It’s 1975 and I’m an 11-year-old thumbing through a stack of record albums at a Ralphs grocery store. Eight years from now I would be stocking these same shelves as a young adult.
But today I’m just a kid. My mom took us to Ralphs to do our food shopping, but my little brother was being his usual Pain-In-The-Ass self, so my mom made him stay close to her but let me go through the store by myself.
I enjoy this. I like the peace and quiet. I walk through the various aisles looking for nothing in particular, but at the end of the salad dressing aisle, in an end cap, is a selection of record albums.
8-Track tapes are becoming popular, but most people still listen to music on vinyl.
As I thumb through the albums, I see one familiar. It’s Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy. My Uncle Henry has this one. I recognize the naked ladies climbing up stone steps. It’s always funny to me since I can see their butts hanging out.
And then, an album that makes me freeze. It scares me. It’s an album of Russian folk songs. The cover features a couple of gray-bearded men in gray heavy coats and those tall, furry Russian hats. In the background are those bulbous-looking pointy palaces the Russians love so much. These are some evil men.
And this is a bad album.
My first instinct is to hold the album tightly, squeezing it until it breaks. After all, Russians are evil. Their music probably incites wickedness and violence. But what’s worse? Destroying an evil album or destroying some property that I didn’t buy?
But, according to my mom, Russians are bad. Thus, breaking this evil album of Russian folk songs would be just fine. Justified in fact. Those evil Russians. Someone must stop them.
My grandpa didn’t like Russians either. His was for a different reason. As a young man he escaped Poland as the Russians tore through on their way to Germany. He would only talk about it when he was drunk. Some in English and some, unintelligible, in Polish.
But I put the album back on the shelf and go back through the aisles to find my mom. I don’t tell her of my dilemma. Or what I’d thought of doing. Somehow, I thought my mom would approve. She hated Russians too.
A lot of people hated Russians back then. But maybe it wasn’t “Russians” so much as it was communism.
I heard that word, “communism” all the time. Walter Cronkite would mention the North Vietnamese communist troops. Communism was sweeping the world. In fact, China was always referred to as “Red China.”
When I asked my mom about communism, she gave her perspective.
“Russians are communists,” she said, “and communists are bad people. They forbid you to own any property and you can’t go to church.”
“In fact,” she said, “If you are a Christian, they will throw you in jail and torture you.”
This sounded simply awful to me. And since I was a being raised as a “Christian” that meant that if the Russians came over to the USA, I would be in jail and be tortured. My Sunday school teachers echoed those same concerns.
So, when I saw a record album that featured some rough looking Russians, I thought it was evil. They aren’t there to sing Russian folk songs, they are looking for Christians to imprison and torture. Why wouldn’t I want to destroy something so bad.
Fifty years later, with the benefit of a whole lot of miles and months under my belt since being that 11-year-old, I certainly see and feel those convictions of many years ago. I see it in my Alzheimer’s–stricken mom, who has never waivered in her beliefs. She won’t change her perspective of right and wrong, good and bad.
But I have.
I realize that what humans deem as “good” and “bad” and “right” and “wrong” are based on sets of beliefs we adopt from a young age.
As we grow, we are likely surrounded by supporting systems and structures to further solidify and amplify those beliefs.
Then, we surround ourselves with people who share those same beliefs and in those communities, there might be systems and structures that are set up to again further and solidify those beliefs.
So a group of capitalists would believe their system was the best one. But the communists would say the same thing. And, if you never knew another perspective, this would be your world view or good and bad, right and wrong.
Therefore, in these groups, events are “framed” based on those beliefs.
We’ve seen it in this country. There are two “frames,” liberal and conservative. Watch CNN or MSNBC and you will see world events “framed” in a liberal-friendly, anti-conservative perspective. Watch Fox or Newsmax and you will see world events “framed” in a conservative-friendly, anti-liberal perspective.
Which one is right or wrong? I suppose it depends on which frame fits you.
Thus, if it fits in my “frame,” then it’s ok. If not, then it’s bad.
Of course when the “frame” involves criminal activity, that’s a completely different issue.
I was reminded of this last month when I went to Easton, MD to visit my daughter, son-in-law and five grandkids.
The oldest grandkids are eight and six. They are my granddaughters. They love to do art and listen to me tell stories as they snuggle up under each of my arms.
My grandsons on the other hand are a handful. Elisha, the second youngest is nearly four and is a holy terror. He has a knack for running headfirst into me when I least expect it, with his rock-hard head at the perfect height to smack me directly in the groin like a wrecking ball. Elex, the youngest is not yet walking. But Esias, now five, is curious.
As I’m sitting on the couch, he crawls into my lap trying to access my Apple watch so he can play with the emoji face app.
Then, he discovers something on Grandpa Mack. He slides up my left sleeve on my T-shirt, revealing my bicep tattoos.
Esias sighs, then says “Grandpa Mack, that’s bad!”
“What’s bad?” I ask.
“That,” he says pointing to the skull tattoo on my left bicep.
“Why is it bad?” I ask him. But he’s silent.
“It’s just bad,” he tells me. Then he returns his attention to my Apple watch.
Funny, I heard the same thing from his grandma, my ex. The day I came home with a tattoo in 1984, she had a melt-down saying tattoos were “bad and low class.” She had a mammoth list of “bad and low class” behaviors, one of which was drinking beer out of a bottle. Imagine if she’d witnessed me drink beer directly out of the tap on a keg. Or from a long yard glass with a bunch of Aussie sailors. Or out of a boot. I was in the Navy, remember?
So indirectly, Esias now has a picture of “right” and “wrong” that will frame the way he looks at things. Barb and I wonder what’s going to happen when he discovers his mommy has a small tattoo. That should be fun!
I believe our lives consist of us navigating around “right” and “wrong.” It’s normal and natural. But like with many things, it might be a good idea to re-examine those beliefs.
I did this when I turned 50, 11 years ago. It was and is liberating. I waited far too long to go back and examine what I believed and why. Turns out, I never really questioned it. Until I turned 50. And I’m now far more confident and comfortable about what I believe but always still exploring. And those beliefs are far different from those of the 11-year-old me.
They might be right or wrong, or neither, but for me at least I know the why.
When was the last time you revisited what you believe is “right” and “wrong?”
And if you must, it’s probably OK to listen to some Russian folk songs.