On Growing Up Tough Read online

  When I survey the present scene I am not only appalled, but I thank God that my parents were tough. I wish to God there were tens of millions of parents in America just like them! Unless we soon have them, we are done for as a nation.

  Take a hard look at your children. If they are five or older set them to work in your houses after school and on Saturday. See that they are well employed on Sundays at church, and in the house, and finishing up homework. By the time they are ten they should be doing gainful work in the neighborhood at something or other. When they reach puberty, tell them they are no longer children but are young adults. They should be working after school somewhere, to take up all that free time they have. Inspect their schools and talk harshly to the children-lovers. Talk harshly to the School Boards, too. Study your clergyman, and remove your family from his influence if he is all for the Social Gospel, and find a man who talks of the Eternal Verities. Teach them that this world is only a way-station to eternity and time is precious and not for “fun.” Teach them to be men and women in the real world. Be tough!

  Do all this, unless you prefer the coming barbarism and the long night of death and misery. It has happened to other nations in the past, nations like ourselves, and it will happen to us. It is your choice. After all, you let America get into this condition. Now, help her get out.

  7 Learning the Liberal Lingo

  Suppose you want to “get along” with Liberals for the sake of your job or your career.

  I have some suggestions, whereby you can “pass.”

  It is probably best to begin by memorizing a few all-important phrases for when you talk to Liberals. And do make your voice softly sing when repeating them. You don’t have to be mentally present when you do. You can think about your taxes, the high cost of living, new diapers for the baby, the upcoming mortgage payment, the intransigence of your boss or your employees, the fact that your husband/wife doesn’t understand you, the inexplicable ways of your teenagers, the uinbrageousness of your clergyman, the necessity for taking down/putting up the storm-windows and screens, how to meet your installment payments, how to get a loan, how to get rid of that crabgrass in your lawn. These can occupy your mind for several hours when conversing with your Liberal friends, and you can have a fine time while repeating clichés.

  Remember, though, speak softly. Now, all together:

  “Underprivileged, disadvantaged, culturally deprived.”

  “Participation, integration, desegregation, cooperation.”

  Liberals love involved words. If you can think up some more utterly meaningless ones, all to the good. The less meaning there is in words the more Liberals love them. Never use words of one syllable. You might study the dictionary for multi-meaning words, the more erotic the better. If the Liberal doesn’t understand them—and you don’t have to, either—he will consider you an intellectual, and you have now captured him. Try charismatic, and opt, and hubris. Don’t bother looking them up. Just use them.

  Use psychiatric words, the more esoteric the more approved. Try involution, delivered with a grave expression. Or inter-personal, related, outgoing, other-directed, Id, supra-conscious, inverted, ruminative. For a more earthy touch casually speak of the “traumatic results of too-early toilet-training.” That gets the Liberal where he lives.

  Just listen to the younger ones talk of “under-achievement” and “over-achievement,” and “striving to conform to the peer group,” and “personal involvement in intra-personal relationships on the mundane levels.” If the Liberals are Catholic, speak of Teilhard de Chardin and the noosphere. (No, I don’t know what that means!) Speak of Man-Becoming and Christ-Becoming and Supra-Man and Supra-Christ. If the Liberals are Protestants, speak of the Social Gospel. (Liberal Catholics like that, too.) If of the Jewish faith, you can win them over by talking of “ingrained anti-Semitism,” and “the role religion has played in modern anti-Semitism.” During this conversation put on an expression of delicate horror and regret. It isn’t necessary to be totally conscious during this time. The Liberal won’t be aware that you are irrelevant (another fine word). He will just recognize the passwords, and nod approvingly.

  Talk of Black Power, and Le Roi Jones: at this point it is wise to bow the head as if in guilt and waiting for a deserved lash because of your many sins. The more guilty you look, the more moved, the more repentant—the more the Liberal will love you and call you “sensitive.” But in your emotion, utter a four-letter word now and then—as if you are unbearably touched and stirred and are forced to explode in your righteous wrath, though regretting the outburst. Then you have him in your pocket. Control yourself if he reaches over to you and murmurs consolingly and strokes your arm. You have to put up with this if you want the approval of your Liberal friend, or at the very least turn aside his hatred. His hatred is nothing to laugh at; it can be most dangerous.

  Speak of “the complex problems of our modern world,” and “no simplistic solution.” It doesn’t matter that the world of men has always been complex and that there has never been any simple solution for the crimes committed by men, world without end. Just indicate to the Liberal that you believe this is an entirely new world, requiring an entirely new philosophy, new solutions, and new answers. The word “new” can even stand alone, although the Holy Bible repeatedly says, “There is nothing new under the sun.” Speak contemptuously of “old, outmoded values.”

  Speak of the “irrelevance of God in this modern world.” Casually mention that “God is dead.” Some Liberal churchgoers may wince a little, if faith isn’t entirely dead with them, but they will acknowledge that you are “bold,” anyway, and that’s what you want, isn’t it? They will even look gravely tolerant and remark that though they may not entirely agree with you, “you do have a point.” But shy away if they ask you to elaborate. You can’t—but you can wave your hand wearily and give the impression that in this intellectual company it surely isn’t necessary for you to enlarge on the subject.

  The old-line Liberal is a hypocrite when it comes to sex and natural functions. Repeat that at least five times, and write it on your brain. He is repelled by the idea of bladders and bowels and the less attractive aspects of the human body, and he is scared to death of disease, being by nature a hypochondriac of the most awesome kind. (If he has a pet disease, it is all right to talk of that briefly and with sympathy.) But the Liberal loves to talk of Sex, and the less potent he is the more he delights in “sex drives and imperatives.” He wants details, too, and leans avidly forward to hear you expound on your sex life and drives. Now you’ve got yourself boxed in if you aren’t careful. Edge away from the proximity of your spouse, who might become too interested—and drift away to a corner with your Liberal friend, and indicate that you “know exactly what you mean … but in this company …” Look eloquent. The Liberal will gather that you mean you are both intellectuals in the company of Philistines who “won’t understand,” and he will touch your arm fondly. Sigh at this point; drop your head and shake it dolorously. Wander away, with an aspect of grief. He will follow you sadly with his eyes if you are lucky. Stay away from him the rest of the evening. Try to explain to your spouse. This will take some doing, if you are overheard.

  If you are among Liberals who are also parents, you can speak of the “sex drives of the pre-teen years.” You didn’t of course, have much of a sex drive when you were a preteen, even though you were normally curious about What Goes On. But indicate to the Liberal that you were a positive satyr, or at least a nymph or a Lolita, depending on your sex. Perversion is absolutely fascinating to the Liberal. Look to the movies of Hollywood, for instance, and some of the books the Liberals write. Your Liberal pal may even have trifled with perversion, and righteously speak of “sex in any form between consenting adults.” Don’t ask him to give details! Speak about the “new sexual revolution,” as if you had never heard of Sodom and Gomorrah, where the new sexual revolution was in full flower before God did smite them with fire and brimstone. But you can mention the ancien
t Greeks, with a wise smile. The Liberal may know nothing of history, but he sure has heard of the ancient Greeks and what they were up to!

  Look up a few exotic terms for sexual perversion in psychiatric books, if you intend to be at home with sophisticated Liberals. They may make you gag, but be brave and learn them. And speak them when necessary.

  After all, some Liberal may have a fat order he can give you for your widgets, or he may know an industrialist whom he has corrupted and has in his pocket. You are all for unrestricted trade, aren’t you, and getting along with people? Or, if the Internal Revenue Service is at present unduly interested in your books, the Liberal may mention—after a meaningful conversation with you on this and that—that he “knows” a little chap right down there in the Service. After all, you are one of the boys, or girls aren’t you? You are right up there With It. Later you may reflect, but if you are of sturdy stuff you will shrug and say to yourself, “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.” A good syrup to soothe a coughing conscience. But that’s the way the world is. Is it your fault? Did you make this world? The fact that you helped make it can be ignored—for a little while, until you are alone with yourself. Then a couple of stiff barbiturates help, or a handful of tranquilizers. Or half a dozen shots of bourbon.

  It’s eminently desirable in these days to denounce the War in Vietnam when among Liberals. Denounce all war; talk of “sensible men coming to practical solutions.” Of course, never, but never, denounce World War n. That was a Holy War, beloved of the Liberals. They have called it, in my presence, “a lovely war.” They adored it. They even have excuses for the atomic bombing of those two defenseless Japanese cities. “It saved American lives.” You know that is a lie, but don’t nail the liar. Bad business. Just sigh. If you were in F.D.R.’s war, mention the girls in London and Paris and make out that you were a sly dog, indeed, up to your ears in constant sex. If you were a bomber, tell how glorious it was to bomb the open and undefended city of Dresden in the closing days of that war, and how nice it felt to kill a quarter of a million little children and nuns and women on the streets of Dresden at the beginning of Lent, 1945. “Just retribution,” say it with righteousness. But—be sure to bewail, with open tears if possible, the inadvertent killing of North Vietcong villagers by napalm and bombs. Talk of “barbarism.” It was one thing to kill the wives and babies of German soldiers. It is quite a different thing to kill the wives and babies of the kindly Communist Vietcong. Don’t ask me why. Am I a Liberal? You just have to live with these things, if you don’t want a Liberal as your deadly enemy.

  Praise Senator Fulbright for his “humane dissent.” But never, never, ask if Senator Fulbright denounced Roosevelt’s War! That is putting the Liberals on the spot, and that’s where they hate to be. Remember: It was one thing to kill Nazis. It is another thing to kill Communists. The one was righteous. The second, heinous. Never forget!

  Earnestly assure your Liberal pal that though you are not a Communist, “one has to understand their point of view in these complex days.” The Liberal will assure you that he, too, has no use for the Communists. Then tell him you don’t believe for a moment that the riots in our northern cities were inspired by white Communists rousing up the unfortunate black people. He will heartily agree with you.

  If you are a lady Conservative and don’t want to get a bad reputation for speaking the truth, your natural comic arts will help you better than acting will help your husband. Very few men are good actors; women are born actresses. A woman can smile even when she is lusting for your guts, and so a woman can easily deceive even the most perceptive of Liberals, providing they are male. (Not so easy with the lady “Liberals.” A very suspicious lot.)

  At Liberal parties, you don’t have to pretend to like sherry. Vodka is acceptable. Say you love vodka. Smile, smile, smile. But never flirt. You’ll scare hell out of the male Liberal. If you possess a suit of mannish tweeds, that is a really great touch. Wear a turtle neck sweater with it. Be daring. Go to cocktail parties in stretch-pants, and if your legs are ugly so much the better. Look superior. Talk about Sartre.

  Imply that you approve of fornication and adultery. Say, “I believe in meaningful relationships between the Sexes, for the expansion and growth of the whole personality.” Be grim about it. Talk of abortion and demand that it not only be legal but constantly necessary. A lady can talk of these things without fear with a male Liberal, if she speaks boldly and without coquettishness.

  Wear boots, even though there is no snow and the weather is warm. Boots are de rigueur. They must not be pretty little boots, with tassels and high heels. They must be sturdy. Wear black stockings if you wear a skirt. Wear a Russian short-coat. Gloves are out.

  Admire pop art, even if it is composed of old beer bottles, prune pits, wrenches, dog collars, ham bones, and wire. Say it has subtlety and is a condemnation of blatant commercialism. Condemn suburbs, no matter if many of them are pretty, tree-filled, and quiet. Speak of the “decaying cores of our cities.” Blame the decay on middle-class “greed.”

  Make your voice indignantly tremulous when you speak of “the rights of minorities.” It isn’t of consequence that every man—and woman—jack of us is a “minority” in one way or another. Imply that “society” makes “second-class citizens” of “ethnic groups,” and shut your mouth if you feel like saying you are a member of an “ethnic group” yourself, as who isn’t? Be careful though in speaking of WASPS (White Anglo-Saxon Prostestants). You might be talking to one in the guise of a Liberal, and he won’t like you to sneer at them, though he will eagerly agree with you that they are dreadful. If you happen to be Catholic or Jewish, his thoughts of you will be silently unkind, and nothing is more deadly than an unkind Liberal. Speak effusively of the late Pope John, who never, poor misused man, said or meant the things Liberals claim he did.

  Now, what’s holding you back from making the Liberals love and tolerate you?

  8 Onomatopoeia

  Some time ago a friend of mine, alarmed at my chronic appearance of portending mayhem, gave me some sound advice. “Don’t let the Liberal get your blood-pressure up,” he said. “Laugh at him. Laughter has killed more farces, frauds, and hypocrites than guns.”

  Well for the good of my health, I began to try to laugh at the Liberals. I looked at them and laughed some more. But when I listened to them, it really became hilarious. For instance, I discovered the Liberal disease called onomatopoeia. It is his favorite mode of expression, and he encourages it wherever he sets his foot and wherever his eye lights. It is not exactly a disease. It is—well, I will give you samples.

  When my husband and I were in New York we received tickets from a young actress whose third (fourth? fifth?) husband was a producer of a successful play on Broadway. I think it was called “The Derelict Hamburger.” Well, never mind, we went.

  Now, my husband was at home with English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, and all the Slavic languages and some dead ones, too. He also had excellent hearing. During the first act he whispered anxiously, “What did he say?”

  “I think,” I replied, “they are all speaking Sanskrit.”

  Marcus gave me a dark look and craned forward, baffled. He said, “I get a word here and there.” My hearing wasn’t as good as his, and I didn’t even get an occasional word. I got up and bought a bag of jelly-beans and sat down and went to sleep all through the play, and even through intermission.

  We met the young lady afterwards, and she was all lambent and asked how we had enjoyed the play. I confessed that I had not understood it. The actors and actresses had just stood there and used onomatopoeia. As the young lady had graduated from one of the major chichi female colleges, she understandably looked puzzled. (Her vocabulary was still at an elementary school level.) I said, “Let me give you an example. The hero in the first act stood heroically stage front, center, and said, ‘Aunsy, duh whoo-whoo.’ That was the theme of the whole play, it seems, for I heard it repeated many times. Now, what does ‘aunsy, duh whoo-whoo’
mean?”

  Her face cleared and took on that far, rapturous look of the true Liberal. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and then thought a minute. “Now did he say AUNSY! duh WHOO-whoo, or aunsy DUH whoo-WHOO, or aunsy! duh whoo-WHOO?”

  “I think it was the last,” I said, utterly fascinated. “What language was he speaking?”

  Her glance was a little sharp. You know these brotherly-lovers: Challenge them, and they’ll have your lights and livers in a minute, without benefit of their famous “compassion.”

  “It was method-speaking,” she said, and looked at me as if I had just come out of an igloo.

  “Explain,” said I, undaunted. She tossed her fall of long, uncombed hair and set out to explain. It seems you never use ordinary words in the new “communicating.” Words take the heart out of what you are trying to communicate. You use the “heart-communication” when you talk to anyone, produce a play, teach a class of children, converse with your loved ones or infants, or just talk. That’s the new way, the in way. It’s “heart!”

  I am constantly having medical disasters and catching my physician off in some hospital on a case, and therefore I usually go to the Emergency Room rather than the doctor’s office. So lately I visited another Emergency Room and waited for my haggard physician. There were quite a number of people there in various stages of imminent death, including myself. Near the door sat a young man of about fifteen who had had a spectacular cut on the arm, and it was now swathed in neighbors’ handkerchiefs. He wasn’t about to die at once, as I was, and sundry other unfortunates. In fact, he looked sprightly and chewed gum at a great rate and stared around with interest at us moribund ones.

  Th nurse came into the room and, instead of looking at us basket-cases, her eye lit on the boy near the door, whom I will call Jim. Immediately her eye flashed with loving lightning, and she bent over Jim, and, so help me, the following “conversation” took place: