“Who the F@#k are you?" The Who
How does one discover who they are
Events and our reactions to the emotions elicited play a large part in our definition of who we are, along with the morals and ethics of our generation and, usually, the one before. Ever since the Second World War the family dynamic has changed, most significantly, at least for this story, is the institution of working mothers. Wait, wait, don’t get your knickers in a knot. I mean, mothers working jobs outside the home. The reason I chose this to focus on? Well, honestly it just fits the next story.
Have you ever wondered why so many more children born in generations since 1945 seem to be at odds with their heritage as well as their parents, at least when it concerns beliefs, morals, ethics, etc.? Well, I have, and I put it down to babysitters. You are more likely to be similar to the people who raise you. Ten hours a day with a babysitter, ten minutes a day with parents—you figure it out.
Imagine, if you will, a time and place where the elite society, the movers and shakers, the corporate CEOs, and the diplomats all send their children to elite pre-schools. Now, imagine a childcare worker with anti-establishment views spending many hours a day with influential folk's children. Perhaps they might grow up thinking a little differently than their parents?
My friend Dean and I were chatting about how we are influenced by other people, why we like and dislike certain things, and how we are quite adept as humans at blocking out memories of traumatic events, even ones that influence our current beliefs, particularly our likes and dislikes.
Do you believe that, as humans, we are most influenced during the first ten years of our lives? Could it be true that all I need to know I learned in kindergarten? How does a British kid grow up hating football?
Maybe a friend of mine can shed some light on these questions. Let’s hear from Dean, the grown-up version of the football-hating kid from Britain.
“I met a fella at a mates house who was being a little bit too stern to his son, so I asked the kid to play a game with me called the fruit pastilles challenge. It’s an English sweets game where you put a pastille in ya mouth and try not to chew it. The kid went from sitting there all timid and quiet to laughing and joking, and then the father started shouting at him.
I’ve always been the same around angry parents. I ask the kid if the parent is always like that and if they are the real parent or step-parent. Then I ask the kid if they are being beaten—all this in front of the parent standing next to me. Then next, I say, shall I smack them about like they smack you about? I can’t help myself. I’ve done it loads of times. I offer my phone number to the kid and then tell the kid not to worry because, as the years go on, the kid will be bigger and stronger than the parent. This always turns the situation on its head, if only for the time i’m sat there.
Anyway, this one particular time, the kid's father started arguing with me and I said, there’s a big garden out there; let’s go out and settle this. He backed down and went quiet, as bullies usually do. Needless to say, it caused an atmosphere in the room, so I told the kid if he needed help, just let me know, and I left.
After I left, the parent asked my mate who I was, then told him that he knew me as a kid because we went to the same babysitter. I didn’t recognize him, but I did feel like I’d met him before because of his mannerisms. I arranged to meet up at the same house about a week later so I could speak to him because only he and his sister knew what went on at the babysitter's. Talking to him was when a lot of memories came flooding back. Just a few words and my mind started to fill with images and memories. Apparently, I went into a trance for a few seconds, and he asked if I was okay to talk about this. For me, it was a good thing, not a bad thing. Fucking crazy how the memory works. This was only around seven years ago. I’ve had other flashbacks in the past, but nothing like that.
You know, mate, I always hated football, so much so that a mate asked me why one day, and I didn’t know the answer. We was in a pub, so I said, go and get the beers in, and I’ll try and remember. Sat there at the table, the gears in my head began to turn, and it came to me. It was because one day I wanted to go and watch a local match with my friends and told this big, fat, horrible babysitter that I was going. She went mental, telling me I wasn’t a football supporter and I knew nothing about football and how she stood out in the rain and snow for her team, traveled to different towns, and paid out her wages just to see them lose but never missed a game until she had an accident and couldn’t walk properly anymore. She upset me so much that I said to my 7-year-old self, I’ll never support any fucking team in my life just so I’d never be like her. And that’s why I don’t like football; even to this day, I don’t support anyone. Even the Olympics came and went, and I’d refuse to watch it. Talk about stubbornness.”