Ever since I was alerted of the existence of the website People of Walmart, I admit, I have been fascinated by the humanity found there.  The bizarre.  The weird.  The blunt un-self-consiousness.  The unrelenting in-your-face humaness.  As demonstrated not just in the people whose pictures have been stealthily taken and exhibited, but also in the amateur “photographers” who took the pictures, and in the commentators who openly expressed their disbelief, oftentimes with glee.

I admit: I stared. I gawked. I pointed. I picked up my jaw from the floor. I shook my head and lamented.

What’s wrong with these people?  What has the world come to?

Deep down though, I do feel guilty.  The guilt comes from realizing the fact that we are the voyeurs passing judgement, objectifying these people that we have marked as Other.  Elitism.  It also comes from the recognition of pure, primal, playground cruelty.  In practice, it does feel good to not be the object of ridicule. For once. I have to say. So that’s why the bullies get such a kick out of doing the things that they do? I get it now…  I think…

Funny how the universe finds its balance eventually.  Sooner or later.  In this case, it came sooner than I’d expected.  In fact, I was not even looking for a cure for People of Walmart.  POW.   (Ha. How fitting. Ok, maybe I am the only person find the acronym amusing…  What can I say? I am easily amused…)

My Parents Were Awesome.

Someone with a not-so-cynical view of the world started a Tumblr that invites all to send in pictures of their parents, reminding us that “Before the fanny packs and Andrea Bocelli concerts, your parents (and grandparents) were once free-wheeling, fashion-forward, and super awesome.”

Here is one of my favorites from the collection so far.  It is growing every day.  Though, sadly yet as expected, not at even half the speed of which POW gains its popularity (or notoriety?).

Unapologetically sentimental.  An antidote for the cynicism, and frankly, the self-centeredness we children exhibit towards our parents, no matter how old we are.

Now I wonder:

What were my parents like before they were my parents?

I remember a picture of my mom wearing a super short mini skirt, with a Jakie do, skinny as hell.  She is in her 70s now, and sometimes, now looking back, I believe in her mind’s eye, she is still that young woman.  I wish I had seen that earlier.