Golf and the Birth of Skepticism

 

 

My grandfather called me up one summer day when I was ten years old and said he was picking me up in the morning and teaching me how to play golf. The following day, my gramps, metaphorically, put the needle in, and I’ve been a golf addict ever since.  My childhood home had a neighbor to the south with an apple tree bordering our property, which occasionally left apples strewn all over our yard.  It was one of my chores to rid the yard of apples. After golfing with my grandfather, I discovered there was no better tool for the job than a 5 iron. We had another neighbor 2 doors north that I never got along with who had a circular above-ground pool about the size and shape of a green. I often wondered if my neighbor had any idea how apples ended up in his pool.

  In addition to the apples, it was also my job to rid the yard of dog turds, of which there were many, as we had multiple dogs. The 5 iron didn’t work well on those because the older turds would disintegrate on impact, and the more recent ones would often stick to the club, creating a mess. But as winter approached, when the temp was freezing…Oh yeah.  The problem with frozen dog turds, though, was even when well struck, they would not carry far enough to get in the neighbor’s pool. But, with a more lofted club, like an 8 iron, I could get enough height and enough distance to reach the roof of their garage. I cannot begin to describe the glee I felt watching those turds fly through the air and land squarely on my A-hole neighbor’s roof. Perhaps it was the feeling of accomplishment, or maybe it was something a bit more maniacal… like the anticipation of the “springtime” thaw.

  When I wasn’t torturing my poor neighbors as a child, golf indirectly provided me with some life wisdom that has really served me well.  After the first trip to the course, my gramps promised me another round the following Saturday. All week long, it was all I could think about. Every day was spent with that 5 iron launching apples and smacking the heads off dandelions. Come Friday, my gramps called me up and canceled golf. I was floored…Why??? He said to turn on the news. I fired up my  Zenith 13” black & white, and watched the expert weatherman say with authority, massive thunderstorms all day Saturday. I went to bed bummed. I woke up in the morning and opened the curtains expecting to see a downpour, and low & behold, there was not a cloud in the sky. Sun was shining bright, the perfect day for golf, and I spent it feeling cheated by the “expert.”

  I have been a skeptic ever since. There is no expert on any subject I wouldn’t question.  I’m not suggesting the experts are always wrong, far from it. I am suggesting there are actual experts, and those who offer opinions as though they are experts. The trick is learning how to distinguish the two. The best way to tell them apart, especially when you know little about the subject matter, is to question them and see how they respond. The fakes will inevitably take umbrage, and react with the cult-like tactics of silencing dissent, responding with platitudes, and/or criticizing your lack of understanding. What the fakes won’t do is what the real experts will; calmly address the facts, and explain the logical (grounded in science and reason) path forward in simple terms a child could understand. I firmly believe if you can’t explain something in a manner the average twelve-year-old would grasp; then you don’t understand it yourself.   

  Skepticism, which has always been a virtue in my book, requires courage and a commitment to personal responsibility. It is not easy to question the world around you, when that world is specifically designed to reward compliance and punish dissent. Being a skeptic means exercising your inalienable right to be curious, to question & learn, to mature, and to grow as a human being. Not exercising those rights condemns you to wander through life doing as you are told, stunted, with a terminally closed mind. This leaves you easily controlled, like sheep, or more accurately, like the ideal plantation slave.

  For decades, our educational institutions in this country have intentionally and systematically removed the sin of skepticism from our youth by conditioning them to blindly TRUST authority. Our leaders have no interest in plebes questioning their edicts, they want compliance. When Simon Gman says to take this vaccine, they expect you to do just that without a second thought. From both an intellectual and emotional perspective, compliance is the path of least resistance. No critical thought and no personal responsibility are required when the government is making all the decisions. Just gather around everybody, and roll up your sleeve, the “Candyman is here … and he makes the world taste good”.

  Skepticism and compliance are mindsets. One is the mentality of a free man, the other the mentality of a slave. We are told repeatedly from a young age that we are free people, yet somehow that freedom comes with the caveat that it’s better to quietly work within the confines of the system, than to question the system itself. Go along - get along. Consenting to be part of the system and convincing ourselves it is in our best interest to do so, is the moment we sign away our freedom, and accept our captivity. Shedding the bonds of the systemic slavery we were born into and conditioned to accept, is no easy task; but I can tell you one thing - the path out of bondage begins by questioning everything.

That’s enough for today, time for some yard work….