Originally published in Verbicide issue #22

“I think I’ll call it America”
I said as we hit land
I took a deep breath
I fell down, I could not stand
Captain Arab he started
Writing up some deeds
He said, “Let’s set up a fort
And start buying the place with beads.” –Bob Dylan

I dreamt I saw Al Gore last night. And in my dream Al Gore was wearing his Nobel Prize medal and it was magic. It gave him the power of flight. Yes, Al Gore could fly in my dream and he was flying around the world saving the human race from itself. He smote the evil SUVs, and when the people were confused he showed them his PowerPoint and they were satisfied. Now they knew what they must do to save themselves. Soon the world was greener than it ever had been. All our cars ran on vegetable oil and there were more polar bears than ever before and they sang happy songs about Al Gore; songs of thanks.

Al Gore is our patron saint. Saint Al. Here at the National Affairs Desk of Verbicide Magazine and the Blue House Compound we wage a never-ending struggle for self-sufficiency. Ours is a “Do It Yourself” culture. We grow our own food. We take turns churning butter and weaving cloth. Whether we are shoveling manure for our methane-powered generators or pirating cable from the neighbors, we do our best to stay off the grid. Collectively, we walk the earth as Kwai Chang Caine in Kung Fu — doing our best to leave no footprints. We resist this culture of consumption! We reject the reification of markets! Back to the land! Back to the land! And when we are confused we ask ourselves, “What would Al Gore do?”

So how embarrassed was I when I turned up the other night for our monthly editorial meeting to find my five-month-old daughter Violet giving investment advice to the magazine’s legal adviser? Something about a hedge fund that invests in the Chinese toy industry. There was our attorney scribbling furiously as Violet schooled him on “short positions” and Asian mutual funds. “That company uses child workers that are even younger than I am! But that’s where the money is!” she said with a laugh and a slap on her fat little leg.

“Violet! What are you doing?”

“Nothing, Daddy. Larry here has a kid who needs braces. I was just cluing him in on a sure thing.”

All the blood drained from my face. “But you’re only five months old! What do you know about the stock market?”

Violet laughed and confidently readjusted her diaper. “Are you kidding? When it dawned on me that we don’t even have a PlayStation 3 in the house, I opened up an online account with eTrade. I’ve been day-trading ever since.”

“But,” I stammered, “don’t you need a credit card for that?”

She got a sheepish look on her face and looked down at the floor. “Oh, yeah…I was meaning to tell you about that. Remember that Verbicide credit card that Jackson sent you to pay off that weaver who was injured in that freak loom accident?”

“Oh my God, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I should have told you sooner. And if Jackson asks you about a rather substantial charge from Baby Gap, just tell him I’ve already transferred money from my account in the Caymans to cover it. Hey, while I’m thinking about it, what do you think about this fur-lined diaper cover? Feels good on my chafed bottom.”

As a stupid stuffed frog once reminded us, it isn’t easy being green. And it isn’t easy being a parent at the beginning of the twenty-first century — especially if you hold the increasingly unpopular position that the amount of stuff you have isn’t necessarily a measure of what kind of person you are. It is difficult to teach anyone nowadays that we can exist in harmony with this world. We live in a world of mixed messages. No matter how hard you try to instill a set of values, you are always competing with the television, the internet, and a burgeoning number of media dedicated to selling you something. The fact is, our entire economy is contingent on inculcating materialism and a consumer ethos in our youngest citizens by the earliest possible date. By God, what would happen if we taught our children to save? Or to conserve? What if we all taught them that “new” wasn’t necessarily “better?” Christ, the WTO would probably boot us out of the Capitalist Bad-Ass Club. We’d be no better than freakin’ Canada! Next stop: healthcare for poor people! The apocalypse!

For those of us who come out of the punk scene and who embrace its values (yes, snotty kid with the faux-hawk, it is actually more than a fashion statement) it has grown increasingly difficult to live the simple life — a life unencumbered by the trappings of near-constant consumption. Even the so-called “freegans” are demonized in the media because they think they might find some use for items that someone else has thrown away. Lord, I’ve been a freegan my entire life and didn’t even know it. (Little did I know that recycling old bikes, for instance, was a subversive act here in Wal-Mart Land.) We are destroying the planet but recycling is un-American. Mother Nature is on the verge of shaking off the human race like a bad case of the fleas, but it really doesn’t matter so long as you’ve had a chance to play Halo 3 before she does.

When you are a parent it is inevitable that you wonder what kind of world you’re bequeathing to your children. How do you instill the sorts of values that will ensure them a life of balance and happy good health? How do you teach them that it’s okay to daydream, or that living slow is better than fast, faster, fastest? How do I teach my baby girl that it’s all right to love her dolly for something other than its resale value on eBay?

When I look into Violet Mae’s eyes I can see for a thousand years. The heaviness of living is lifted. All that pain and uncertainty of a mature life is gone — at least for a little while. Everything is new again because for her everything is new. Every moment of every day she is remade because she is experiencing it all for the very first time. And because she lives in the moment so can I. Maybe that’s the answer to all of my questions. It isn’t what I can teach her right now but what she can teach me. Because she is new, so am I. Our adult worlds really are “full of sound and fury signifying nothing.” But when I look in my baby’s eyes I can see that simple life that seems so damned allusive. It’s right there for the taking.

There will be plenty of time, I guess, for me to do battle against the beast of American materialism. And when that time comes, I’ll be up to the task and secure in the knowledge that St. Al of Nobel has my back. In the meantime, however, I will master the lessons my baby teaches me every day.
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Mark Huddle is the Editor of the National Affairs Desk of Verbicide. He teaches and writes from western New York. Check out his blog, “Trotsky’s Cranium,” at trotskyscranium.blogspot.com, or on Myspace at myspace.com/trotskyscranium. He can be contacted at mark@scissorpress.com.