Mrs. Hyde

I just reread my blog on Sonia Sotomajor and realized that I sound very prickly. Some of it, of course, may be the slow recovery from my knee surgery which is making me very impatient. But, to be honest—and I really do try to be that in this blog—I can almost draw a straight line in my life from initial naivete to a certain cynicism that now invades my thinking, particularly when it comes to those on the Right, or should I say those who now claim to be “conservative” rather than Republican. Was there ever before such a divorce of convenience?

The line starts with my childhood experience with an independent and unpredictable mother, which started me off well with my own independence. I think the word used most to describe me was “hard-headed.” I still get called that once in a while by those who dare, except now I take it as a compliment where before I knew it wasn’t really a good or lady-like thing to be. I know that because it seemed as it the world was a solid phalanx of people determined to mold me into something I wasn’t. Oh well—I was a tomboy and didn’t fit in well with curls and dimples.

Then came my early marriage to an older man that was opposed by virtually everyone including his family. Because I was only a teenager, it was thought appropriate to discuss my perceived shortcomings openly and in front of me. Since the marriage lasted 37 happy years, I had plenty of time to cause what we can delicately call a certain amount of reconsideration of me. The experience started my career of defiance and to tell me that I couldn’t do something became my marching orders not only to do it, but do it better than anyone else.

My college experience added competitiveness to the defiance and independence. I can remember being told not to take a course from a certain professor as he didn’t like women. I took his course and survived. Then I was discouraged from graduate school because I had a husband and child—the scholarships went to the men in the department who showed more promise. I couldn’t let that one go by. Without much help except from my mother and husband, I made it through the doctorate.

Now—I am not always defiant, independent, and competitive. I am told by others who should know that I am also generous, compassionate, responsible, and kind. Because of my background, I hate injustice and will go out of my way to help if I can. My Mrs. Hyde, if I can call it that, comes out only under certain circumstances. And generally, these are when I have the misfortune of having to deal with certain types of “conservatives.”

My Pavlovian response to the Right, comes, I believe, from the echoes of voices that I have had to still or overcome in my life. Politics on the Right always seems to be angry and—worse in my mind—judgmental, unkind, and rigid. Conservatives only seem to be happy when they are judging someone for transgressing the code of behavior they have selected for us all or watching as someone else gets punished. It’s like the older sibling, having pointed a finger, standing by with a smirk as a younger brother gets disciplined.

But now, I have a new perspective on all this.

I used to wonder how the more obnoxious Right-people could make such unpleasant, personal attacks on those who disagree with them and how they could come to conclusions so obviously at a tangent to facts. But then I realized that facts and rationality weren’t the point of the fun. It’s all about emotions. The politics of NO, the Rush Limbaughs of the world, and the flag waving is all about releasing pent-up and frustrated emotion.

I watch these Right-ers shifting ground, working themselves up into a frenzy of indignation, and sputtering out the name-calling, and see they are having a wonderful time being indignant, put-upon, and righteous. My gosh-it seems like fun to be completely right in their own minds.

By temperament and training, I have been conditioned to step back and analyze. I’m beginning to think, however, that I may have been missing something. I write to express my concerns and worries about what the world is becoming. Perhaps I would do better to throw a bloody good tantrum.