Love Prevails

Like many college students, I studied psychology and even considered making that subject my major for a while. Although it is an inexact science, like all the social sciences, it holds a unique appeal to that part of ourselves that is capable of self-analysis.

Besides my studies, I have gotten to know a fair number of psychologists and psychiatrists over my life, often as a patient, sometimes as a friend. Like any other group -- lawyers, journalists, plumbers, autoworkers -- there is too much variety among individuals to make safe generalizations. That doesn't stop movies like the hilarious "What About Bob?" from taking pot shots at shrinks.

In my case, I've met a variety of smart, interesting people in that field. I've liked most of them but there has been the occasional stinker.

One of the sobering things about psychology is that when you become a parent, it is quickly apparent that there are so many ways you might mess up that opportunity. Clinical conversations often focus on your own childhood and your formative relationships with your parents. (That doesn't necessarily help.)

So, it is in this context that the President's niece, Mary Trump, has written a book. Mary Trump is a licensed clinical psychologist. Although Donald Trump's defenders are attacking the book, which is to be published next week, in political terms, the excerpts that have been leaked beforehand tell more of a heartbreaking story.

That is the story of an insecure little boy who was both pampered and neglected by a father who himself had deep psychological issues and who essentially raised young Donald to be a sociopath, virtually incapable of caring for anyone but himself.

She describes him as an emotionally frozen three-year-old, who "knows he has never been loved" and argues that Trump's "ego is a fragile thing that must be bolstered every moment because he knows deep down that he is nothing of what he claims to be."

Whether you like Trump or hate him, or want to use this analysis to defend or denounce him, there is something terribly sad here. There is also a cautionary tale about raising children. Beware of the tendency to always praise or always criticize your child as (s)he is growing up.

We certainly do not want to live out Garrison Keillor's "Lake Woebegone" fantasy, where all of the children are "above normal." It's a tricky balance raising children; perhaps it is a better choice to praise their hard work and effort than suggesting their achievements are due to some sort of inherent brilliance or exceptional skill.

In any event, we may succeed and fail as parents, but let's hope most of us do not raise sociopaths.

***

There is no good news about this pandemic. Hospitalizations here in California are at an all-time high; ICUs in Florida are filling up at alarming rates; Texas, Ohio, Arizona all have major trouble; the World Health Organization says airborne coronavirus particles linger a dangerously long time; and of course Trump is withdrawing the U.S. from the WHO.

There's more of that ilk but that's enough to absorb for one news cycle.

***

Like most writers, I am usually juggling a number of writing projects, both fiction and non-fiction. One scenario I've been developing is for a story set in the not-so-distant future. It is a time when pandemics have become the norm, and our species has adapted accordingly.

This story would be set in a neighborhood where people like to get out and exercise. Every day, residents walk, job, bike, skate, scoot and run past each other. Since most people are creatures of habit, they tend to do these things according to predictable schedules.

One day, there is a minor tremor in this well-balanced universe, and Character A goes about her morning routine a bit later than usual, while Character B goes about his routine a little earlier than usual. (Note: these characters can be she and she, he and he, or they and any combination above.)

In order to resist the perpetual threat of deadly viral infection, all residents have adopted certain customs, including wearing washable body suits, masks, goggles, and head sprayers rather like miner's lamps that clear the air ahead with a sanitizer that is stored in a light-weight canister attached to your back and controlled by a button inside the belt of your body suit.

It is socially expected that as you approach another walker/jogger/scooter coming from the opposite direction that you both spray your sanitizer almost as a form of polite greeting, you know, to clear the air.

Well, on this particular day, Character A's sanitizer unit fails, leaving her feeling quite embarrassed. Character B sense her feeling of awkwardness and stops to say the same thing had happened to him recently and not to worry.

They retreat to a nearby park so he can adjust her sprayer, since he is experienced at such things. They sit down at one of those park benches that are built in order to accommodate social distance, each at one end about six feet apart.

She removes her sprayer unit and carefully places it at the center of the bench. As she does so, she moves ever so slightly closer to that middle ground. He removes his as well, plus his goggles, and places them by his side, thereby also moving somewhat closer to the center of the bench.

Next, she removes her goggles plus her mask so she can communicate more effectively. By placing them next to her she is compelled to move yet closer to the center. He strips off is mask and for the first time they see each other's faces.

By now the die have been cast. As he settled in next to her dysfunctional sprayer unit she moves as well to be near to it while he conducts his examination. "First we should check your button," he suggests. She removes it from her belt and hands it to him.

Well, that's as far as I've gotten with this particular story, but you can no doubt pick up the drift. It's a pandemic love story.

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