Most people I interact with, whatever their stated moral views, seem so basically sane, sensible, and decent that I’ve lately begun to wonder whether cultural conservatives exaggerate when they proclaim a national decline into everlasting adolescence.
But then again, no.
While waiting for the train this morning, I overheard a man in his mid-thirties discussing his father’s exploits. This middle-aged man had triumphantly reported having recently “made-out with a girl” at a nightclub. The son, as he told the story, was mildly surprised and very amused, but offered his congratulations and obligingly gave his father detailed information (which he loudly repeated on the platform) on the mechanics of the truly superior french kiss.
Now, this sort of thing is manifestly atypical, and only an arch-prude could be insensitive to the Rabelasian humor of it. But listening to this child-man talk about his puerile conversation with the child-man who happened to be his progenitor, I felt I was practically hearing the wheels come off the bus of our civilization.
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