INTERNAL POLLUTION IN A BABY BOOMER WORLD

Internal pollution is the filter we see through.

It’s our judgement, our favoritism, our prejudice, and bias.

What we see runs through our up-bringing, education, life choices, and judgement. Did I mention judgement?

Add cataracts to that mess and you’ve got a problem.

Cataracts?

Baby Boomers, remember going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house when the old folks were in a huge debate about indoor plumbing?

Grandma said yes and ordered one toilet after another; Grandpa said no and placed each toilet around the dining room table.

Their current commode was outside.

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These were people who had kids during the Great Depression, along with their brothers and sisters, so there was usually a home visit to an even older relative on their last leg.

For one visit I remember constant smoking in the house, a blue fog, and brown stains dripping down the windows and walls with a dying man in a room down the hall.

Depressing then, depressing now, but what are going to do. Do better?

That old man, probably my age now, was at home surrounded by his loved ones, and there some. No one wants to do better than that.

When my vision started looking like the smoked out interior of an old logger’s living room I didn’t blink an eye, but I did reflect back on those days of the dying man down the hall.

Snapping Out Of Internal Pollution

My thought was, ‘the lights are dimming? What’s next? Darkness and death?’

Those thoughts changed on an Arizona freeway looking for the airport car rental exit.

“Is this the exit?”

“Can’t you read it?”

“YES?”

“YES.”

“OKAY.”

The tires screeched from a last minute rookie driver exit.

“You need to get your eyes checked. Can you read that sign?”

We went from blinding sunlight to parking garage shade.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Take off your sunglasses.”

“I’m not wearing sunglasses.”

And that’s how I found out I had f#cking cataracts.

I Can See Clearly Now

The left side of the top image was my old vision, the right side my new, and just in time for spring colors.

It might sound weird but before I had those damn cataracts removed I thought the whole world was dimming down and no one was talking about it.

I was in my bubble of one, or so I thought, until my wife popped it.

Not everyone is so lucky.

My wife is a problem solver and I do my best to keep her occupied

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I met an old man way back in January 2017. An angry man, a bitter man.

He was a man making judgement on sensitive subjects, loud judgements, ‘look at me’ loud judgements.

Except there was only one other person in the room besides me And a television.

‘Silence is collusion’ I thought, sitting there in silence while the man ranted at the television.

“Finally, a man, a real man. A real man is finally in the White House.”

He carried on until the woman next to me said, “We’ve had a real man, a good man, in the White House for the last eight years.”

That’s when he turned his ugly torrent on her until she stood up and left.

By not remaining silent I learned that the man was divorced, no kids, no dog, his mom just died, and that he was on social security and medicare.

His rant on the woman included, “People like you just suck from the system and never give anything back.”

With better vision I will try to see through the internal pollution, past the anger and bitterness in broken men struggling for relevance, and try to better understand why they believe broken can fix broken.

Who knew so many broken men enjoyed being broken twice.