Everything is broken…

I remember as a child having the sense that there were no problems that could not be solved.

Maybe that is just part of what it is to be a lucky child…

Like all wains who are not forced to face the callousness of existence at an early age, I thought we lived in a world that was inherently just, good and fair.

Whether this delusion was instilled in me by my parents, teachers or the cartoons I watched, I cannot say for sure.

The adult world, for good or bad, has a strong impulse to protect and preserve the innocence of children for as long as it can.

For example, I spent quite a number of years believing that our cat had not actually been hit by a car and killed, but rather had taken early retirement from being the family pet, moved to Spain with his new feline wife, and was spending the rest of his days lazing on the beach, drinking cocktails and licking his crotch.

Anyway, like many children, my early world view was founded on a lot of these white lies, and I distinctly remember growing up a happy and optimistic child, with a rock-solid belief that there were no obstacles that could not be overcome.

Bob Dylan sings a song called ‘Everything is Broken’. Had a young McElhatton heard that particular record, I would have rushed for my big red plastic phone, stabbed in a few numbers at random, and got straight on the imaginary line to Minnesota to let Mr Dylan know the good news: “Bob, don’t you worry your pretty little tortured head, everything is going to be A-OK, my friend. Everything will soon be fixed!”

The world I thought I lived in was intolerant of suffering, worked for the benefit of us all, and made little allowance for unnecessary pain.

Then several terrible things happened that could not be reversed, remedied or resolved, and the facade of a fair and caring world fell apart.

The first blow came when two big tragedies hit our primary school.

Within what felt like a few months, three pupils from the school had died, one of whom was in my class.

I cannot recall how the teachers handled it: I cannot remember the words they used or the stories they told in order to help 400 children cope with such a loss.

However, whatever it was they said and done, it must have worked okay, because, as far as I remember, somehow my sense that everything would always be okay survived, probably diminished, but definitely not gone.

Then, a few years later, a friend’s dad got sick – incurably so – and that turned out to be an even heavier hit, one that my rosy understanding of the world had an even harder time trying to assimilate.

However, even to this day, despite knowing what the world is capable of, the delusion manages to persist, albeit in a less solid, more interrupted way than when I was young.

Maybe this ability to kid ourselves about the nature of the universe is a survival system gifted to us by evolution in order to stop us from going nuts, or breaking down into a lifetime of tears.

I do not know, and no doubt some day soon the illusion will once again be shattered. But for now, it lives on… thankfully.