Simple Things/ Lang Kenneth Haynes
Pathology
Pathology
The 1998 Random House Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary defines pathology as: 1) the science or the study of the origin, nature, and course of diseases. 2)
the conditions and processes of a disease. 3) any deviation from a healthy, normal, or efficient condition.
The definition presumes the almost universal existence of an environment in which virtually all people have certain essential things in place. I’ll try to name
some of them. Not from a list. Not from memories from some sociology or psychology 101 class I took at some university or other several decades ago, but from
personal experience and the reservoirs of knowledge that we used call common sense.
The healthy, hopeful, safe environment against which pathology is pitted contains the elements of a reasonable expectation that tomorrow or next week or
next year can look better than today. Not because extended leases on life generate more opportunities to get three cherries on a slot machine, or to line up
three identical symbols on a scratch game, but because predictable efforts yield predictable results: If you work hard, your work will be valued and you will be
compensated with fatter checks in addition to verbal accolades. Nothing wrong with playing the one-armed bandit, but there could be something very wrong if
your advancement and the advancement of your family are totally hinged on chance and arbitrariness.
It may very well be universally true that a presumption of safety is essential to healthy development. If this is true, we’re in very big trouble. I was a police
officer back in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. I remember a summer day a couple of decades ago when I strolled through a neighborhood that, for a variety of
legitimate and illegitimate reasons, was somewhat notorious. I watched kids play with the kind of wild abandon that they seem to give up or try to control in the
process of becoming adults. Kids followed me around because I was somewhat of a novelty. A cop that also seemed like a person with a real smile and a real
laugh that sounded a little like a favorite uncle’s. They were accustomed to cops but their experiences had taught them that cops were generally not their
friends. The specter of police represented a force that you moved away from, not towards. Maybe you can say that’s pathological – to regard potential helpers as
adversaries. Another way to look at it is that if things came out badly the last seven times you had contact with the police, a reasonable assumption would be
that things would come out badly on the eighth encounter as well. And what do I mean by “came out badly?” Maybe a mother was arrested and taken to jail
after an argument with a neighbor and a check of her record showed that she had a warrant for failure to appear in court for a traffic ticket. One consequence
was that you and your little sister had to stay in a foster home for several days while your mother was in jail because your aunt, who lived in the building next to
yours, was not considered a “responsible” adult.
I just hung out with neighborhood kids on that particular day and asked most of the kids I met the same question that many adults bore children with: “What
do you want to be when you grow up?” Maybe I shouldn’t have been but I was shocked when just about every kid I asked the question prefaced their answer with,
“If I grow up ... ” Wait a minute! A child should never be faced with the question of ‘if they grow up.’ Growing up should be a given. Old people talk about dying.
Old people talk about obituaries. Old people have the wisdom to know that their day is coming. Kids are supposed to be blessed with the glorious kind of youthful
ignorance that assures them that they will live forever.
Little Johnny doesn’t smile. Of course he doesn’t smile. You wouldn’t smile either if you’d seen the things he’s seen. Little Samantha seems so distant. I
wonder what’s wrong with her. Maybe Samantha has learned that it hurts too much to get close to people and to let people get too close to her. She’s been hurt
too many times before from being open and she swore to herself to never put herself in that position again. And she’s only five.
Several summers ago I volunteered at a local church to do activities and field trips with elementary school-age children. One of our excursions was to the
library that was just a few blocks from the church. The adults lined the children up, counted them and gave them some rules to follow to make our little trip safe
and enjoyable. There were about nine kids. One little girl was way at the back of the line. In fact, she was so far behind that she and the adult who was at the
rear of the group formed their own line. I’ll never forget the expression on the little girl’s face as she repeated over and over, “I’m broke. I’m so broke I don’t know
what to do. I’m tired of being broke. Broke, broke, broke.” One of her little friends took pity on her and gave the complaining child a nickel. The little girl broke
out in a smile as wide as the sidewalk. I was thankful for the reprieve – the break in the poverty consciousness. The space in which she could experience the joy
that was inside of her instead of the sour countenance and low expectations she mimicked too well.
Let’s pretend for a minute that the majority of vibes and words that surrounded the little girl were negative and limiting. Let’s suppose that her mother visited
her father once a week in a county jail where over half the inmates looked like her father while people who had a complexion similar to her father only made up
about five-percent of the population outside the jail walls. What if she learned at school, and saw on the television, and heard on the radio and saw in the
newspapers that her life wasn’t likely to amount to much – and she started to make these negative and destructive images and expectations part of who she
believed herself to be long before she even knew about percentages or could understand what she was seeing on the nightly local and national news and before
she could interpret newspaper headlines. And all these subtle and dastardly impressions were supported by the countenance she had inherited – the one that
proclaimed to the world and to herself that she was broke. Bankrupt at the age of eight. Is she pathological in her outlook or logical from her vantage point?
The point — if there is one — is not to come up with new definitions of “normal” and “pathological.” The point is that “reality” is not absolute. It’s a recipe that’s
made up of one part what the world tells us we are with supporting information and history to back it up and one part who we believe ourselves to be and what
we can shape our lives to resemble. In short – reality is made up of these two ingredients. We can haggle over the proportions, and we do. But reality is
comprised of who we are told we are and who we know ourselves to be when there is no one around. And if reality is made up, why not make up a life that leaves
you happy and fulfilled? I’ll try if you try. In fact, I’ll even keep trying if you don’t. And by the way, it is the responsibility of adults to whisper positive words into
the ears of children whether they appear to be listening or not.
the conditions and processes of a disease. 3) any deviation from a healthy, normal, or efficient condition.
The definition presumes the almost universal existence of an environment in which virtually all people have certain essential things in place. I’ll try to name
some of them. Not from a list. Not from memories from some sociology or psychology 101 class I took at some university or other several decades ago, but from
personal experience and the reservoirs of knowledge that we used call common sense.
The healthy, hopeful, safe environment against which pathology is pitted contains the elements of a reasonable expectation that tomorrow or next week or
next year can look better than today. Not because extended leases on life generate more opportunities to get three cherries on a slot machine, or to line up
three identical symbols on a scratch game, but because predictable efforts yield predictable results: If you work hard, your work will be valued and you will be
compensated with fatter checks in addition to verbal accolades. Nothing wrong with playing the one-armed bandit, but there could be something very wrong if
your advancement and the advancement of your family are totally hinged on chance and arbitrariness.
It may very well be universally true that a presumption of safety is essential to healthy development. If this is true, we’re in very big trouble. I was a police
officer back in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. I remember a summer day a couple of decades ago when I strolled through a neighborhood that, for a variety of
legitimate and illegitimate reasons, was somewhat notorious. I watched kids play with the kind of wild abandon that they seem to give up or try to control in the
process of becoming adults. Kids followed me around because I was somewhat of a novelty. A cop that also seemed like a person with a real smile and a real
laugh that sounded a little like a favorite uncle’s. They were accustomed to cops but their experiences had taught them that cops were generally not their
friends. The specter of police represented a force that you moved away from, not towards. Maybe you can say that’s pathological – to regard potential helpers as
adversaries. Another way to look at it is that if things came out badly the last seven times you had contact with the police, a reasonable assumption would be
that things would come out badly on the eighth encounter as well. And what do I mean by “came out badly?” Maybe a mother was arrested and taken to jail
after an argument with a neighbor and a check of her record showed that she had a warrant for failure to appear in court for a traffic ticket. One consequence
was that you and your little sister had to stay in a foster home for several days while your mother was in jail because your aunt, who lived in the building next to
yours, was not considered a “responsible” adult.
I just hung out with neighborhood kids on that particular day and asked most of the kids I met the same question that many adults bore children with: “What
do you want to be when you grow up?” Maybe I shouldn’t have been but I was shocked when just about every kid I asked the question prefaced their answer with,
“If I grow up ... ” Wait a minute! A child should never be faced with the question of ‘if they grow up.’ Growing up should be a given. Old people talk about dying.
Old people talk about obituaries. Old people have the wisdom to know that their day is coming. Kids are supposed to be blessed with the glorious kind of youthful
ignorance that assures them that they will live forever.
Little Johnny doesn’t smile. Of course he doesn’t smile. You wouldn’t smile either if you’d seen the things he’s seen. Little Samantha seems so distant. I
wonder what’s wrong with her. Maybe Samantha has learned that it hurts too much to get close to people and to let people get too close to her. She’s been hurt
too many times before from being open and she swore to herself to never put herself in that position again. And she’s only five.
Several summers ago I volunteered at a local church to do activities and field trips with elementary school-age children. One of our excursions was to the
library that was just a few blocks from the church. The adults lined the children up, counted them and gave them some rules to follow to make our little trip safe
and enjoyable. There were about nine kids. One little girl was way at the back of the line. In fact, she was so far behind that she and the adult who was at the
rear of the group formed their own line. I’ll never forget the expression on the little girl’s face as she repeated over and over, “I’m broke. I’m so broke I don’t know
what to do. I’m tired of being broke. Broke, broke, broke.” One of her little friends took pity on her and gave the complaining child a nickel. The little girl broke
out in a smile as wide as the sidewalk. I was thankful for the reprieve – the break in the poverty consciousness. The space in which she could experience the joy
that was inside of her instead of the sour countenance and low expectations she mimicked too well.
Let’s pretend for a minute that the majority of vibes and words that surrounded the little girl were negative and limiting. Let’s suppose that her mother visited
her father once a week in a county jail where over half the inmates looked like her father while people who had a complexion similar to her father only made up
about five-percent of the population outside the jail walls. What if she learned at school, and saw on the television, and heard on the radio and saw in the
newspapers that her life wasn’t likely to amount to much – and she started to make these negative and destructive images and expectations part of who she
believed herself to be long before she even knew about percentages or could understand what she was seeing on the nightly local and national news and before
she could interpret newspaper headlines. And all these subtle and dastardly impressions were supported by the countenance she had inherited – the one that
proclaimed to the world and to herself that she was broke. Bankrupt at the age of eight. Is she pathological in her outlook or logical from her vantage point?
The point — if there is one — is not to come up with new definitions of “normal” and “pathological.” The point is that “reality” is not absolute. It’s a recipe that’s
made up of one part what the world tells us we are with supporting information and history to back it up and one part who we believe ourselves to be and what
we can shape our lives to resemble. In short – reality is made up of these two ingredients. We can haggle over the proportions, and we do. But reality is
comprised of who we are told we are and who we know ourselves to be when there is no one around. And if reality is made up, why not make up a life that leaves
you happy and fulfilled? I’ll try if you try. In fact, I’ll even keep trying if you don’t. And by the way, it is the responsibility of adults to whisper positive words into
the ears of children whether they appear to be listening or not.