Bacon Scrapins – “What to do about an Itch?”
by Barry S. Wolfe
Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They’re tasty, but the ‘nutrition’ needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin.
“When does a child become an adult?” I asked.
Dan and I were doing what most of our neighbours do regularly – walking around our ‘9-stop-signs’-sized community. A long weekend had recently passed with lots of families getting together to celebrate their faith and a much-awaited opportunity to see each other in person.
“What brought this up?” he asked instead of venturing an opinion.
“Do you remember whenever the family got together and there was a lot of adult conversation? The youngest ones tended to whine for attention and the older ones butted in with stuff out of left field? Nothing to do with the topic of conversation?”
“Yup! I’ve got grandchildren. Nothing’s changed.” he added.
“I was just wondering.” I continued, “At what point do children stop whining, interrupting, stubbornly sticking to their own viewpoint, and start listening to others?”
“Hmm.” he considered, “Maybe sometime after they no longer self-isolate with their electronic devices, stop hiding in an echo chamber of social media sites, and come out to interact with others who have different perspectives.”
“Maybe,” I said indecisively. “How do we account for all those of adult age, but still seem distant and unable to connect? Kids sometimes act out because they are frustrated by being unable to express themselves. They don’t have all the words yet to be able to explain to themselves why they fell how they feel, and can’t express themselves to others.
So, they scream, whine, throw watercolour paint on walls, and wave their arms aimlessly. We need words with meaning to be able to understand ourselves and others. Not enough common words. Seems to be a pattern throughout history.”
“Throughout history? Like what?” he asked.
“I’ve been reading a book called, ‘Loyal till Death’. It’s the story of the rebellion in the North West in the 1880s, written from the natives’ point of view.”
“And?” he probed.
“And, adults didn’t listen to each other then, either. The Indian tribes, after the buffalo had disappeared, had signed treaties to move onto reservations and farm, in return for government promises. The government promised to provide land in places of their choosing, farm tools, seeds, instruction on how to farm and food for the first several years when they were hungry if the crops failed.”
“And?” he pushed.
“And, the government in Ottawa reneged. It forced the tribes onto reservations where they didn’t want to go. It didn’t supply farm equipment and refused to provide food when crops failed.
20% of some tribes starved because the Indian agents working for the John A. Macdonald government were trying to please their masters in Ottawa to get promoted and didn’t tell the truth to Ottawa.
They refused to provide food in an attempt to save money. The agents didn’t listen to the natives, they didn’t recognize starving people when seen with their own eyes. The agents insisted the Indians work for any food. Something about a Victorian value system is that ‘everyone must work to survive, or starve.”
“So, was this unwillingness to listen to just by the agents, or was it also the government in Ottawa?” Dan asked.
“It was the sentiment of all easterners, regardless of a political party or language group. Government policies reflected voters’ desires. The commonly held value system at that time was, ‘You work or starve! They didn’t want to pay to support someone else, just themselves. At that time, it was a moral ethic, a belief,” I replied.
“So, what are you saying?” Dan pushed.
“I guess I’m answering my own question. When children become adults?”
“How so?” he asked.
“Maybe, some children never become adults. Maybe they just get older and never become able to look past their own opinions, biases, and noise. Maybe some folks can never compromise, share air time in conversations or put themselves into others’ situations, sensitively. Maybe they haven’t found the words to understand each other.”
“You see that a lot!” Dan contributed. “They feel there’s something not quite right but don’t understand why. Misunderstanding is like an itch that you can’t scratch!”
“That might be it!” I exclaimed.
“What’s it”?”
“If you can’t reach the itch, you can’t scratch! Discovering the itch can teach us how to scratch. Maybe, we could create a shared language to describe our values and find understanding.
Talking with each other, describing the significance of historic symbols, could create common understandings about the past, and bring folks together in the future.” I pontificated.
“Sounds heavy,” Dan put in. “Maybe we’re just trying to reach the places we haven’t been able to scratch, yet?”
“An itch we can’t reach to scratch. There’s a word for that.” I concluded. “We have to get past our acnestis!”
“Our what?”
“Itchy spot. Google it!”
As our path turned toward the lake Dan was mumbling softly about itching to deal with all the Canada Geese that loved our pond and refused to stop squawking and crapping on the pathways.
NOTE: The characters’ names in this Bacon Scrapins tale are fictional.
You may send appropriate email comments to the writer at thisiswilmot@gmail.com