RODNEY HAD IT RIGHT



Poor ol’ Rodney King, it took a major whuppin,’ an oddball setback in a criminal trial, and then a riot for his epiphany. His maligned-at-the-time moment came in May, 1992, when he appeared on television, flanked by his legal counsel at the height of the L.A. riots of that Spring, and sputtered over the airwaves to us all “Why can’t we all just get along?”

A local company out here, a Sod farm of all things, has immortalized a pun of that comment on the side of their trucks: “Why can’t we all just get a lawn?”

Well, why can’t we? This is a question that could be asked on so many levels, and it was yesterday’s glib quip to a friend that “The Arab Israeli conflict will be settled sooner” than the strife within LOST’s own family that has prompted this diatribe. Its probably gonna seem preachy and longer than y’all want, but here goes.

This isn't about whether you were first in line and all the huge expectations on your shoulders. So what if the older two ganged up on one so much that he ran home to Mom? It's not about who was the “good baby.” What’s the big deal if they treated your first serious girlfriend badly – thirty five years ago, give or take. Or if you were "forgotten" at Christmas time when you came home from basic training. Who gives a crap about being better treated because we were the sons and you were the daughters, or flip-flop depending on which one you are? Was your life ruined because of family dislike toward your first boyfriend? Don’t tell me about “China Cups” and “tin cans” and double standards and playing favorites anymore. Its old schtick, from a long time ago.

It no longer matters that someone's former spouse was “dissed” by some or most or all of us. Some of you are generous to a fault, and some of you never think about anyone else. Y'all know where I stand on that one, but it is part of what makes us unique. It doesn’t matter how your friends were treated growing up, or whether parents attended your ball games or plays or recitals or didn’t or whether you went to school or got straight “A”s or became a priest or a nun or big time ball player or whatever.

Above all, it matters little that somebody said one, or two or three, or a dozen plus uncalled for, unkind, thoughtless, judgmental, self-righteous, mean-spirited, self-promoting, angry, hypercritical, envious, spiteful, or nasty things to you, me or any group of us. It doesn’t matter who was the Pard, or the chosen one or who was put on the pedestal, and it doesn’t matter whether anyone denies that this happened or that it still goes on. The labeling – who “made it” who didn’t etc., is meaningless.

It matters that we are here. It matters that we’re related to one another by common genetics, by many more similar characteristics than the sum total of our ultimate differences. It matters that we have the capacity and the power to forgive, to let go, to move forward. It matters that part of that capacity – the genesis of it in fact – flows from being able to sincerely say, “I am sorry when I hurt you, and I forgive you for hurting me.” The bags of stuff being carried around by us all – see above for some of the highlights - are getting very ripe. Okay, they’re rotted. They are putrid bags of old fetid malignancy clung to by all of us –every one – because of some misguided belief that holding onto it makes us feel better. We’re kidding and we’re hurting ourselves and each other by swallowing that line.

For Christmas, we don’t need to give each other any material thing. Of course it would be lovely and send me an e-mail and I’ll send you sizes and colors. Seriously, the best gift would be to say something to each other the fourteen simple words in the preceding paragraph. And we could get rid of something. We could all drop the bags. Just put them down and take a couple of steps away. Maybe then we’d notice the smell of corruption that pours forth from the bag, and we’d just keep on walking. Wouldn’t that be a hell of a Christmas present to ourselves and each other.