One of the things I think about every day is how fortunate I am.
I was born into a large and loving family during the last generation in which parents could reasonably expect their children to enjoy better lives than they did ... my parents lived through the Great Depression and World War II, which helped to set their level of expectation for the world they'd leave to me and my siblings.
I'm Caucasian by race, and claim no added hyphenations of ancestry or descent. I'm male. I grew up in a solidly middle-class family, lived in a nice suburban neighborhood, went to a parochial grade school and a good public high school, earned a bachelors degree in Linguistics thanks to my parents and the US Air Force*, served a 23-year military career which included travel and actual adventure, transitioned to a good-paying job with a military contractor after retirement, and finally retired for good in 2015**. I married twice, have three fine, successful children, and six wonderful grandchildren. Despite the ups and downs and shenanigans of the economy, we saved enough money to, along with my military retirement and Social Security, own*** a nice home and live pleasant lives in a safe and peaceful neighborhood.
Yes, I've been very lucky. Of course, I worked hard along the way, but I will never underestimate the fundamental advantages I've had through my life: good parents, a stable home, the "right" race, a good education, and lucky breaks at the right times.
In today's parlance, I've enjoyed a healthy degree of privilege. I grew up in the United States of America at the zenith of its power and influence. I have not had to overcome any burdens imposed by socioeconomic class, race, or religion. At many points in my life, I've excelled not necessarily because I was the best or smartest guy available, but because I happened to be in the right place at the right time when opportunity knocked.
I acknowledge the boost that unasked-for, but available privilege and her cousin, luck, gave me throughout my life and career. Without them, I may not have achieved what I have or enjoyed the comfortable life that I do.
This willingness to acknowledge my advantages vis-a-vis others leads me humbly to embrace the adjective
woke. Woke isn't some awful impulse to deny the greatness of my country or disparage its history ... it's an acknowledgement that our history has both good and bad elements, and that the "blessings of liberty" called out in the preamble to the
Constitution have not always been equally distributed and enjoyed. As one of the characters in Margaret Atwood's brilliant novel
The Handmaid's Tale commented, “
Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse for some.”
Woke, though, has been appropriated by the conservative right as a derisive term implying a disgust on the part of the hated "libs" for all things American. If you are
woke, the right claims, you hate your country and are willing to do anything to demean it ... everything bad that happens (hurricanes, bank failures, election losses, acne, etc) happens because of an excess of
woke. Like its cousin
antifa, it provides a handy bumper-sticker boogeyman for those whose actual knowledge of American history and politics is minimal, and whose level of empathy and human kindness barely move the needle on the measuring gauge.
I would never claim to be a paragon of righteousness. There are people of all races, colors, creeds, and political leanings that I don't like****. But I think I'm righteous enough to understand that I am ... or, at least, that I try to be ... woke in the real sense of the word.
I hope that you can be, too.
Have a good day. More thoughts coming.
Bilbo
* I may have been one of the last officer candidates who could get a two-year ROTC scholarship without a major in engineering or hard sciences.
** I think ... it's gotten hard to keep track!
*** As long as we keep up the payments.
**** Led by Der Furor, whom I utterly despise.
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