Inherited belief.


When I was 10, my mother took me to see the Molly Ringwald teen pregnancy scarefest For Keeps to show me that I shouldn’t get knocked up before I was ready, but didn’t like us watching ‘The Jetsons’ because she felt that it was ridiculous and offensive that Jane’s ‘job’ was to take her husband’s money and go to the mall, nor ‘The Flintstones’ because Fred was a big liar, and that that was no way to behave in a marriage, and that lying was a step down from killing on the moral scale.

I was reminded of this today because of Rob Delaney’s piece on rehab, and how effective the 1980s messages of ‘hard drugs could really, really kill you dead right quick’ (paraphrasing, obviously) were to him, and to me, and how ridiculous stubborn my brain has been in not being the slightest bit malleable on many counts since my preteen days.

Of course, my mother was human, and fallible, and I needn’t have held on to these things with such subconscious ferocity, but I have tons of other more important failings to worry about instead.

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