We’re all just so gosh-darned special, every single one of us.
Yeah. No, I don’t honestly believe that. While I do believe that we are all individuals (as opposed, I guess, to one large sweaty blob with multiple shoe sizes), just because one draws breath does not necessarily make one “special”.
That’s right. I’ve brought out the quotation marks.
There are many ways to be special.
Clothing, for instance. Want to stand out? TV commercials can show you how to dress like everyone else so that you’re special.
You want to be special? How about being the man in the skirt? There you go – now you’re special. I can pretty much guarantee that you’ll be the only one at the party wearing it.
Or there’s tattoos. Remember when you hardly knew anyone with a tattoo? Maybe a sailor or other armed service representative. And then there were the bikers. They had tattoos, too. Now? They’re so special that you can find a number of them at any gathering: students, day care workers, bus drivers. Roses on the ankle or the breast are not enough anymore. Now there are names tattooed on young necks, tattooed stars on faces, full sleeves of tribal art.
I don’t begrudge people their tattoos, but to me, I’ve always looked at them as permanent identification. Maybe I don’t want to be identified! How am I going to disappear mysteriously – perhaps to the Caribbean – if I can be identified by my tattoo?
Hmm. Maybe I watch too much Crime TV.
The special-ness goes beyond the body, of course. We’ve got people on the bus that are so special that they get their own seats: one for their butts and one for their bags. We’ve got people holding conversations in yoga studios when it has been posted that, in the studio, we practice silence.
Inconsiderate does not equal special. And crabbing about it does not equal actually being a part of the solution.
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