Two Kinds of People

We've all heard various theories about the "two kinds of people in the world," such as:

• "People who are Irish (or Italian, or Jewish, or whatever the speaker is) and people who wish they were."  
• "Those who do the work and those who take the credit."  
• Mac users and PC users
• "People who have loaded guns, and people who dig."
• Etc.

Recently I have decided that it is true - there are 2 kinds of people in the world.  There are GAS (Give A Shit) people, and there are DETAGAS (Don't Even Think About Giving A Shit) people.

GAS people consider themselves to be part of a greater community of humans and other Earth inhabitants.  Therefore, things that affect humanity and the Earth also affect them and are partly their responsibility.  While this can at times seem burdensome, depressing and tiring, it's just part of existing on a planet with billions of other creatures.  Sometimes, to GAS people, the world seems like this:

This is due to the overwhelming presence of DETAGAS people.

DETAGAS people consider themselves to be singular entities surrounded by needy, annoying, resource-draining irritants that want to raise their taxes and ruin their lives.  When faced with potentially troubling information about things outside of what they see as their personal sphere of importance, not only do they not care, but they take great offense at the implication that they should be expected to care.  This is also known as the HDY (How Dare You!) effect.

When GAS people hear about something like global warming, they are concerned.  They wonder what they, as individuals, can do about the situation.  They take responsibility, do research, change their habits, talk to people about what they've learned, and trust that others are doing the same so that the planet won't explode.

When DETAGAS people hear about global warming, they turn to the age-old tactics of minimizing ("Climate change happens; it's no biggie"), denying ("That's just those bleeding-heart liberals controlling the media"), and blaming ("Al Gore did this") to protect themselves from irritating eventualities like negative emotions, questioning themselves, and personal change.  DETAGAS people see pictures like this:

and think, "Good.  I hate polar bears.  I heard something once about a polar bear eating someone's grandma.  Good riddance to those vicious fuckers."

When GAS people hear about violence between humans (e.g., war; domestic/child abuse), they are sad.  They offer support to their friends and family members who are dealing with crappy relationships.  They volunteer at or donate to service organizations that work to combat violence.  They talk to others about what's going on and wonder what else they can do to help people who are being hurt and to support the creation of a nonviolent world.

DETAGAS folks, on the other hand, again turn to those trusty tactics of minimizing ("Humans are warlike; there will always be war; get over it"), denying ("I don't see any abused kids"), and blaming ("People are in violent relationships because they like it").  They see pictures of women who have been abused and say to themselves, "I wonder what she did to make him do that."  They see things like this:

and think, "Sure I can.  I don't know those people.  They must live in other countries."

In the world of the DETAGAS people, the following inconveniences do not exist:  sexism ("Women are in charge of everything these days"), racism ("We have a black President, don't we?"), homophobia ("All you see on TV is gays"), injustice ("We've got the best legal system in the world"), and poverty ("Anyone can work who really wants to").  The American Dream is alive and well, and anyone who thinks differently should either (a) leave the country, or (b) shut up/die.

Huh.  Writing that made me realize how simple life could be as a DETAGAS person.  The biggest annoyance would be filtering out all of the information flooding in from those pesky GAS folks, but that could be done easily enough through the use of selective listening, blind rage, and the utilization of below-the-belt mockery of people whose opinions differ from my own (e.g., "Tree-hugging Commie faggot!").  And in all honesty, giving a shit has been really exhausting as of late.  Maybe it's time to switch sides.

My new personal motto

Just kidding.

They Say the Darnedest Things

The other day while I was sitting in my office, I overheard the following from a nearby classroom:

Teacher:  What makes a person a monster?

Students:  [silence]

Teacher:  Come on, you guys, think about it.  What makes a person a monster?

Student:  Horns?

Teacher:  Okay, good.  Write that down.

As I sat at my desk laughing quietly to myself, I started thinking about all the funny things I've heard young people say over the past 10+ years of working with them.  Granted I've heard plenty of sad, tragic, angry and hurtful things out of their mouths as well, but I prefer to remember the gems of hilarity.  Here are but a few.

I was working at a residential program for homeless teenagers, and one of my many tasks was to lead a weekly anger management group.  During one of those sessions, an older resident who had a long history of violent offenses (many of which had led to incarceration or stays in mental health facilities) made an unusually self-reflective and insightful comment.  I praised her lavishly for how far she'd come in her ability to be honest and accountable, and she stood up, bowed, and gave the following brief speech in full-on Academy Award acceptance style:

"Thank you, thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen.  I would like to thank all of the little people who I had to hurt to get to where I am today."

Speaking of working at that residential program (and this is not related to funny things young people have said, but it still cracks me up), here are my top 3 favorite staff meeting agenda items (names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent):

3.  Why does John smell so bad?

2.  Why does Ryan take such long showers?

1.  Are the boys getting hugged enough?

Honestly - those were agenda items at our staff meetings, all of which sparked in-depth discussions.  [In case you're wondering, the conclusions we reached were:  1.  Because he's using heroin; 2. Because he's masturbating in there; 3. Sure.]

Making that list reminded me of another funny memory from that program.  I was leading a morning house meeting and asked the residents if they were having any issues that they wanted to discuss.  One of the residents, in all seriousness, responded, "Yes.  Yes, I do have an issue.  It's with Ryan.  He will NOT move his neck."

That was true; Ryan didn't move his neck.  He moved a lot like a robot.  However, having someone formally request to have that topic added to a meeting agenda was really freaking hilarious.  Thankfully, Ryan was not present at that particular meeting.

Poor Robotic Ryan

When I was 30, I got a tattoo of a skull on my upper arm.  It's very realistic-looking, almost like a photograph.  When my friend's 4 year-old daughter saw it, she gaped wide-eyed and said, "Ayyyy, Kellycita!  Los esqueletos son feísimos!"  ["Oh, no, little Al Etreum!  Skeletons are really ugly!"]

I still can't believe I got schooled by a 4 year-old.

Your tattoo sucks!

[Side note:  When I showed the tattoo to the 4 year-old's mother (who hates tattoos), her response was, "Ay, Mija!  If I was your mommy, I would take you to a psychiatrist."  Hmph.  Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess.]

At the aforementioned residential program, all of our teens were evaluated daily based on a point system, and they would earn certain privileges based on how many points they accumulated each day.  [Weird?  Yes!  Welcome to group home life.]  One area where residents could potentially earn points was around using appropriate language.

One of our residents didn't have a particularly foul mouth, but she thought it was hilarious that the program was trying to micromanage her verbal communication.  Therefore, she would make a point of intermittently injecting cuss words into her conversations throughout the day, ensuring that staff members were present whenever she did so.  At the end of each day, she would approach whoever was on staff and ask, "Hey, did I get my fucking language points today?" 

I don't know what the deal is with this tree, but it is awfully cute.

One day I took a group of teenagers to a beautiful beach on the central coast of California.  They had just gone through a very dramatic ordeal, and I was hoping to offer them an environment where they could relax and calm down a bit.

When we got to the beach, most of the teens started wading in the water and climbing around on the surrounding cliffs.  One of them sat with me on a piece of driftwood so we could talk about the troubling recent events.  After a few minutes, a younger member of the group, who was about 14 and had some serious hyperactivity and focus issues, walked over to us and said, "Why are we here?  What are we supposed to be doing?"  The young woman who was sitting with me told her, "We're searching for peace of mind."

The 14 year-old scrunched up her forehead and wandered off.  While the older girl and I sat and talked, we watched the younger girl determinedly walk around the beach, look in tide pools, and wander up and down the cliffs.  After about five minutes, the 14 year-old walked back to us with a confused and distressed look on her face.  In all seriousness, she asked the older girl, "Where do you find a piece of mind?"

Okay, one more...

Awhile back I was a trainer for CASA volunteers, who are adult mentors for children and teens in foster care.   One night I was setting up for a training, which involved putting out a bunch of tables and chairs and arranging training materials on the tables.  Since some of my materials were toys, clay, and brightly-colored paper, two young children, who were hanging out in the building waiting for their dad to get off work, were quickly drawn to the training space.

One of the kids asked if he could sit and play with the clay, and I said yes.  While he began playing, he peered around the room.  He asked, "What are you doing?"  I told him I was getting ready to teach a class.  He said, "What grade do you teach?"  I explained that I trained adults.  

The young boy turned back to his clay.  After a few moments he looked back at me, his face awash in confusion, and said, "You train dolts?"

:)