Things really were better back then

TComment here was a book, published maybe 10 years ago in Germany I think, the premise of which was that things were better then, though for the life of me I can’t remember when the “then” was. I knew about it only because for five minutes, a books editor in Canada thought it might be fun to do a Canadian version, and for 30 seconds or so, I was one of those being considered as a co-author.

The editor said the trick would have been not to sound old and crabby, and since only someone old and crabby could have written it, it was correctly deemed impossible and died an early death.

But I think of it often, because in many ways, things really were better then, even if then was last week.

For instance, if I were writing this in modernspeak, I would not have written, “in Germany I think.” I would have written, “I feel like it was in Germany.” That’s how people talk now. To my observation, no one under the age of 30 would ever say, “I think the milk is off.” He/she/ zhe would say, instead, “I feel like the milk is off.”

Of course, he/she/zhe probably doesn’t drink milk, being lactose-intolerant.

That’s another thing: Back then, whenever it was, there were perhaps three (3) people on the planet who were genuinely lactoseintolerant. They knew it because after spending an inordinate amount of time on the toilet, they went to the doctor, and the doctor ran the appropriate tests and made a diagnosis.

Now, everyone and their dog is lactose-intolerant. They have diagnosed themselves (and their dogs), having stopped drinking milk and eating cheese for, oh, a week, and then pronouncing themselves cured.

Well, their bodies are their bodies, of course, and who am I to judge?

Well, I judge. I do. For instance, I am intolerant of those who are lactose-intolerant.

Being judge-y, as it’s called now, used to be a perfectly normal way to go through the world: People made their judgments large and small every minute of every day and usually kept them to themselves or at least only whispered them: I hate that dress; her nose is wrong on her face; his voice makes me cringe.

Now, people are told, it is wrong to judge; it implies superiority in the judge and inferiority in the judged and we are all exactly equal, except when our “lived experience” renders us special and untouchable. What is lived experience, anyway? Isn’t all experience lived? Isn’t whatever knowledge comes from that what used to be referred to, somewhat derisively, as anecdotal?

And back to he/she/zhe. The latter is one of the new genderless pronouns that have caught on at universities and in government bureaucracies, which means it’s just a matter of time before they are foisted upon the rest of us for our own good.

The notion here is that there are people who don’t identify as male or female, but rather at some other place on what’s now called the gender spectrum.

Now I have a dog who is apparently a genuine hermaphrodite: A veterinarian, curious about his large nipples and tiny (but perfect) wang, once asked if he could test his hormones. He did, and my bull terrier has equally high levels of estrogen and testosterone. The vet said hermaphrodites are not uncommon in the animal world, so who am I to deny the same, or some variation of the same same, can’t also happen in the human one?

And I don’t care anyway, except for the awkwardness it may cause me as a writer to assign a plural pronoun such as “they” to a single person.

That in turn has led to a demand for genderless clothing, particularly for children who may not want to dress entirely in pink (girls) or play exclusively with trucks and hammers (boys).

This surely is a good development, even if I suspect it will be mostly futile.

For years, progressive parents have tried not to force their girls into overtly girlie clothes (the wretched sparkly “I want to be a Princess” sort of stuff) and their boys into the dreadful colours (tan, green, brown etc) that once were all that was available.

And yet, damned if most of the little girls don’t prefer princesses and spangles and pink, and most of the boys, if they notice, don’t care what they wear, so long as they could muck about in the muck.

So it was hard to get worked up about boutique manufacturers starting to make genderless kids’ clothes — Pink for everyone! Trucks for all! — a few years ago, and harder still now that big department stores (John Lewis in England) have caught onto the trend. The store is now selling its own line of kids’ clothes with a “Boys & Girls” tag. Apparently, it’s caused a bit of a stir.

But the push for a genderfree world can lead to extremes. Consider the baby drag queen who sprang to prominence recently after he appeared at a Montreal drag show.

He’s a boy of eight who identifies as a boy, but has been into drag since he was all of seven, with the keen support of his parents. His mom does his makeup.

I love drag queens, frankly, and wish the kid the best.

But, as we say now, I feel like his parents may be pushing him too much, just as some parents push their kids too hard into hockey or tennis or ballet: A kid pushed into non-conformity is likely no happier than one pushed into anything else.