Our culture is well acquainted with the notion of post-traumatic stress disorder. Originally developed to describe the real psychological after-effects of combat, our culture knew a good excuse when it saw it. We took the term, shortened it to an enticing acronym (PTSD) and substituted drama for trauma. No need for further explanation, we hold these truths in the contempt reserved for the familiar.
In our entrepreneurial culture we now drill and mine for excuses the way we once did for oil or coal. Recently, our professional extenu-ologists have discovered a new vein from which to mine absurd alibis, pre-traumatic stress disorder. This was the evasion of choice for the Islamo-squeamish after Maj. Nadal Hassan decided to shoot up Fort Hood shouting “Allahu Akbar”. Maj. Hasan’s fragile psyche, we were asked to believe, was broken by the stress that he might have developed after his deployment, were he actually to be deployed. What this excuse lacked in plausibility, it more than made up for in laugh-ability.
With an excuse for every kind of failing just a daft diagnosis away, it takes something special for a lame excuse to gain notice these days. For me one excuse, in the form of a song, did just that. Last week, in California on business, I was cruising the I-405 at a leisurely 3 mph. In need of distraction, I turned on the radio where I heard some indy-rocker moaning about how he lost his faith to the iron-fist of Catholic school.
The song, entitled “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” is by the band Death Cab for Cutie. Lead singer Ben Gibbard channels Frank McCourt when he whines the following lyrics.
In Catholic school
As vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised
By a lady in black
And I held my tongue
As she told me, “Son
Fear is the heart of love”
So I never went back
Poor soul had his faith beaten out him by those vicious and mostly fictitious nuns of the 1930’s and ‘40s. Frank McCourt, for his part, at least had the cover of having actually being born in 1930 and being raised in Ireland. Gibbard was born in 1976 in Bremerton, Washington.
By the time Gibbard may have attended Catholic school in the 80’s, habited knuckle-cracking nuns were harder to find than orthodoxy in the Georgetown Theology department. Honestly, I find it slightly more plausible to lyrically lament your loss of faith at the hands of your almond-eyed alien kidnappers than brutal fear-mongering nuns. The chances that Mr. Gibbard ever had any such experience approximates a snowball’s chance of survival in that fanciful place of perdition in which nuns of the 30’s still believed.
I suppose we should call this lame excuse—faux dramatic stress disorder (FDSD).
For my part, I actually have traumatic after-effects from my time with Catholic school nuns during my high school years in the early eighties. I can’t look at off-the-rack pantsuits without having my faith weakened. The effect that felt-like materials have on me is too painful to describe.
If Mr. Gibbard or any other member of the “whinerati” had actually been educated by an old-school nun of the knuckle-smacking variety, they would likely make fewer modern excuses for their susceptibility to age-old weakness and just call it by its proper name, sin.
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In 4th grade, my teacher was a habited nun whom we nicknamed Sr Mary Hotrod - not to her face of course! She carried a three foot pointer stick with her throughout the classroom, and wasn’t afraid to use it. I had my desk smacked a couple times back in the day. I don’t think she ever hit a student with it, but then again, she didn’t have to.
And back then, parents had the nuns’ and teachers’ backs. Not so today.
Good post, as usual, Patrick.
Having attended high school in the sixties I can say my experience with the Sisters of St.Josephof Philadelphia was a wonderful one. They served as wonderful role models and were very sensitive to the needs of their students. Although they were very strict, their goodness and their holiness affected me to such an extent that I once considered a vocation. I have many fond memories of the Sisters.Never once did I see any evidence of physical abuse against a student. I thank them today for their dedication to their students.
Sister Judith, eighth grade. Dread. Ferocity. Also the only year I actually earned a ‘B’ in math. Every other year, a solid ‘D’ math student. (I excelled at english and lit).....
PTSD in general is much-abused in popular culture. People complain about getting PTSD from songs, from finals, from movies. (Don’t believe me? Google “gave me ptsd” to see for yourself.) Real PTSD stems from experiences in which a person is truly in extremity—combat certainly, but also potentially car accidents, natural disasters, and other life-threatening situations.
Outside of the rare but grave experiences some have had with clergy sex abuse, I don’t think anything associated with Catholic life can give you PTSD. May I reuse your inspired term “faux dramatic stress disorder”?
All of the nuns who were my teachers in the 30’s and 40’s were wonderful..Nothing better in ANY way. Maybe it has been different for other people for whatever reason..sorry to hear that.
Are these two ideas supposed to be connected in some way? Because your writing doesn’t convey that. This is very stream-of-consciousness & the editor in me thinks that you wrote this at 4am the night before your deadline & didn’t bother to give your writing a 2nd look.
Our culture is full of chaos & histrionic behavior, but actual traumatic experiences (I’m not talking about getting a C on your report card, or wasting 90 precious seconds reading an incoherent blog post) can influence the way your brain forms neural connections & the lasting consequences of life-threatening situations have physical implications.
Also, if musicians all had to write songs that were 100% autobiographical and factually correct to the letter, than John Lennon really IS the walrus, Paul Simon is a rock, and Art Garfunkel is the island.
Claire,
Have you entertained the possibility that your inability to follow along might have something to do with you?
By the way, I did not denigrate actual PTSD, rather I derided the dumbing down of trauma to drama and lamented our excuse culture.
I would point out your incivility too, but I am sure you have an excuse.
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