Insidious Adaptation

Having no responsibilities means that we could essentially do whatever we want. If we had no job, no children, no bills to pay, what a glorious day, yes? I assume the thought brings fear, as it should. If we have no responsibilities, we are then not responsible, or no longer important. Lacking importance is something man is not familiar with, after all, psychology justifies that we are all the authors of our own stories and everything we view in the world, is through our lens, or how it affects us. Yes, we are the first thought and we fear that we will come across in this selfish way. However, in our actions, rather than words, walk rather than talk, we do what we claim we don't do. Phrases, like, "I'm just saying," or, "I don't mean to sound like a jerk but..." are part of our everyday language to justify and relate to the people we are talking with. However, typically the people we are talking with by the point we choose to use those justifying phr...

Recognition- 1.      the action or process of recognizing or being recognized, in particular. Or, as a move towards favoritism, or to alleviate guilt, one can recognize another. To recognize initially meant to indicate someone did something outstanding, recognizable  more than others, a contributor to the cause. Now, nothing more than a way to justify an organization or purpose, without carrying the weight being "recognized" once held. Now it is a sham of which the receiver is supposed to gain enough. something, to shut them up, have others strive for it, and the organization look good because they, “recognized” or are the “organization willing to give X amount of effort to some cause." Cynic? Look past who gets recognized and the upward to the organization getting the recognition. What are they getting out of it? Something I ensure you. At a job I held for a Medicaid insurance company, it was favorable to give three recognitions per month, almost a mand...

"Noooooo!" Screams an almost 3-year old 2-feet from her father's face. "Yes!" Father concedes to the game.  "No daddy!" She is in control now.  "Hey, we are getting this shirt on because I said so." Because, well, I said so, and I am an adult right, so I must know best, father knows best, right?  The game all parents are familiar with, a tug-of-war in words, where a child's ability to take on all possibilities of a situation, including downright refusal, exposes a parent's weakness.  "Look, a butterfly." As she picks her cup up, distracting either herself, or dad, neither of us really know.  "Sweetheart." Dad is calmer now. "We have to get dressed, we don't want to be naked do we?" Yes, rhetorical questioning because, duh, right?  Wrong.  "Daddy, I want milk." She asks, and my first thought is, where is that milk? Only to come right back to, hey, wait a minut...

We walk in these rubber-souled shoes. Strides set long ago, a gait affected by weight. We have known about this since we were young, that we weren’t those people, but this person. We saw "those guys," but never considered them any more than a background character. Instead, we joined the military, fought, won, came home, then real-life hit. When we got home, that is where we met Becky and we thought we were doing what we were supposed to do, plus it felt good to be cared for. We met you, after a deployment to Afghanistan, after a few rough years of drinking, justifying a lazy existence. We thought you were cute, and once we got to know you, you were a really genuine guy. We liked the way you made us laugh, at first. We like the attention you gave us, and what seemed to be us alone, for we never got that from our father. Our father was a drinker, but you are not like him, he was sick, you are a casual drinker, plus, you don’t hit us, you hug us, remind us that nobody will e...