The Cynic

You know, cynical is a great word. Three syllables and plenty of juicy ?s? sounds.

The official definition has a few meanings. One can be simple pessimism. But I think most people agree with the definition that states ?Expressing jaded or scornful skepticism or negativity.? Yup, I like that one. Here?s another: ?Believing the worst of human nature and movies. Having a sneering disbelief in the selfishness of others.?

Yes ladies and gentlemen, I usually fill this role with ease.

Let me tell you a story:

When I was about ten years old, my mother took me to some sort of downtown fair. It was a craft-oriented expo, with booths on the street and musicians filling the air with music. This, of course, meant that I would be instantly bored out of my skull. In my efforts to find something that didn?t make me want to fall asleep, I began roaming around the different downtown shops. None of them were open, so I ventured further out.

?Hey,? a black kid said nearby in a doorway. I couldn?t see what was in there, but then I heard the telling sound: The crack of billiards. I liked pool, my dad played with amazing skill at it, and my eyes lit up at the chance to play it. At least it was better than crafts and wreaths made out of twigs.

I walked toward the kid and we chatted a bit. I?m sure I worked in my obsession with baseball cards and at some point I showed him my new Batman wallet. This was around 1990, when the movie had hit and Batman was everywhere. As a 10 year old kid there was no possible way I couldn?t be swept up in the excitement of the first real superhero movie in years. Did I mention I loved comics as well?

Soon I was in the billiard hall, the darkness enveloping me. In its smokey interiors, my pudgy self was not only a sore thumb, but somewhat of an intruder. I got no friendly looks from anyone there?not even the kid who struck up the conversation in the first place.

?We?ll be out back grandpa,? the kid said. And out the back door we went.

When we got outside, the kid said ?Hey can I see your wallet again??

I took it out and showed him the velcro strip and how it had all of these cool pockets and?Whack! He hit me hard in the stomach, grabbed the wallet, and took off.

FYI: Pudgy kids cannot run very fast for very long. Soon, standing alone in the empty and vast concrete jungle behind the downtown strip, I began to cry. I had never been robbed or even hit before. I?d never been in a ?real? fight, I didn?t know what to do or how to act.

After a few fruitless looks around, as if craning my head would suddenly pop up the kid from the surroundings like a Magic Eye image, I went back to my mother. She finally noticed I was upset. The tears glistened my cheeks and I was ashamed as I told her the sad tale.

My mother was, naturally, pissed that I lost my new wallet and the few dollars that had been inside it. The same dollars I foolishly showed off to the kid. She lectured me on staying safe, keeping to yourself and remaining in a public place instead of going into strange places with strangers.

This all sounds like it?s boling down to a lesson, doesn?t it? Of course it is. Cynicism is bred into people who get betrayed. Or perhaps the birth of cynicism is a direct result from the death of innocence.

Children are brought up in the world sheltered, their innocence shaved away incident by incident. If those incidents are minor but significant (you didn?t make the football team), you understand that not everything is handed to you. If those incidents are more profound or hurtful (your ?best friend? is only your friend when you two are alone), you begin a nature of distrust.

Life and death are powerful thematic devices. But they?re also catalysts. In the big scheme of things, the idea of trading one emotion (innocence) for another (cynicism) seems natural. Brought upon by nature. Your eye begins to look at things differently, and you begin to set boundaries of trust that once weren?t there.

My cynicism runs deep, but I am not opposed to optimism. And my kids show me the true beauty of innocence every day.

I only hope they can keep it longer than I did, standing in that empty parking lot, making a fruitless, immature wish for a caring hand to save me from that terrible circumstance.

See you Monday.

We?re free to fly the crimson sky
The sun won?t melt our wings tonight