It was a sunny day at the beach.
The young girl ran along the water’s edge, dragging a stick behind her.
She ran as far and as fast as she could, trying to see how long a line she could make before the waves came and washed it away.
It was a game to her. She wasn’t looking at her footprints — just at the uneven line made by the stick, and she hoped the foamy rush of water would miss it.
It’s a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humour and hurt, said Erma Bombeck.
And with a total lack of wit, I might add our society’s past and future.
At the risk of sounding aged, I recall times when friends would politely tuck an exposed bra strap away, and when mouths articulating four-letter words were shied away from.
That’s all ancient history now — olden times where immorality met with judgment and disrespect faced discipline — always. Lines that were distinct a long time ago are disappearing — all in the name of tolerance.
I wouldn’t wish to return to the days where those in error were ostracized, or when it was impossible to recover from a mistake.
But I miss the old-fashioned lines — behaviour codes that are evaporating in the tides and the mist.
Yet it still matters where we draw personal lines as they determine what side wins in the tug-of-war of values.
Lines are getting more and more blurred.
Permissiveness has overtaken discretion, and more than ever, “not getting caught” trumps principle. While I ruminated today on our shifting moral sands, G.K. Chesterton whispered in my ear, “Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.”
Everyone knows what’s right and wrong, we muse. But children used to be the main ones stepping over lines (and looking around to see who was watching.)
Now it can be leaders, adults — anyone.
As a society we now erase lines instead of building them. We have embraced giant erasers that gradually smudge long-standing boundaries between the good and not-so-good — dare I say ‘evil?’ And our erasing has left a mess behind.
Are we so selfish we forget there are others who live here with us? Perhaps we could turn our genius toward some line design for our present insanities. If good taste and moral responsibility were firmly drawn we wouldn’t need invasive censorship, laws forbidding public disgrace, or courts for managing misuse and abuse. Grown-up lines might even tell us we can choose whom we love — the same person, over and over again.
The little girl’s lines could have been drawn further from disaster’s edge. But that thought brings me back to my own creations, and a bottom line that still exists.
Life isn’t a game, so I’ll need to check the marks behind me. I guess I’ll head to a beach somewhere — as I need to draw some lines of my own.
Rita Corbett is a freelance columnist with the Tribune/Advisor.
LOL@wltribune.com
