies should be rejected. This belief meshes together the facts and data that these companies have one agenda alone—PROFIT. Therefore, nothing that comes from these companies can be trusted. The latest, of course, is vaccinating our population. Many people believe these companies actually inject cancer causing agents into our systems in order to generate future clients dependent upon medications to survive. Many people believe that by refusing to vaccinate their children, they are protecting them.

I know that pharmaceutical companies drive all decisions by profit, but I also believe that resurgence of diseases like tetanus, measles, and polio far outweigh worry that Big Pharma want to make a buck.

            Fifth, colleges are indoctrination centers that subvert the core religious beliefs of families and undermine the structure of American society.

I will admit that colleges do expose young minds to new worlds. The curriculum should drive students to critical thinking. My worry about colleges stems more from the fact that they are driven by profit instead of aiming for the purer goals of student self-actualization.

            How do we get out of all of this mucked-up thinking? I look to our youth with optimism that they will filter out the lies and filth that my generation’s heaped upon them and create a courageous new world of enlightenment.   

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"In the Box"

           The two towheads leaned over the drawing, smiling broadly at their cartoon creation. The magical hero bore a resemblance to the boy with his broad toothy smile and spiked halo of hair. The champion’s steed, a winged Pegasus, carried the graceful lines of the girl’s art. The background art, a collage of trees, blossoms and lopsided huts, represented the best efforts of the pair. So similar their styles that even they couldn’t discern whose hand sketched which object.

           “I’m gonna draw when I grow up,” the girl declared with certainty as she colored a petal.

           “No. You can’t. You gotta be a mommy,” the boy challenged as he knocked her hand way.

           “Don’t!” she screamed, anger and frustration painted her face with red splotches.

           He wrestled her crayon from her tight fist, broke it smartly into two chunks, and threw the pieces hotly onto the floor, “You’re going to be nothin’ cuz you’re a gir—el!” he proclaimed in superiority.

           She punched his smug face and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her in a vain attempt to keep him from chasing her down and pounding into her.

           Golden hair fanned out from the teen’s face as she sunned in the sand. The ocean lulled her into a doze, made her slack with relaxation after a grueling final week of school. High school diploma tucked up into her closet, she relished the idea of holding still. She longed for lazy afternoons on the beach and late parties with her friends. She wanted to step away from making decisions about her future, and instead longed to enjoy every moment of “Now.”

           She saw his shadow through her closed eyes, yet she ignored his presence. Impatient for her to open her eyes, he tipped his beer onto her face.

          “You shit!” she bolted upright, wiping at her face with fingers covered in sunscreen, her eyes began to burn and tear. “Why did you do that?” Shifting on her beach towel, she dabbed the corner at her eyes, trying to clear the mix of beer and sunblock.

           “Dad says you need to go to the store to pick up steaks for dinner,” her brother sneered. “Now!” he commanded as he kicked at the sand by her feet.

           “You go,” she insisted. “I just got out here. I spent all morning finishing the wash. You’ve been on the beach all morning.”

           “Not my job, girlie-girl,” he teased. “I took a part-time job for the summer. You made the deal with Dad to take care of the house instead of getting a job. So--,” he dangled car keys in front of her smarting eyes.

           She swung her hand out, snapping up the keys before he decided to play a mean game of keep-away, reached for her t-shirt, and pulled it over her head in a swift movement while her feet slipped into her sandals. “Did Dad give you any money?” She extended her hand to receive a few bills from him.

           “Pick up more beer!” he called after her as she stomped up the beach to the car.

           “All I want this summer is time for my art,” she grumbled as she pulled the car out of its slot and yanked at the wheel to turn it onto the road. “I want to get up at dawn to do photography. I want to capture sunsets on canvas.” She pounded her fists onto the steering wheel, “I want everyone to leave me alone!” She sped down the road, her fury planting her foot on the accelerator. “But, noooooo!” she wailed. “This is the first summer Dad’s ever expected my god’s-gift brother to work. He got three summers to do whatever he wanted. But, noooooo! That’s not for me. Daddy’s little girl’s gotta either ‘earn her keep or find a new place to sleep.’” Hot tears streaked down her face; she let them fall onto her shirt front, mix with her sweat, the beer, and smudges of Coppertone.

           The white veil hid the wild look in her eyes. She ignored her mother’s incessant chatter on the beauty of the gown, on how thankful she should feel that her father paid for such a lovely dress. Her lips pursed into a straight line to hold back the panic that welled in the back of her throat, and that threatened to escape in an unending scream.

           “He’s such a lovely young man,” her mother prattled as she plucked the dress this-way-and-that, “With a wonderful job! You’ll never have to worry a single day!” Her mother stepped back to appraise her work. “Once you have a baby, you’ll settle into marriage, just like I did,” her mother glanced up at their reflection, saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes, and continued, “This is really the best future for you, darling. All that nonsense about being an artist!” she waved her hands in dismissal. “You’re father wasn’t about to support you forever, you know.”

           “Not even through art school,” resentment filled her heart, spilled out in her words. “He paid for college for both of my brothers—,”

          “And not for you, dear, because he knew you’d just end up getting married and raising a family. Just like you are!”

           “I—I can’t go through with it!” she stepped away from the mirror, searching the room for her purse and car keys. “This is a huge mistake. I don’t know how I let everyone pressure me into this. It’s insane! It’s not what I want!”

           “Now, dear,” her mother stated with harsh practicality, “It’s never exactly what we want, but it’s what is expected. You just square your shoulders, march down that aisle, and make a commitment to that fantastic fiancé of yours. All of your life, you’ve wanted to do your own thing, be your own person. You wouldn’t even color within the lines as a child! Always drawing your own little world, never staying in the box.” Her mother grabbed her by both hands, her grip surprisingly firm, “You’re a grown woman, so act like one!”

           Realization flooded through her, resignation weighed her shoulders into a slump. That special piece of her that exploded on each canvas or edged into each photograph suddenly folded into itself. Corner-by-corner, she tucked away the hope of the artist until it became a tiny speck. Her spirit, sensing no future now, walked slowly into the box.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“In the Box”

         The two towheads leaned over the drawing, smiling broadly at their cartoon creation. The magical hero bore a resemblance to the boy with his broad toothy smile and spiked halo of hair. The champion’s steed, a winged Pegasus, carried the graceful lines of the girl’s art. The background art, a collage of trees, blossoms and lopsided huts, represented the best efforts of the pair. So similar their styles that even they couldn’t discern whose hand sketched which object.

         “I’m gonna draw when I grow up,” the girl declared with certainty as she colored a petal.

         “No. You can’t. You gotta be a mommy,” the boy challenged as he knocked her hand way.

         “Don’t!” she screamed, anger and frustration painted her face with red splotches.

         He wrestled her crayon from her tight fist, broke it smartly into two chunks, and threw the pieces hotly onto the floor, “You’re going to be nothin’ cuz you’re a gir—el!” he proclaimed in superiority.

         She punched his smug face and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her in a vain attempt to keep him from chasing her down and pounding into her.

         Golden hair fanned out from the teen’s face as she sunned in the sand. The ocean lulled her into a doze, made her slack with relaxation after a grueling final week of school. High school diploma tucked up into her closet, she relished the idea of holding still. She longed for lazy afternoons on the beach and late parties with her friends. She wanted to step away from making decisions about her future, and instead longed to enjoy every moment of “Now.”

         She saw his shadow through her closed eyes, yet she ignored his presence. Impatient for her to open her eyes, he tipped his beer onto her face.

         “You shit!” she bolted upright, wiping at her face with fingers covered in sunscreen, her eyes began to burn and tear. “Why did you do that?” Shifting on her beach towel, she dabbed the corner at her eyes, trying to clear the mix of beer and sunblock.

         “Dad says you need to go to the store to pick up steaks for dinner,” her brother sneered. “Now!” he commanded as he kicked at the sand by her feet.

         “You go,” she insisted. “I just got out here. I spent all morning finishing the wash. You’ve been on the beach all morning.”

         “Not my job, girlie-girl,” he teased. “I took a part-time job for the summer. You made the deal with Dad to take care of the house instead of getting a job. So--,” he dangled car keys in front of her smarting eyes.

         She swung her hand out, snapping up the keys before he decided to play a mean game of keep-away, reached for her t-shirt, and pulled it over her head in a swift movement while her feet slipped into her sandals. “Did Dad give you any money?” She extended her hand to receive a few bills from him.

         “Pick up more beer!” he called after her as she stomped up the beach to the car.

            “All I want this summer is time for my art,” she grumbled as she pulled the car out of its slot and yanked at the wheel to turn it onto the road. “I want to get up at dawn to do photography. I want to capture sunsets on canvas.” She pounded her fists onto the steering wheel, “I want everyone to leave me alone!” She sped down the road, her fury planting her foot on the accelerator. “But, noooooo!” she wailed. “This is the first summer Dad’s ever expected my god’s-gift brother to work. He got three summers to do whatever he wanted. But, noooooo! That’s not for me. Daddy’s little girl’s gotta either ‘earn her keep or find a new place to sleep.’” Hot tears streaked down her face; she let them fall onto her shirt front, mix with her sweat, the beer, and smudges of Coppertone.

            The white veil hid the wild look in her eyes. She ignored her mother’s incessant chatter on the beauty of the gown, on how thankful she should feel that her father paid for such a lovely dress. Her lips pursed into a straight line to hold back the panic that welled in the back of her throat, and that threatened to escape in an unending scream.

            “He’s such a lovely young man,” her mother prattled as she plucked the dress this-way-and-that, “With a wonderful job! You’ll never have to worry a single day!” Her mother stepped back to appraise her work. “Once you have a baby, you’ll settle into marriage, just like I did,” her mother glanced up at their reflection, saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes, and continued, “This is really the best future for you, darling. All that nonsense about being an artist!” she waved her hands in dismissal. “You’re father wasn’t about to support you forever, you know.”

            “Not even through art school,” resentment filled her heart, spilled out in her words. “He paid for college for both of my brothers—,”

            “And not for you, dear, because he knew you’d just end up getting married and raising a family. Just like you are!”

            “I—I can’t go through with it!” she stepped away from the mirror, searching the room for her purse and car keys. “This is a huge mistake. I don’t know how I let everyone pressure me into this. It’s insane! It’s not what I want!”

            “Now, dear,” her mother stated with harsh practicality, “It’s never exactly what we want, but it’s what is expected. You just square your shoulders, march down that aisle, and make a commitment to that fantastic fiancé of yours. All of your life, you’ve wanted to do your own thing, be your own person. You wouldn’t even color within the lines as a child! Always drawing your own little world, never staying in the box.” Her mother grabbed her by both hands, her grip surprisingly firm, “You’re a grown woman, so act like one!”

            Realization flooded through her, resignation weighed her shoulders into a slump. That special piece of her that exploded on each canvas or edged into each photograph suddenly folded into itself. Corner-by-corner, she tucked away the hope of the artist until it became a tiny speck. Her spirit, sensing no future now, walked slowly into the box.  

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

             

          

             

"Advice"

         

“We can do it all!”

     The battle cry of women in my generation that resounded through our homes and schools. My parents insisted that their daughters go to college because that would give us a level of independence from men. Both had witnessed wives who put up with emotional and physical abuse from husbands because these women had no education or job skills. The message I received from my parents (and this was in the 1960s and 1970s) was “be able to support yourself.”

        Added to their message came the “You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby” campaign. My role as a woman shifted beyond marriage, children, and homemaking. I could do anything. Not only could I do anything, but I could do it all!

       Yes. I could have a successful career, happy marriage, 2.5 kids, and a three bedroom house in the burbs.

        What a wonderful pitch, too. Many of my friends believed that we could do it all.

         And we did.

        We went after college degrees, executive positions, or medical practices. We married (some of us sooner, others later) and started our families. We juggled pushing the limits at work with nursing ill children. We set high standards for ourselves, and when we reached those goals, we raised the bar higher.

          But have we had success? I’m not certain. Half of my friends have divorced their husbands. They’ve relied on babysitters and daycare to raise their children. In their fifties now, they worry about spending the rest of their lives alone. The half that remained married? They fret over lost years with their children. Many seem to be trying to make up the play time they lost with their children by spending more time with their grandchildren. And all of us complain of our everlasting fatigue. We’re tired. We’ve been tired for decades.

          I wouldn’t want to go back and change the choices I made because that would change the tapestry of my life too much. But I’d love to tell this next generation of women that they need to be careful of their choices. You can do it all, but you cannot do it all well. Something gets lost—marriage, children, or even a part of yourself—as you struggle to design the pattern of your life.    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman