The Head of a Dead Cat


I really, really don’t want to comment on Paris Hilton because I like to pretend that she does not exist. And who needs another commentary about the conceited AND stupid heiress? But with all this recent media attention swarming around her, (minute by minute updates – no matter how I try to avoid it) and her cries of “victim,” it only reinforces something I have been pondering for quite awhile.

It’s become increasingly disturbing to me that the older I become, the more I realize how fuckin’ old fashion I am. There are simple “rules” in life that I see fading with each passing day. It disturbs me how “childcentric” this society has become. Although I don’t have children of my own, working as a camp counselor, nanny, day care worker, volunteering with the Big Brothers & Big Sister Program and having 13 nieces and nephews, it doesn’t leave me entirely clueless. Doesn’t make me an expert either... But here goes.

What society seems to be lacking today is accountability. If Paris Hilton had an ounce of the gumption and intelligence (I’m not asking a lot – an ounce) she’d smile her manufactured smile, wave her sun-streaked arm, and cat walk her way to jail gracefully for the crimes she has committed. At least then, one could somewhat respect her. For example on the topic of gumption and intelligence in celebrity lives--- In 1927, Mae West was arrested for public obscenity for her play, “Sex,” which she wrote, directed and produced. And yes, she fought the charges with a high-paid lawyer. When the presiding judge asked her if she was trying to show contempt for the court, she sweetly responded, “On the contrary, your Honor, I was doing my best to conceal it.” Eventually she was sentenced to 10 days and sweet-talked the warden in being allowed to wear her silk underwear instead of the scratchy prison issue. She was released after eight days for good behavior, for which she commented to the press, “It’s the first time I ever got anything for good behavior.” Afterward, she wrote a magazine article about her experience and donated her $1,000 fee to the prison library. That’s class.

Did West deserve to go to jail? No, it was purely a puritanical reaction. But yes, it’s one thing to rebel against the suffocating morals of society through art, and it’s another thing to be a complete idiot and blame someone else for your obvious disregard for the law (Hilton “didn’t know her license was suspended”). West, as always, handled it with class. I don’t think she ever once asked for pity, or cried out, “It’s not right.” Besides, West’s crime was an interpretation of the law (obscenity is purely subjective) while there is not a lot of room for interpretation in the case of drunk driving. You did it, or you didn’t.

The whole thing disgusts me, regardless of it being a cultural commentary on today’s society. Why do we care about this gnat-brained imbecile? Although, historically, it has been misrepresented that rich people must be more fascinating than the average droves of human beings. After many interviews with “average” people of different classes – I beg to differ.

So pulling out the ladder on which to climb up on my platform, these are some of the lessons I learned growing up in rural Washington State.

1. You get caught, you pay for it. AND you don’t complain about it. My dad liked to tell the story about when he was a kid and got into a fight on the school bus. The bus driver slammed on the brakes, walked back, grabbed them by the necks and threw them out in the snow. They walked home. When my dad arrived at his doorstep cold and shivering, my grandmother took one look at him and said, “Well, you deserved it.” I paid the piper many a time growing up. Sometimes I got away with things (okay, I was pretty good at getting away with things) but always in my mind loomed the possibility of punishment. Whenever I took the steps toward something that I knew had consequences, I went in knowing the odds. And yes, sometimes the desire outweighed the practical, but isn’t that the case in most stupid/fun decisions? You skip school and get caught, you get detention (or suspension). You sneak out at night and get caught, you get grounded. You mess around and break something you were not suppose to touch, you work your ass off until it is paid for. Very simple. I almost break out in hives over reports of parents who sue school districts because their kids were caught cheating and the teachers failed them. Many times (the majority) the parents win. If I had done something like that, my parents would have killed me. I would have been in that classroom with my head hanging low cleaning erasers for the rest of the year. And I would have been sent to summer school, I am sure of it. AND I would have failed the class. So here’s the proverb to best sum it up: “In times of trouble, leniency becomes a crime.”

2. Work isn’t going to kill you. You might not tell from looking at me, but I helped shingle our roof, dig ditches, cut grass, chop wood, clean out animals’ pen, pick and can fruit, put in fence posts (the worst – my brother got the brunt of that job) and did the traditional chores: dusting, dishes, sweeping, etc. Someone set the table; someone cleared it. Someone washed the dishes; someone dried them. It was by no means child labor; it was contributing. It was being a part of a family. With these chores, I also found time to ride my bike, build go-carts, dig geoducks on the beach, swim in between the boards of a shipwreck (which was something I was not supposed to do – and I got caught for it – and there was hell to pay. And yes, I did keep doing it but…), climb trees (and accidentally set fire to one) invent things that didn’t work, make “poison cookies” (full of crushed of dog food and hot sauce) to feed the neighbor boys, construct forts in the woods, and scale mud mountains (oh, there is nothing worse than being hosed down outside in the middle of a Puget Sound winter). Even though we were the first ones in the neighborhood to have Atari, I didn’t spend a lot of time inside, and when I did, it was usually devoted to reading or writing. Granted, if I had videos and Cable TV at my fingertips without limits, things probably would have been different. Every Saturday morning (when we didn’t have to chop wood) my brother and I would be up before dawn to watch cartoons – all cartoons, until the horribly boring American Bandstand came on and signaled it was time for us to go outside and play. Every morning we had a list of chores that we were expected to perform before my parents came home from work (from the age of eight and nine, we got ourselves off to school and took care of ourselves when we got home). On the weekends, we helped out for a few hours and once done, we were free to do what we pleased.
When I hit around fourteen-years old, I became anxious to get an after-school job so I could earn some extra money. Most of my friends had one, and I found them to be very exotic. My dad refused. He started working at age 13 and told us, “You will have your whole life to work, now is the time to enjoy yourselves.” And I look back now and am glad my summers were fairly lazy and carefree, and I really didn’t need that extra shirt or record that a job would have afforded. And it didn’t make me sloth-like (not too much). It made me appreciate my down time, and it made me appreciate the value of hard work. Proverb for that: “The lazy sweat when they eat, and complain of the cold when they work.”

3. A thank you goes a long way. My mother was very strict on thank-you notes. If someone takes the time to do something nice for you, then the least you can do is sit down and write them a note. Every year, right after Thanksgiving, we would start on our gifts for our teacher, bus driver and principal. Sometimes they were handmade gifts, other times we baked Swedish Tea-Rings (amazing family recipe) or cookies, but whatever it was, it was a statement of our appreciation. I am FAR from perfect, especially in the social-graces department, but I still try. Manners have always been VERY important to me, and I tend to surround myself with people who feel the same way. It doesn’t make you stiff. It doesn’t make you stuffy. It doesn’t make you less passionate or spontaneous. It just makes you considerate, and that is a HUGE deal. I wish I could say I was that way 24/7, but it’s a conscious effort. I am always trying to follow this Chinese proverb: “Do not forget little kindesses and do not remember small faults.”

4. Friends are important. My dad has had the same best friend since he was 11. He also spent 30 years in The National Guard, so I grew up with (and continue to grow with) my dad’s Guard friends (fireman, longshoreman, truck driver). My mom has had the same pen pal in England (they have visited each other many times) since she was a child. My sister is still close friends with her best friend from middle school. My brother met his best friends in elementary school. I am very proud of the friends I have; they are kind, loyal, creative, odd and compassionate. People, in general, interest me and I am always excited to hear their stories, but very few individuals I am actually interested in – if that makes any sense. If you trust yourself, you can trust others. Sometimes only time will weed out who is a weed and who is a flower (LOUD GROAN over cheesiness from that last statement). Status, money, background are all trivial when it comes to someone who will be there for you in your time of need. Not that I have ever given a shit about status, bank accounts, blah blah blah. So here is a proverb for that: “Friends are made in wine and proved in tears.”


With that said, my home life was far from perfect. There were definitely troubles, but it is your choice to decide what to take away from each experience. You model yourself after the good, and learn from the bad. There are things I will do differently than my parents, and there are things I will strive to be as half as good as they have been.
Everyone has sad stories, but not everyone has stories on how they overcame them.

And I am trying not sound preachy. Honest. But I still haven’t figured out how one can take a moral stance without sounding preachy but … the whole point of this is, “Paris Hilton is an idiot.” And her parents are even worse!

For some reason, I keep thinking of this old Zen story. The beauty of a lot of these stories are they are “like water.” Flexible. Fluid to every situation. So, to sum up: A student asks a Zen Master what the most valuable thing in the world is. The master replies, “The head of a dead cat.” When the student asks why, the master says, “Because no one can name its price.”

And for people who put a price on everything: justice, friendship, fame, nothing ever is truly priceless, and that is a shame. With a price tag you lose the wonderment. You lose the actual value of things that can not be assessed: a job well done, a thoughtful gesture, a good friend.

So there you go – Mae West, ditch digging, the magic of Swedish Tea Rings and Zen… I guess it would have been easier to say, I am happy Paris Hilton is in jail. Woo-Hoo!

But that wouldn’t be any fun…