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You’ll excuse me, I hope, for saying my great love and respect for the noble old union song “Which Side Are You On” has lately been much eroded by folks who missed the fact the song asks a question.  

 I had to make the lead-in observation because having sung and loved a song it’s painful to hear it man (is there a gender-free version of this word) gled. Not that, mind you, I can lay hand or eye on any guide that gives the correct form. Isn’t one. 

Final authoritative forms are notoriously lacking even in scripture, though some (one especially) claims ultimate prophetic finality, as if unenforced that would shut up many humans I’ve known from going about their happy business of judging and what-abouting. Without enforcement cooperation is voluntary or a matter of convenience. 

 Why is that? Why are we not uniform or layered as herd beings or bees? I can neither say nor speak for others. Based on personal recollection I suspect our personal inclinations are set early, are maybe wired. 

Childe H (minus dark tower) was happy enough immersed in a world of toys. Observe most any child and you’ll see that and what happens if you dare upset that cart of apple pies. My child world required toys, a toddler’s crutches and stepping stones to growth. I had, in addition, to drag something floaty to the bath or cushy (chenille elephant with mis-matched ears – great title for a short piece I once did) to bed. 

Alive in a world where darn near all is bigger and stronger that themselves, children re-size a world for themselves. In a way is this not part of a user manual implanted from birth? 

Growth and growing aren’t instant or uniform. You start somewhere and go from there. Take some steps, totter, fall. Try again. The most basic things to be human (or Justin’s hu-people) are minor as an infant one day finding its own toe and making a connection. “Ah-hah, I feel that. That’s part of me!” 

 Unimportant as this observation may appear, as in “Why waste time giving grown-adult thought to infant toes and childhood toys,” I suggest think again about how a starting point might linger too long. In childhood and infancy we are individually tasked with confronting a world too big and powerful for us. 

The result is a focus on adapting to, of course, but also trying to gain control of our surroundings. 

Play and toys have a role in allowing us as individuals to shape and control something, some aspect of things, surrounding our lives. We’ll get too big for our toys, but I’ll bet all (some much more than others) cling to a wish to master, and with mastery control the big world. This is just a thought, I admit, but one worth considering for a moment when we react to outside features and forces with a desire to manipulate (as we might a toy) things, events and people impossible for us to control. 

The owner’s manual we’re all missing also neglects to tell us what’s not covered. You and I, helped somewhat by family, culture and expanding experience have to learn not only what to do but also what to leave alone. 

 Over the years I’ve had many good people try to be helpful by introducing me to an insight or way of thinking. I’ve added to the collection on my own, notably with some awesomely dumb forays into Buddhist ways. 

Here, as I see it, is the thing. None of us decided on life or sets up a program to keep breathing. Life happens to us. We get caught up in it inside a particular frame of time, language and so on. 

Experiencing things differently is the rule, the way it is. Lives born into other settings will never be like mine or mine like theirs. The differences are, to me, wondrous plus wonderful that despite so much difference we end up rather able to understand one another. 

Us hu-people will never tromp the tundra in unison as do caribou. We scatter Nelly Willy all over the darn place: a ptarmigan here, a water hole there. No (or little) organization. Do I yearn for a caribou life? Do you? 

 Making sense of life easy or forever bewildering? For myself I make a little sense recalling the predicament bias of starting powerless and dependent. Less puzzling, then, that a child’s-eye view carries forward with toys and roles miniaturizing the adult world to gain a semblance of control. But maybe (just) hanging onto dreams of power control will forever do us in. Could be. 

 I recall little Harry striving to match the singing of his best friend, sterling-voiced Michael. An “evil” choirmaster told small H something I had not the perspective to know. I was a fine second alto, a first treble, no. The necessity of having to accept what-is can’t be waved away in wishful thought. 

 And yet, we continue wishing. First junior high dance I hoped to shine. Instead I might as well have been blindfolded, stripped, hands tied behind back, strapped wrong way on a horse and told to race. Sweaty-hand disaster. I had the coordinated grace of the mops I practiced with. 

Lessons (my friend irony reminds me the one dance I did well was square) and effort for a decade made scant headway. For whatever reasons, I wasn’t a dancer. But humans are frustratingly complex because while dying in dance disaster I delved into dramatic declamation. Similar sweaty hell to perform in public. So why persist? 

In your life why were some trials quickly dropped and others pursued? We beings, yourself included, are tricky, defying explanation. As I potter along the one thing increasing in certainty is uncertainty. There’s not much I’m able to explain and less yet I can control. 

A child’s necessary desire to grow and gain standing meets obstacle and constraint, some exterior, others not.  

Shaking a fist at an unyielding world doesn’t seem to matter. Then what does? Maybe little other than satisfaction from stopping useless effort.