Book To My Kids: Chapter One.
Hey there, kids. This seems pretty crazy, huh? Believe it or not, your dad used to be in high school. I'd like to start by saying that I hope you exist. And the world for that matter as well. And if you exist I sure hope if you are a girl your name is Audrey, and if you are a guy your name is Nathan, and if it isn't then it's because your mother didn't agree. Speaking of your mother, if you want to know the story of how I met her I can't tell you because I haven't yet. Although it might be in a later chapter that I haven't written yet. Oh, by the way, if you are at a rough point in your life right now and are thinking, "I wish I had never been born!" you might be realizing that that wish still has possibility at the point I'm writing this, but I really have no intention of making it come true. Sorry. But since I have five siblings and I am also hoping that there are six of you, I suppose I did in fact grant that wish to your seventh sibling. He/she is in oblivion and had wished he/she was never born. And he/she wasn't. In fact, all the people that were never born that wished that they had never been born got their wish. That makes for a lot of happy unborn people I should say!
You'll notice that off of that train of thought that there are some people who think that life is not worth living. I am not one of them, obviously, or else I would not have been so malicious as to have brought more people into an existence I thought was not worth it.
But I don't want too get to deep. You're just kids. Let's go over some basics before you continue reading. First, if I come into the room pretend you aren't reading this, that might be awkward. I'm obviously my future self and I might not agree with everything in here. Or, it is possible that I wrote something weird. And don't correct my grammar, please. Grammar is for the pedantic. Learn lots of vocabulary and how to spell correctly, but as far as colons and commas and dashes go -- I really don't care. Lastly, don't let your mother know about this: she might get mad I didn't write a book for her. So, shhhh.
Alright, I'll come out with it. I'm probably not going to show you this. You might then ask why I'm still writing something you're never going to see; but then I might ask how you are asking that question if you aren't reading this, which I just stated you were not supposed to be.
I am writing this in the study of your grandfather and grandmother's house on my side of the family. You can know this is true for two reasons. First, I would never let them sell the house that saw so many seasons of my life. Secondly, I certainly can't be writing it in your mother's parents' house since I don't know her yet, and it would really odd even if I did know her to be blogging in her house.
It is possible that I became an overseas missionary and we don't even live where I grew up. But it's ok, America isn't all that great, if I even told you about there yet. It's not really worth mentioning. Everyone in the whole country is just mad and upset. One half of the country is mad for all the wrong reasons. The other half of the country is only mad because they saw the first half of the country was mad and figured they might as well be mad too. It's like a kindergarten room where all the kids are chasing each other and everyone is screaming and no one is listening. While there are millions of reasons why people are mad, at any given moment most Americans are upset that they aren't the president.
Every morning in America they drop a bundle of paper on your porch that tells you all the bad things that happened the day before. That's what they called a 'newspaper', and the only thing happy in them is a section called 'the comics.' But since the comics are usually a ways into the paper, people are so depressed by what they have already read that by the time they get there they can't even muster a smile at them. But it's still better than getting the news from TV, because the news doesn't even have any comics. The newscasters do smile though, but that's only because they're paid to smile. That's how they hire newscasters: they bring in possible candidates and have them read the news, and if the candidates can read all the horrible, depressing news and then smile when saying goodbye to the camera then they are hired.
If any place needed the Good News, it's America. The whole place is just filled with bad news item after bad news item. You might then wonder why we left America to share the Good News rather than stay there to tell it. Well, it's always one of two things keeping that kept America from believing: It was either America was too mad to listen, or too sad to believe it was true.
Like I said, one half of the country is only mad because the other half is mad. You can totally be silent yourself and everyone else would make you mad. From music to books, from the newspaper to the television, from chatter with friends to life in the workplace, there was a uniformity in the message: you are supposed to be mad. Every American is walking around, a prime target for snipers to shoot with their reason to be mad. If one thing characterized America when I lived there it was conflict, controversy, and irresolution.
There is a critic for everything. No matter what life you lived, you could rest assured that someone out there hated you. In such a wretched country, where everyone has "the answer" but all the answers are different, what was it like? Joyless, hopeless, heartless -- over time the American dream has turned into one big nightmare.
I'm in high school right now, as I've said, and I'm really not participating in the yelling. But then again, I am a yell really. We all are. Last October the country's population hit 300 million, which means it's that much more clamorous, and that much harder to make a left hand turn without a traffic light. And it's true: everyone contributes somehow to the general message another person is receiving during the day, either in the way someone looks or the things someone says. At night, the sum of the day, we realize, is what we saw and what we heard: and you are a variable in the day of every person with whom you interacted. That's why we are a yell. Switchfoot, my favorite band, realized their own contribution to the noise in people's life and wrote in one their songs, "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song." In such a large world it can get rather noisy. That's why postmodernism came about: it is now so noisy, that no one even knows what to think or who to listen to. Everyone is yelling, and that is why I think that perhaps a whisper of love into the heart is the strongest voice.
That's one of the reasons why you should never complain. A complaint, when it enters another person's head, is like a little virus that can multiply into a million other complaints in their own mind. You may just think that one itsy-bitsy complaint only makes a person realize that specific complaint, but it actually does more than that: it rewires their thinking when they're doing something entirely different, and they can then begin to invent their own complaints. It's a nasty little thing really, a complaint, that can infect entire populations, as is the case in America.
My mother thinks that when we arrive in heaven we will see how our sins affected other people. But truly, it's what we are: we are an effect on the world. There's a common inspirational motif, "I want to change the world." It seems no one realizes they already are changing the world. It's undeniable: everyone changes the world. The world is, in fact, unimaginable without you. It's funny to think about ... what I'm writing, right now, somehow, as long as it enters someone's brain, is a mark on the world.
A sentence can change someone's life. I remember a few sentences that certain people have said to me, and they continue to shape my understanding of things. Some things I remember send searing pangs of frustration across my head. Other things bring comfort and reassurance. However, make no doubt, 99.9% of the dialogue from my life is lost in the dark caverns of my mind's subconscious memory. But in all of the words that have been quickly passed in the air around me, a few have stuck that I don't believe I shall ever disregard or discard. Therefore, never make light of the things you say, for words hold the power of life and death.
Alright, alright, I'm getting a bit too deep. Besides you guys are only what, eleven, twelve years old? There's so much to say to you, especially knowing that you are me right now, only then. I believe that the previous sentence is inevitably what results when you write to the future. I'll write again soon.
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