Our neighbor Bill lavishes a level of focus and care on his postage stamp yard one usually associates with Buddhist monks and their bonsai trees. Even during the time he was receiving chemotherapy treatment we could see Bill walking slowly but purposefully, inspecting everything to make sure nothing had suffered in his absence. Not surprisingly, Bill placed two small placards at the edge of his property indicating that pets should not be permitted to use his lovingly maintained green space as their personal toilet. In a neighborhood as congested as ours, it can often look like a canine parade at all hours as people walk their dogs, allowing them to conduct their business as needed. Yellowed patches in the grass and uncollected waste are an ongoing problem, and Bill’s signage seemed a natural response to protect his prized property.
If there’s anything Bill loves more than his front yard, it’s his Standard Poodle. I say this as one whose affection for dogs is nearly limitless: Willow is not an easy dog to love. She stalks up and down the street, growling and barking at passersby. Unhindered by a fence or someone at the other end of a leash, I’ve seen her squatting in yards as far as four houses away. Including ours. Watching from the window one day as Willow sauntered up our driveway in search of the perfect spot to empty her bladder, I wondered, not for the first time, if people are unaware of their hypocrisies or simply do not care. Bill’s red-faced indignation when a dog slows to sniff his daffodils in what he suspects is the menacing prelude to a leg lift does not extend to his own dog’s defilement of shrubs and sod along her daily route. Given his curmudgeonly reception to almost everyone even in the best of circumstances, I can’t imagine he’d welcome someone initiating a philosophical dialogue on the subject of double standards, and so I’ve contented myself to ruminate alone.
Are each of us cursed with blind spots of some sort? Are we unapologetically defensive of behaviors in our own lives that would cause us to clutch our pearls if we saw them in others’? Is it worse, still, to condemn things we see in others but feel perfectly justified to have the same in our own? A funny and embarrassingly relatable meme I recently saw said, “Just as soon as I say ‘My dog would never,’ here he comes nevering like he’s never nevered before!” It feels so much better to say, chin aloft, “Well, I. would. never!” than to admit in slump-shouldered humility that if we complain about people driving slowly in the left lane, people who allow their children to kick the backs of seats on airplanes, people taking but never giving, then we are ethically obliged at least to recognize them in ourselves, right?
Being a teacher for the majority of my life has shaped so much of who I am, and it has improved my life immeasurably. One of the lesser discussed perks of teaching is that one learns they cannot roll their eyes at the “awful” music kids listen to, the “tacky” clothing choices they make, or the “bad attitudes” they can sometimes possess without acknowledging that their own insufferable music, inexplicable attire, and sassiness were no different to their elders! Kids are gifted at reminding us that our lives have not been as squeaky clean as the sanitized version our memories have adopted as truth.
We would probably do well to just admit that we’re all guilty of hypocrisy from time to time. If by accepting this programming glitch within us, we could be more forgiving of ourselves, then maybe compassion of the same in others won’t be far behind? Until then, though, I ask that you please don’t judge me for driving below the speed limit in the left lane, turn signal blinking for miles, blasting Paula Abdul songs for my fellow commuters to enjoy.
PartWolf 