A fable

      Once upon a time, not really all that long ago compared to when the last ice age happened, a young man was born into a harsh world. Up to that time, life for him had been nice and warm, and now it suddenly became mean and cold, starting off with a nasty slap across his tiny behind. If he had been capable of it, he would have crawled back into his mother's womb then and there, but he couldn't, and she wouldn't have let him anyway since she was tired of feeling like a sister to the whales and buffaloes.
      As most children do, he decided to make the best of a bad situation. Perhaps this world wouldn't turn out so bad, particularly if he could have his way all the time in every way possible. Surely that wasn't too much to ask. Unfortunately, he could not get his way always. Actually, he was lucky if he could get it even as often as a Democrat proposes a tax cut -- which is almost never.
      So, as most children also do, he cried and pouted until he figured out that tears and sulking would not lessen the harshness of the world nor make it do what he wanted; not that he hadn't won a few battles with his imperious behavior, but he wasn't making any headway in the war to get the world to behave. And since it wouldn't behave, he wouldn't forgive it.
      At this point, as most teenagers do, he rebelled against any and all authority. This lasted until he discovered fighting also could not alter the cruel world, and besides, the constant protests were making him tired and really cutting into his social life. Who wants to invite a slogan to a party?
      He despaired for a time, sampling life's pleasures and finding them lacking (although women were certainly interesting and worth some investigation.) Finally, he became a harsh critic of the world in which he lived.
      Surely, he thought, this shows how intelligent I am: that I am capable of seeing what is wrong with the world and telling everyone about it -- whether they are interested or not. And if someone is so foolish as to be happy, I will quickly point out everything which is wrong with the world and their life, and then they too can be intelligent and unhappy but oh so smart.
      This continued for many more years than it should have. He went along his way, dispensing his nuggets of nastiness with a smugness rarely seen outside of the Republican headquarters. He criticized the government, the churches, big oil companies, television shows and, of course, any and all people who had the misfortune to cross his path.
      Now you may think that he was lonely. But many people enjoy peeing on other people's parades, and they found him to be witty company. They traveled together -- he and the pee people -- rather like a pack of rabid wolves or mall teenagers, feeding on the misfortunes and mistakes of others.
      Slowly, after too long a time, enlightenment finally came to the not-so-young man who now knew he was not as smart as he had once thought he was. And this is what he had learned: that the world is full of critics, that any idiot that has had a bad day can criticize, that being cruel is too simple a lesson and we learn it too soon and practice it too much.
      He decided he wanted to be on the side of the good guys. While he could not save the world or even stamp out ringworm, he could search for the good things in the world and point them out in hopes that others would pick up the standard and become truly intelligent and wise and perhaps happier. And some of those things which he had found lacking, well, almost everything and everyone has a good side. Perhaps he just hadn't looked hard enough.
      He discovered how he could make people smile bashfully with a simple sincere compliment. He discovered the strength of praise and the mercy of silence. And he discovered it was possible to have an entertaining, engrossing conversation without resorting to spiteful gossip.
      Of course, he lost some of his old friends, but he gained an important new one -- himself. He could look in the mirror without flinching; after all, if he could forgive the world for being imperfect, he could surely forgive his imperfections also.
      Now this tale doesn't have an end because he is still writing it, but he is working for and hoping for "...and they all lived happily ever after."