Exhibit F

What's wrong with me, I keep thinking. They keep telling me I should be angry, affronted, incensed by these things, but I'm not. I don't feel attacked--even though I'm told I should be-- by your rhetoric or your accusations just as stereotypical as the stereotypes of which you accuse me of ascribing to you. You complain that no one can understand what you've experienced, everyone is ignorant to your plight, and this is how you justify your anger--how you justify feeling angry at me for not feeling angry. I bear it all with a strong back, not mentioning that no, actually, you're not the only one. Actually, I've been there too and SURPRISE!!! I'm still there. Despite having walked sixteen-hundred miles in your shoes, I still can't understand your anger. I can't look into the past and hate for the things that happened, I can't even look at present occurrences and feel such rage. Am really so impervious and apathetic? I'm just beginning to think I'm defective and then WHAM!!!!!! one word fills me with hot, flowing, volcanic rage: function.

Function?!!? Wtfunction!??! "Function"?? Excuse me? I don't see the "function" in that. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me? After all, condescending is what you do best, and since I'm so ignorant... Oh good, you will? Present your case, I'm listening. But know that your prior history is against you. 

The Defense presents exhibit A: "Social Connectedness"

Proscecution: Connectedness? What makes anyone think they need this to connect? Believe me, I've been doing it for years. It takes class and gasp! maturity to do it, but it works. I foster "connectedness" by actually caring about people and lives. It's not where you are, but what you do where you are. 

Defense: ..

I don't even let him finish his ellipsis. 

Maybe I should draw you a picture; I'll try not to make it too complicated, I know you're not an art critic. 

Ya know all those little threads that connect us to others and hold us together, the ones whose fibers you assert are made of this thing? It didn't fashion my fibers, it cut them. These fibers supported my cradle, but it cut them and sent it crashing. These fibers made the foundation of my home, but it came at it like a jackhammer. It cut the legs off my dinner table, it even took the silverware. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were discussing connections, no? Tell me sir, what connections mean most to you in your life? ... Yes, indeed, I agree. What if I told you it robbed me and and every other person I know of those same relationships, of those socialities? What if I told you that I'm too scared to form those relationships for my future because of it? It  is the elephant in the room, the bridge-breaker, the dearly beloved disgruntler that keeps me from getting too connected in those connections you yourself consider most important. I say "no" to it because if I don't I know I can't say "yes." ... Oh, I can connect, just not where it counts. I have to wait for eternity if I ever expect it to. 

Exhibit B: Reciprocity

Prosecution: Ever heard of a pot-luck? Same concept, fewer consequences. I've even got a great recipe for you:

3 cups 20 questions

1 cup sugary-sweet small talk

3 tablespoons mutual interests and 

a pinch of respect (a little goes a long way)

Let simmer until pleasant to the taste. Add a shared personal experience for increased flavor, if desired. Enjoy!

It really is a rather delicious dish, it can even be nutritious. In my experience, it has given me food poisoning, the kind that leaves you hanging over the toilet for hours. It has never done anything but take things away from me. Reciprocity? Psh. 

Exhibit C: Acting like an adult

Prosecution: I know all about acting like an adult, I've been doing it since I was three. I had to act like I was thirty, it  took my childhood, after all. It made me have to act like an adult because the real adults in my life couldn't. So the next time you feel like you want to act like an adult, remember that it  will only infantilize you. Have you ever lamented your child growing up too fast? Maybe if you would stop acting like a child, you wouldn't turn around and find an adult you don't know. 

Exhibit D: It's fun!

Closing Remarks: Yes, I'm closing now, because I can tell your arguments are getting weaker. When I say, "I don't want to see my friends at their worst," I really mean this: 

I care about you as a human being, as a friend, a colleague, a fellow scholar, a member of a community. I respect you. A wise man once said if you dwell on a person's weak points you will be able to see nothing else, but if you focus on his strengths, those strengths will grow brighter and brighter until there is no weakness. I want you to be so bright in my eyes, that the sun gets swallowed in your light. 

I mean this too: 

I don't want to see others make  weapons into a recreation. I don't want people to play with guns. Atom bombs are not toys, you don't share them with friends in the spirit of reciprocity, you don't connect with people over them, and they aren't going to make you a man. There is nothing fun about shadows so heavy they make me stoop. There is nothing fun about my pain. What I really mean when I say, I don't want to watch my friends act like dumb circus animals is that I rather not watch someone mock my pain. 

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[I'd like to skip exhibit E and go on to exhibit F: Function.]