I have never heard my Dad complain about anything. To me anyway.
He's in his 70's now and it is remarkable how far we've gotten. And how far away we've gotten from men who don't do that.
Sure, he gripe about politics. Or my Mom nagging. Or other small stuff. But the level of complaining I do, or this new society does makes me want to take a flamethrower to my life. See...comfortable living leads to...entitlement.
I never knew how nice I had it. A four bedroom house with a basement and dog. A big enough backyard to play football. And a big enough front yard to lay underneath the Oak tree in the shade on a Spring morning. Yes, this is idyllic, but somehow still unsatisfactory. As a teenager, this is boring. As an adult...man, you clamor for it again.
My complaining has been falling on deaf ears. I think the more you do it, the less people care. But, to me, that's fine, since it's just me working things out aloud.
I'm not sure what I'm suppose to earn these days. Since we don't make anything anymore. A living for your family is no longer that...American Dream it once was. As it should be. There is no shame in pulling up stakes and doing what needs to be done to buy that four bedroom house with a basement and raise three kids with a wife. Perhaps this is what is conflicting with the rambling gypsy life which is entertainment.
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