We are all born with some anti-social “behaviors” like monkeys flinging shit in a zoo — until our families, “friends” and classmates beat the rules of society into our thick skulls.
By rules, I’m not necessarily talking about manners or being polite. Get that shit from your parents. I’m talking about “reading” when someone is bullshitting you, threatening you, or just kidding.
Yes, it’s my latest bullshit, unscientific “theory” based on no evidence. I’m not talking about people on the autism scale. I’m not talking about people being raised by abusive addicts or kids in huge families that have to fight for survival at home.
I’m talking about these fucking upper-middle-class twits who can intuitively read social signs, but are rasied by these helicopter parents who want to protect their “babies” from everything bad on earth until they are 45.
Exhibit one: Home school
You meet these shitheads as teenagers who have been home with their overly religious mom for 15 years. Everything is positive affirmation, participation trophies and baby Jesus.
Suddenly, they find themselves on a team or working in a grocery store. You say something stupid like: “Nice haircut — did you get to keep the bowl.” They run home crying like you jabbed a pencil in their ears.
“Hey, homeschool, can’t you take a fucking joke?”
And no, no they cannot. Gawd forbid as an adult you say “fuck” in front of these little protected ones. They turn red, squeal and cover their mouths like nursery schools girls in cheap japanese anima.
Even if they don’t squeal and cry the first time, you know how you can spot a homeschool?
They have no scars. Their mothers never dropped them on their faces or kicked them in the shins.
Exhibit Two: Broken Noses
My little brother had a crooked nose for 30 years. My older brother threw a shoe into his face. But my little brother learned — ohh yeah when someone is pissed and has a shoe in his hand don’t keep talking shit. My older brother, the lawyer, learned plausible deniability. He blamed it on a door.
40 years later, when my kid headbutted a neighbor, the other kid learned lean back if you are talking to someone wearing a helmet — or he might just break your nose.
My kid learned hit a bigger kid in the neighborhood, and you probably will never have to do it again.
I’ve got scars on every extremety. If society ever turns to Lord of the Flies — I’m ready. The same is true for my siblings, my kid, my wife and all of the Savages. Not a home school in the bunch.
Sure, we have physical, emotional and mental scars from family and public (or worse Catholic) school. Sure, there are eating disorders, and self-esteem issuses mixed in with a little depression and anxiety. But all that shit is called “life.”
Unless you are going to be a “prepper” and move to the wilds of Alaska to survive on berries and bear droppings, we all have to learn to live in a society.
Even with the modern day shootings, school is still the best place to learn how to know friend from foe. How to deal with assholes (including when one is the teacher/boss) or what can happen to your “friends” when they get in the wrong crowd.
How do we all know how to deal with a mob — when everyone picks on one person for 10 minutes straight? It’s called a playground. We learn to deflect through humor, controlling our anger or fear — or shifting the focus to a new target. All excellent social skills.
Here’s some basic questions for homeschoolers.
- What’s funny to you — something that makes your dad laugh and doesn’t offend your mom?
- What music do you like? Whatever mom let’s you play on the recorder?
- How do you learn about sex? Some fucking pamphlet you get in the doctor’s office?
Humor, music and sex are all things that need to be honed in the school yard.
Sure they are eternal social skills. But they get redefined, shifted and morphed into something slightly ascew with every new generation. People can adjust these skills as an adult, but the foundations are built by age 16.
If your DIY foundation sucks, you are going to be dressed “funny,” you can only make your mom laugh, everybody will hate your playlist, and your girlfriend’s secret nickname for you will be “missionary egg timer.”
Scars tell a lot of stories. Most of those marks are visible signs people learned new skills. That’s how we survive in this fucked up human society.