About How Proud

Post 1606:

Only three things really upset me. Taxes, inappropriate footwear, and over-involved parents. Today I will go a bit into the parent thing—frankly, we don’t have the time it requires for me expand on government theft or bad fashion. I mean, the stories I could tell…

My parents were great. I still talk about them all the time, and I think that’s simply a testament to how great they really were. They used to take me to all kinds of sports and activities, like a lot of parents, but they never said much. My dad was a particularly cool customer. He’d watch me playing in the big game and most times stand away from the other offspring producers. There was no yelling at me or the other team or the refs or whatever else parents yell at or for. Did he care? Was he indifferent? Well, it’s hard to say, but based on the fact that he fed me and got me to games and practices and made sure I had a chance to be on the teams I wanted, I’m going to infer that he cared.

Now, what about the dads and moms grinding their teeth and screaming like hellhounds at their children to perform or to hustle or watch the ball or stop being useless? Did they care more? Maybe it’s about pride. Their children were a source of pride, whereas I was just an obligation that warranted perfunctory upkeep.

Yeah, I don’t think so. Sounds wrong. Not a little wrong. Country-music-with-rap-beats wrong.

First, pride is a weird word. It’s said to be a sin. I get that. But what about taking pride in a job well done or in making things better or raising your kids? I don’t think that’s the pride they’re talking about when talking about sin. Bad pride makes things worse. You, the world, and the people or things you’re proud of take a beating from bad pride.

I don’t have kids, but there are things that I care about fiercely. I’ll admit to being guilty of bad pride when it comes to my books, for instance. There’s a point when cheering for my work and making sure it gets to the game becomes some weird obsession that stifles freedom and heart and makes it not want to play. No bueno. I try to avoid that. Like most people try to do with the people and things they care about. But it’s good to keep a weather eye on the old pride meter. Things can get out of hand quickly.

One thing I do is remind myself not to take everything so seriously. It’s not easy. It also really is. Because if I were to actually think about every choice and everything I’ve ever done, it looks more like a slapstick comedy than some serious melodrama that I need to get my pride-balls all bunched up for.

I thank you for hearing me out. I’m proud of how eloquently it all came out. Especially the last part about the pride-balls.

Cheers and see you after.