I maintain that Freud was right about us in one respect - that whatever our professed opinions might be on the surface - there is always a hidden current of thought and feeling that flows in a different direction... full of messy, inappropriate, hostile, aggressive, irascible impulses - directed outward at various outside sources of irritation and aversion. These repressed "sentiments" (I hate x, y, z...) have a way of inserting themselves into our daily train of thought, trickling into our speech patterns, making for unexpected gaffes, over-reactions, out-of-kilter behaviors, white-lies, double-standards... making us feel for lack of a better word, conflicted - at least on the inside, ambivalent, more susceptible to insensitivity than our otherwise liberal-progressive consciences would care to admit.....to acknowledge to this sub-current of aggression hiding in the shadows doesn't mean that our conscious opinions (of peace, love, cooperation, tolerance, urbanity, inclusivity etc. etc.) aren't still the more important ones - does it? - the ones we identify with most of the time. If the "bad thoughts" are somewhat, fleeting, peevish, whimsical and involuntary, then what do we have to worry about, right? Isn't this comparable to the power of suggestion (we all hate broccoli, right?) or when our minds absorb random impression from the outside world - a loud noise, a noxious odor, a grotesque image - it did not originate with us, but it's still becomes included into our stream of thoughts - part of our ongoing consciousness nevertheless... But why then do we hold onto such thoughts or feelings? Is this some kind of OCD tendency? How much does this underground reservoir of repressed this and that really determine who we are...There lies Freud's question to us...
We had made our way down busy Palm Avenue towards the crosswalk. after zigzagging the usual route from busy Bandini Avenue to Tower Road to Rosewood Place. Bret was our wild-man companion - a fifth-grader with a take-no-prisoners approach to life. The local crosswalk, that most mundane of enterprises was soon to become the scene of spontaneous absurdist theater when suddenly out of nowhere came the random yelp: Hey...Hey...What do you want with us lady? - What do I want with you? said the most predictably normal gray-haired woman by whose ever so brief guidance we measured our daily jaunt to school. Yeah - where are you taking us? - There's only one way kid - It's this way... - You're not really a crossing guard are you? came the cheeky interrogative. The slightly bemused, limping, beleaguered woman was dwarfed by her bright yellow uniform as she held up her STOP sign - showing Brett. The other smaller kids walked by us single file in the middle of th...
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