Tracing the Paths from Shared Childhoods to Divided Adults
Just a few weeks ago, I reconnected with some friends I hadn’t seen for nearly 40 years.
We all jammed ourselves into a booth at a nearby restaurant and ordered a round of beers. It was a reunion of sorts, where conversations were superficial at first, reminiscing about our childhood and a little gossip. But by the time we ordered a second round, politics became a part of the conversation.
Aware of the potential sensitivity of the topic, I clammed up, but apparently my friends were oblivious to my social cues, and with the beer flowing, inhibitions diminished. Civility was lost, and the gloves came off as they proudly proclaimed their visceral disgust toward the opposing political party and its supporters.
Then, just like the beer, the conspiracy theories began flowing, and I thought, “What the hell happened to them?! What kind of cult did they join and could they be deprogrammed?” They weren’t shrouded in purple capes and wearing black Nike Decades, nor were they waiting to catch a ride on a flying spaceship to escape a pending Armageddon. However, the cult-factor was still plausible.
Considering their Facebook posts, I shouldn’t have been surprised with their aggression when talking about politics. I’m indifferent in regard to how they vote in November, but their extreme abhorrence toward anyone who doesn’t align with their political ideals was bizarre, concerning and downright disrespectful. I understand why we like to belong to a community of like-minded people, but demonizing those who don’t share your blueprint for a certain social order is perplexing.
Growing up, I was surrounded by likeminded friends while living in the suburbs of Philadelphia and Detroit. Regardless of the ZIP code we called home, we were surrounded by folks who attended the same schools, and we competed on the same sports teams. Likewise, our parents achieved similar socioeconomic status with their peers. Nearly all of my parents’ friends worked in the automotive industry, and most of them subscribed to similar political ideologies.
In other words, I grew up in a mostly homogeneous community where diversity and conflict were almost nonexistent. This was my social circle, my tribe or whatever we want to call it. All I know is that being among those with such similarities gave me a sense of support; life was predictable, and I felt safe.
Following high school graduation, I, like all my friends, did what was expected and went to college. On campus, I met folks from all over the country who were quite different from me, so my network of peers grew diverse. All things considered, I remained in that familiar state of relative predictability and safety, albeit less than my childhood days.
Perhaps the jumping-off point was when I joined the Navy. I mean, my grandfather and dad served in the military, but my peers had no interest in doing so. I knew I was going to be separated from everything that was familiar to me.
I signed some papers obligating me to six years of service and swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. Then, during boot camp, our transition from civilian status included stuff like having our heads shaved, eating bad food, sleeping in barracks and listening to that Lee Greenwood song. Sure, I’m proud to be an American, but listening to it over and over and over again depleted me. The lifestyle of a recruit wasn’t ideal, but I guess that’s what we needed to endure to prove our patriotism.
Not knowing when to quit, I volunteered for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, where a new and far more intense ethos was prescribed. It was based on a set of core values that included discipline, honor, courage, loyalty, respect and excellence. These values weren’t just simple aspirations, but a way of life that we were expected to uphold at all times.
Upon graduation, I found myself among the most elite group of individuals who shared a commitment to service like no others, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher. Regardless of the hazardous work that was expected of us, I felt comfortable in this group of special operators, and being a member of this community made me feel safe — until one day when I guess I flew too close to the sun and landed in the spinal-cord injury (SCI) center at the Department of Veterans Affairs hospital in San Diego. Considering there’s no fixing a severed spinal cord, I knew serving in the military would soon end.
At that point, I felt entirely detached from anything resembling my past. I felt isolated, and the only thing I recognized was my name. Over time, I got to know the other patients. It started off as recognizing the obvious; we shared a diagnosis and a universal commitment to serve our country.
From there, we discovered other things we had in common, and it wasn’t long before I found my latest and greatest social circle. And that’s where you can find me today. I’ve realized we can be pretty entrenched in a social group until something significant in our life changes, either voluntarily or by happenstance.
Plenty of research exists to demonstrate that genetics play a major role in determining human behavior, but so do the environments in which we find ourselves. It’s like that nature versus nurture thing. At birth, our bearings are preset. We all start out on a trajectory determined by our genetics, and our parents apply input based on their life experiences. As we get older, our trajectory can change many times, and we find ourselves in social circles that can be complex. Simply put, who we are and what we become is based on genetics and a confluence of circumstances.
To the best of my knowledge, my friends never joined a cult. They also never joined the military, and they never joined Paralyzed Veterans of America; they didn’t meet the “criteria.” However, serving in the military and sustaining a traumatic SCI resulting in complete and permanent paralysis has had a significant influence on who I am today.
Years ago, my friends and I enjoyed a social bond resulting from many shared experiences as children. Back then, the only conflicts that existed between us were Bugs Bunny vs. Mickey Mouse or Mister Rogers vs. Captain Kangaroo. However, it has become apparent we have matured into very different versions of ourselves, and now we’re fighting over which news outlets suck the most or which presidential candidate will ruin our democracy as we know it.
Understandably, people like to congregate based on social or ideological solidarity, and it looks like I’ve found myself in a social circle that’s quite different from that of my childhood friends. Unfortunately, our hostilities towards the opposing political parties and their candidates have reached an all-time high where hatred motivates voters more than their political allegiance.
I’m not suggesting we avoid conflict by simply not talking about politics with friends. Sure, it might be uncomfortable, but now more than ever, we need to crawl out of our political trenches where we feel safe and learn to engage those with whom we have differences.
We need to deliberate about issues that are of concern to everyone, regardless of their political ideologies, in ways that will help all participants appreciate each other. I’m suggesting we continue these debates, but in a more civil and respectful manner, even after the second round of beer. It’s called civil discourse. Can I get a kumbaya?!
By the way, if you’re looking to buy a pair of black Nike Decades, there’s someone with a sense of humor selling them on eBay for $6,660. They’re a cult favorite, if you know what I mean.
As always, let me know your thoughts at al@pvamag.com
