The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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Somehow in the course list of my varied syllabus I never got around to reading Thoreau’s Walden Pond, the musings of an individualist who decamped from civilization, such as it was in the 1800’s, parked himself in a cabin and reflected on life and living. It was a short walk to his mom’s house for lunches or dinners, tough life, Dave. But give him this: he created his own myth, true or not, doesn’t matter, Americans love a tall tale. Hell, we’ll vote for a guy as President who takes the prize for best liar in the country. You think most people care? C’mon, even the so-called Christians make excuses for his sexual affairs, his financial frauds, even his attempt to overthrow the government — they love the myth, he’s lying, cheating and stealing … for them!

I guess if you don’t have your own Tall Tale, the story of your own life’s heroics, well tag on to someone else’s, ride their coat tails. Taylor Swift or Brad Pitt’s. Identify with them, maybe make you feel a kinship, a bond, a shared world view. Nothing wrong with that. Except … you aren’t Taylor Swift and you will never be Brad and I hope to God we never see another Donald Trump.

Seems to me, a kid who grew old living a life that was maybe not heroic or enviable or soon to be a serialized Netflix drama, but at least my own, where the protagonist, for good or ill, was my own self. Yours is too, by the way. You just have to see it that way, make it yours, not someone else’s. Fine to have role models — okay, maybe not Trump — to clear a path, to show you the way. But eventually we have to bushwhack our own trail even if it means getting lost. Or worse.

Thoreau walked away from what was expected of him. I couldn’t tell you if he was disappointed maybe he didn’t move very far from town and lunches with mom. But I’ll give him this — he gave it a shot. And maybe someday I ought to read his book, see how he did. Right now I’m still working on my own pond.

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