An Essay A Day For A Year
By Roe
Day 52, February 21, 2012
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I had a dream when I was a little boy. I dreamed that everyone in the world could be nice. I know it’s a silly dream, and only a small boy would dream such a thing. I remember watching on the family black and white TV every day the black people trying to be recognized and treated equally. I just wanted everyone to be nice to all the black people. I watched all the people that were called Hippies wanting nice things for everyone, even trees and animals. I really wanted everyone to be nice to trees and animals, and to Hippies. In my neighborhood in Long Beach California there were a lot of Hippies. The Hippies liked me and they were nice to me. I think that was because I liked them and was nice to them. It seems strange to me now that I would feel silly that I dreamed of a world where everyone was nice to everyone. Now, as an adult, I dream of a world where everyone is nice to everyone.
My favorite dream as a child was that my parents would be nice to me. My parents grew up in Germany during WW2, and they left Germany to become Americans. My parents were the strictest parents on my whole block, and even if they thought they were nice to me, they were not nice to me compared to American parents. And American parents were not nice. I remember the few times in my childhood when my parents were nice to me, and I cherish those memories very much. I noticed that the kids on my block that had really mean parents were mean themselves, and I struggled to remain nice even though my parents were seldom nice. My father tried hard to be nice, but he was very short tempered, and he would get overwhelmed and lose his temper a lot, and that scared me. He expected a lot of me, and it wasn’t hard to disappoint him, so I learned that the expression “living on egg shells” was about me. My mother seemed nice, but I learned that nice mothers that don’t touch you much or care whether you are happy or not are not very nice. She knew I was afraid of my father, yet when my father would come home from work she would report to him everything that I did that day that deserved punishment. I did not think that was nice. I dreamed that my parents would be nice to me, and that all parents would be nice to their children, so their children could be nice to everyone too. I feel silly about being so simple about my dream of nice parents, but I still dream that parents could be nice to their children.
When I was growing up I saw on TV how it took many people to link arms around the giant redwoods on the coast of California that were slated to be cut down. I cried because I was so happy for the 500 year old tree, and I was so happy that the people that they called the “tree huggers” were being nice to the tree, and too each other. I cried again when the Tree Huggers were dragged off the tree and beaten, and arrested. I watched the mean faces of the policemen, and I cried because they were so mean. I was so afraid for all the trees, and for the Tree Huggers, and I was afraid for me. Today as an adult I hear people using Hippie and Tree Hugger as insults and words to ridicule, and I feel sad for all of us. I don’t feel that being a Hippie or a Tree Hugger, or a child that wants everything to be nice is an insult or reason for ridicule.
I grew up to be afraid of the “pigs”, and the mean police seemed to deserve being compared to big, dirty, ugly pigs. When I was a little boy I thought that big, ugly, dirty pigs were beautiful, just like all animals. I dreamed that all people could be nice to the animals that were pigs, and also to the men policemen that they were calling pigs. I thought that maybe if everyone could be nicer to the policemen who are trying so hard to do their hard job, then they wouldn’t be called pigs and treated so bad too. I dreamed that someone could make a beginning of being nice, and then from there we could all follow. I was ready to follow anytime I could be nice. I really liked Martin Luther King, and he had a dream a lot like mine. I liked Ghandi, and he had a dream a lot like mine too. When they killed these two men with dreams, I was scared that they were going to kill me too. It is so hard to be nice, and to dream that everyone can be nice.
My mother was really beautiful, maybe the most beautiful woman everyone had ever seen, or at least that is what they told her. I didn’t like how so many men looked at my mom, it didn’t feel like they were being nice. She didn’t seem to mind, and neither did my father, it seemed that they both liked the crooked way that everyone looked at her and talked to her. I made up the word crooked since it didn’t seem nice. My grown second cousin was a Hippie and she and her husband used to have drug parties where everyone would go into her room for orgies with her. I didn’t feel that she was nice at all, and none of the other men or women were nice at all. I was told that sex was nice, and everyone did it, and I would too when I grew up. I never felt anyone being nice about sex, and even though my parents didn’t go into those orgy parties, my parents were crooked just like the Hippie people with the drugs and orgies. I was afraid to grow up and do crooked sex. I just dreamed that my father could be nice to my mother, and that my cousin could be nice to her husband. I dreamed that my mother could be nice to my father, and that my cousin’s husband could be nice to her. I still feel silly questioning the niceness of people having sex, and I still feel the same about crooked sex. I dreamed that all people could be nice to each other in sex, and I still do.
I feel silly expressing how I felt as a little boy, and I feel silly admitting that I still feel the same way. It is nice to feel silly, and it is nice to have silly dreams. I won’t tell anyone if you too remember hoping that everyone would be nice to you, and remembering feeling silly and having silly dreams that everything is going to be nice. My heart never gives up, and that is nice. Your heart never gives up, and that is nice too. Thank you for reading this. That is so nice. I hope you have a really nice day, and that everyone is nice to you. You are so nice.
See you tomorrow.
yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com
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