When I was a child, I was a good little girl. Good meant eating all my supper, not picking my nose, saying my nighttime prayers, and being quiet in church. Although memory can be faulty at my age, the only time I recall being spanked was when I didn't clean my plate. There were those starving children in Africa, remember? I was given a few warnings, but when I could no longer masticate that horrid piece of meat, I was flung over my father's lap and spanked. Hard. Then sent to my room. I have another memory of not being good, but I certainly did not realize I was being bad. I'd just learned how to fold a piece of paper in half and use my scissors to cut a half circle. Open the paper up, and voila! A perfect circle! The fact that I used this newly-discovered talent on my nightgown was not so well-received by my mother. I was so proud of my "holy" nightgown, but my mother's reaction was anything but proud. I don't think I was spanked for this, but the fact that I've remembered it for over six decades says something, doesn't it? I'd been bad.
As a teenager, the rules of being good changed a bit. Sure, I no longer picked my nose, and I probably ate my dinner, but there were new expectations. I was charged with resisting peer pressure to smoke cigarettes, not an easy thing to do, but I resisted. (Except for pajama parties.) I was still expected to get all A's, although I don't recall being rewarded in any way for my effort. In my later teens, being good meant not engaging in sexual activity and obeying my curfew. I may have tweaked this a bit, but I finished high school still technically a virgin, and I always kept my curfew. Despite my being good, my father did not speak to me for most of my high school years. Go figure.
College offered some freedom from those expectations of being a good girl. Still, I rarely skipped class. Other "good" rules were not hitchhiking, not smoking pot, not getting drunk. Okay, so I wasn't so good. But I usually made Dean's List. I got my degree and a teaching job. Good, right?
As an adult, the rules of being good were fairly simple. Keep a job, pay your bills, go to church, clean your house, and be sure to vote. Check.
As I look back on all this goodness that I acquiesced to, I can see quite clearly that I simply lived up to others' expectations of goodness. I played by the rules. (Mostly.) I cannot say that I regret my conforming to societal norms, but I also know I missed out on some things, like going to the Woodstock festival or participating in civil rights and anti-war demonstrations while still under my parents' rule. I regret this.
Where'd all the good people go? asked Jack Johnson on his 2005 hit, "Good People." And now, thirteen years later, we are still struggling to find our way back to goodness. In this divisive political climate, we are watching evil creep into our democracy, our tolerance, our compassion. There is little to feel good about when watching the news, except for those kids from Florida who are making a difference. Good for them! And us!
Good should not be so difficult. Be kind, not mean. Practice tolerance and acceptance. Walk in someone else's shoes. Be courteous and compassionate. Exercise good manners. Offer compliments to others. Tip generously. Practice random acts of kindness. Smile.
And pick your nose if you want to. It's not hurting anyone.
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