Easter baby has signs of aging
Iwas an Easter baby. When I
was bom, the hospital dressed
me in a fuzzy pink bunny suit
that brought tears to my mother’s
eyes. On my 11th birthday, I hunted
eggs and found clues and gifts at
every stop.
This year, I asked for a huge basket
filled with presents. Instead I’ll be
getting money.
Now, I need money far more than
I need chocolate bunnies and
marshmallow chicks, but the last thing
I want to be on my birthday is practical.
Expectations of practicality are a
symptom of a larger disease. A disease
that eventually will lead to my death
— chronic aging.
Exactly when I contracted this
illness is unclear. But I’ve been
noticing it more and more lately.
It’s a subtle change, but certain
things give it away: wohying about
the repercussions of your actions,
listening to your mother’s advice,
buying Oil of Olay.
I never thought it would happen to
me, but I’m afraid I’m becoming one
of them.
I’m turning into a grown-up. A
childish, young-at-heart grown-up, but
a grown-up nonetheless.
Right now, I’m in the denial phastf
of the disease. Not me, I think. I still
get presents from Santa. I still wish on
stars. I avoid stepping on cracks to
spare my mom any back pain.
I’m just a baby. I’m only 263.
months old. I’m a Toys R Us kid.
When you’re little, you have
everything to look forward to. Solid
food, thccircus, the zoo, being able to
drive — it all lies ahead of you.
What do I have to look forward to
now, other than being able to rent a car
and retirement?
It’s been hard, but acceptance is
gradually sinking in. It’s difficult to
I’m just a baby. I’m
only 263 months old.
I’m a Toys R Us kid.
avoid when clerks call you ma’am
and children look at you with the same
mixture of fear and condescension
you used to look at grown-ups with.
Most recently, B104 ’s transition to
an alternative station hammered home
my stage in life. The station, fast
becoming a campus favorite, plays a
mixture of recent and “classic”
alternative songs.
Some say alternative music is the
voice of a generation. Some say
alternative music cannot avoid
becoming mainstream when it has a
commercial radio station. It won’t be
able to pass as a musical undercurrent
or maintain its underground status.
But it’s the classic alternative bit
that bothers me. I can revisit music
from my high school days simply by
pushing a preset button. Then ithitme
that I was, in essence, listening to a
retro station. I probably felt about this
station the way my mom did about
KGOR — nostalgic.
The Smiths could be to me what
the Shirelles were to her.
AAAUUUGGGHHH! j
I guess adultdom gives me the
right to reminisce about the good old
days. The days when Scooby existed
without Scrappy; when “Alice” kept i
you up a half-hour past bedtime; when
a busy day meant fractions, naps ant
playclothes.
Grown-ups have to worry abou
mortgages, promotions and supporting
their kids.
I’m not that grown-up yet. I worrj
about tests, papers, my GPA anc
getting a job. But the reason I worrj
about that stuff is because if I don’t dc
well, I won’t be able to pay mj
mortgage, get a promotion or suppor
my family.
Little kids worry, too. But then
isn’t that much stress involved wit!
wondering when the streetlight wil
go on or whether you’ll get pegged ir
the dodgeball game.
The final, and perhaps the mosi
tragic, symptom of the aging disease
is decreasing honesty for the sake o!
propriety.
Liule kids, in their purest form,
haven’t learned to lie. Honesty is ir
their nature.
They’ll point at a pimple and ask
innocently, “You got a ouchy?”
Pull that as a grown-up and you’ll
be called insensitive, blunt, rude.
Etiquette dictates that you overlook
facial blemishes, or anything else that
might make the person to whom you
are speaking uncomfortable.
Adult conversations may be more
pleasant, but they aren’t nearly as
entertaining.
I’ll be 33 the next time my birthday
is on Easier. I’ll probably have coffee
mugs with my name on them, wear
matching shirts with my husband and
say things like, “Because I said so,
hat’s why.”
And my kids will look at me and
►wear they’ll never be that way when
hey grow up.
Suckers.
Mott is a senior news-editorial and English
najor, an associate news editor and a Daily
Mebraskan columnist
Talk of trial full of racial biases
Though it is standard populai
prattle to com plain about being
called for jury duty, the
seeming brutality of the verdict in the
first Rodney King trial has made us all
relish being on the jury for the second
one.
With 81 seconds of video facts, we
hand down an obvious verdict. Case
closed. Hence the shock of the first
trial’s verdict to us armchair jurists:
“not guilty.” Pictures supposedly
don’t lie. How could any jury vote to
acquit these men? That is a fair
question.
Regrettably, apart from the video
scenes, the press have supplied little
insights about the trial that may
provide an answer. Nevertheless,
everyone still assumes that they know
what happened: The jury was full of
white, racist, police-loving people
who were ready to excuse such a
heinous crime because of the skin
color of the defendant. Whiles
protecting whiles.
Justice in such a simple, imaginary
world is like team sports: The jurors
supposedly picked sides before they
began playing. Though the charge of
racism is the prevailing explanation
of the King trial, it houses incredible
prejudices against blacks and whites
alike. For example, claiming that the
jury being all white presumes a verdict
against a black defendant is to hold
incredibly simplistic assumptions
about the character of while racial
opinions.
The same assumptions are made
against blacks as well. Blacks
supposedly would be more likely to
judge on the side of King, simply
because he was black. Though it is
said by blacks, it smacks of anti-black
racism of the past. Not long ago,
racially charged white prosecutors
used the same argument to keep blacks
off juries when a black was being
tried.
The principle that all
accused have the
right to a fair trial
has been sacrificed
on the altar of race
politics in the
second trial of the
officers.
The argument implies that blacks
arc unable to be impartial; they would
have been unable to consider the
facts without reference to thccolorof
the victim or the accused. Though it
claimsracial righteousness, thcclaim
is in fact much more insidious: It is an
accusation that blacks cannot be
impartial, that they cannot sec beyond
their skin.
To be sure, in politics, reason is
the first thing to go. In the trial’s most
glaring example of nonsense, Los
Angeles Congresswoman Maxine
Waters looked down upon the fires
burning in her district and equivocated
on the riots, labeling them “righteous
anger." Jesse Jackson urged that the
policemen should have been tried by
a jury of Rodney King’s peers.
The principle that all accused have
the right to a fair trial has been
sacrificed on the altar of race politics
in the second trial of the officers.
Waters and other self-proclaimed
voices of urban blacks warn that if
the decision in this trial does not
come out with their demanded verdict,
South Central Los Angeles will bum
again. Many have noted that this is
tantamount to extortion or terrorism,.
True enough.
But in light of the costs of the First
riots—57 innocents dead, more than
1,000 injured, 1,000 fires and nearly
$1 billion ripped out of the economy
of that part of the city that so
desperately needs it — one would
expect that those who arc truly
concerned about that community
would be doing double time working
to avoid more rioting. When South
Central burned, it was South Central’s
poor who suffered most. Surely
compassion demands that the riots
never happen again.
Given this, Water’s approach to
the second trial is disturbing. Waters
is tacitly encouraging South Central
residents to riot again. But this is the
greatest of crimes: With an eye on her
own political objective, Waters is
asking that an entire neighborhood of
human beings to attack themselves.
Surely South Central Los Angeles
deserves more. It is only one example
of the massive human failure to
address the plight of the urban poor,
and, in particular, the suffering of the
black underclass.
To be sure, in the wake of the LA
riots, there has been some hopeful
speculation. All the frustration with
the state has caused many black leaders
to rethink their belief in the
government as a means to uplift their
communities. After all, who would
expect that the giant, blunt and
impersonal state would ever care
deeply about inner-city blacks?
No great society will ever flow
from Washington—whether liberals
or conservatives are in power. We
must build it ourselves, one
neighborhood,one family, indeed,one
person at a time.
Young is a first-year law student and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist.
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Life AndJDeath in Shanghai is the powerful story of
Nien Cheng's imprisonment in Communist China, of
her heroic resistance, and of her quest for justice.
V r** ■ ' ■ VB* i ,,
She will lecture at the Lied Center, Tuesday, 3:30 pm.
Join us for an autographing
Today from
4 to 5 p.m.
General Books
13th &Q 476-0111
