PEDDLING FEAR FOR THE WIN

Peddling fear is as old as the first recorded sunrise.

“It’s getting hot and feeling hotter,” said early man.

“If it keeps getting hot I’ll need a new wardrobe,” said early woman.

“These animal furs will cook us both.”

And so it was written, painted, recorded somehow, somewhere.

From Smithsonian:

 

This ghostly babirusa has been known to locals for decades, but it wasn’t until Aubert, a geochemist and archaeologist, used a technique he developed to date the painting that its importance was revealed.

He found that it is staggeringly ancient: at least 35,400 years old.

That likely makes it the oldest-known example of figurative art anywhere in the world—the world’s very first picture.

Hidden away in a damp cave on the “other” side of the world, this curly-tailed creature is our closest link yet to the moment when the human mind, with its unique capacity for imagination and symbolism, switched on.

 

That the ghostly babirusa, called pig-deer, is one of the first paintings in the world shows how far we’ve actually evolved.

Someone painted a picture of their food like we click on it today.

 

 

If the idea of a pig-deer isn’t frightening enough, this is:

 

 

Ask yourself, as I’ve asked myself while writing this blog post, what feeling does fear conjure up?

I’ll take a shot: you feel fear. I know I do. You get the ‘willies.’

And it’s usually over something trivial, like dancing.

 

The Hokey Pokey

We took a family trip to Disneyland with the in-laws who lived down there, along with an aunt and uncle visiting from England.

Toward the end of the night we found ourselves near a stage playing the Macarena.

Auntie started dancing like she knew what she was doing.

What I heard: Get out there and dance with her.

What I did:

I was gripped by fear, lightly gripped since no one was in danger, but enough to keep me rooted in place.

The Macarena wasn’t peddling fear as much as it invited non-dancers to step up.

I didn’t, and I remember it as a failure never to repeat.

So, thirty years later, on dress-up night during the 50th high school reunion, I didn’t repeat.

During an earlier lunch with classmates, the conversation leaned toward dancing.

Even though my wife and I have taken dance classes, from ball room to country two steps,  this came out:

Me: We’ve taken dance classes a few times and I’ve come away wondering how we managed to have kids together.

Peggy: That might be too much information, David.

Wife: No, he’s right.

Me: Thanks, honey.

Peggy: Barbara is calling after dinner.

 

 

After dinner I danced on the floor like I was still in junior high, a little sway, a little step.

My dance partner had a Deadhead thing going on.

After watching me go, she took pity and showed me the steps I’d learned in class like a ballroom deadhead.

Fear took a holiday that night, especially when another couple stepped up and flew around together like rock stars.

That was the whole of the dance company that night.

The phone call from Barbara to the class ended before the music stopped.

If the last song had been American Pie, I  could die happy.

 

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they’d be happy for a while

So bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey ‘n rye
Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die
This’ll be the day that I die

 

Back then I drove a Chevy truck to the beach.

 

Peddling Fear As An Industry 

One of the early lines in Saving Private Ryan came in the graveyard when the private, as an old man, dropped to his knees on a grave and asked if he’d ‘been a good man.’

Why would a world famous director of some of the biggest movies ever made stoop to such basic dialogue?

Because he knows his audience.

He knows you and I worry about being ‘good enough.’

We’re afraid of not making the cut, not making the road team, not going to the right school, marrying the right girl, having the right kids, living in the right house in the right town, doing the right work.

Did I miss anything?

How do young people, which is most everyone once you get old enough, how do they protect themselves and their loved one from fear?

By being young and fearless. And motivated.

 

 

We geezers look at young people today the way our parents looked at us.

They had seen WWII and Korea up close and personal, if not being actually deployed there.

As kids we played Army in my Dad’s green Marine fatigues while news from Vietnam played on TV.

As adults we’ve seen the same shit over and over.

I didn’t save the world during my two year Army enlistment in the mid-70’s. It was doing fine on its own.

The youngsters have grown up with news about ethnic cleansing, a nice way to say murder, an invasion of Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan, and Iraq. The order might be off.

They’ve had friends, and brothers of friends, join the service.

Who hasn’t met a goofy service guy and thought, ‘this is what’s protecting us?’

 

 

Who is not protecting us is middle-aged men in nice suits going on television with their camera ready faces either squeezed up in an expression of disbelief, or a somber expression of truth-telling usually reserved for a hard truth, not a talking point.

But who knows the difference?

And that, my friends, is a frightening question.

If you did a search and landed on boomerpdx to read this writer, thank you.

But don’t expect me tell you what to do, how to conquer fear, or allay anxiety. 

Click the link for ‘How to Overcome Fear: 10 Tips to Conquer Fear.’

Who doesn’t trust the internet? Come on. Or, trust boomers?

If you can’t trust a Portland Oregon baby boomer blogger, who can you trust?

I believe my point is made with peddling fear for the win.

Your turn.