I always smile at children when I have contact with them. In a subway, in a shopping mall or in any public place where tiny tots are being wheeled around by one of their parents (usually, their mothers), I can't help but smile when I see them.
(This does not apply, I must admit, to children who are crying. When I meet one, my strongest impulse invariably is to run in the opposite direction as quickly as I can, grateful that the bawling infant is not my responsibility. This may seem like a terrible attitude, but I believe it's an evolutionary response. That's my story, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.)
My motives for smiling at youngsters are not, as you might think, especially humanitarian. I am not interested in doing my part to prove to unformed individuals that the world is a wonderful place; as they grow up, they will undoubtedly form their own opinions.
It is a matter of complete indifference to me if a child is traumatized by the sight of my scowling face. What does worry me is the possibility that a child traumatized by the sight of my scowling face will one day grow up to be a maladjusted misanthropic sociopath who is prepared to destroy the entire fabric of society just in order to get back at me.
Paranoid? I don't know. Was Damien paranoid? Consider the following scenario.
I am sitting on a bus. There is a young boy in a stroller a few feet away from me. I have just had an argument with a loved one, a bad day at work or any of the million other trials which naturally plague us, and I grimace. And the child sees it.
The child starts to cry.
I soon forget the incident. The child eventually forgets the incident, too. But, somewhere deep in its unconscious, the memory remains, and, no matter how well the child is subsequently treated, he has been scarred for life.
The boy, obviously intelligent, does well at school. His parents are proud of him, little realizing that he is driven by an insane urge for destruction. At university, the boy, now a man, studies Economics, with a minor in Famous Sea Battles.
The man gets a job with a small bank after graduating in the top tenth of his class. There, he works his way up to investment manager, making small profits for the bank, but investing in stocks which cannot be healthy in the long term. While the bank is successful, though, he gains a reputation as a shrewd money manager.
The boy continues to climb the ladder, moving from one bank to another, carefully sowing the seed of financial ruin. He is, of course, careful to ensure that the failings in his wake are not traced back to him, but blamed on others. If only he had used his genius for good instead of evil!
It is only a matter of time before this man, buoyed by his still clean reputation, enters politics. He will start as a minor Conservative backbencher, spending his first couple of years getting to know the other MPs.
Eventually, he will become Finance Minister.
Oh, yes. Then, he will push for the elimination of all trade barriers with the United States. He will push hard, and it is only a matter of time before the barriers are dropped. This will prove to be the beginning of the end.
Americans will move in and take over. The banking system will collapse. Drugs and pornography (which have secretly been financed by the man's vast earnings) will run rampant.
Canadian society as we know it will be irreparably destroyed.
And then, some 40 years after I had traumatized this poor kid, we meet. I am wandering the streets after my newspaper has been closed; he is wandering the streets, reveling in the chaos which he has created.
"You!" he cries, in true dramatic fashion. Although many years have passed, he recognizes me. Good for him, for I certainly don't know who he is.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"Don't you remember me?" the man/kid asks. "The Faywood bus? Forty years ago? You...you looked at me funny."
I don't know what this nut is talking about, and I try to get away from him. But, he takes me by the arm and, walking slowly, explains all that he has done.
I couldn't live with the knowledge that an off-hand glance of mine was responsible for all that suffering. That's why I always smile at children in public places.
You would do well to consider doing the same.
