Being Human

“The difference between dogs and people is that dogs know how to be dogs.”
-Peter Berger

A great sociologist, Peter Berger, tells us that people do not know how to be people. Spiders come into this world knowing how to build a web. Birds know when to fly south. Every animal knows how to be an animal. Except us. People don't know how to be people. We do not know why, and we can only begin to examine its effects. Many people believe that life is made up of a series of stages. Each stage holds its own conflict that must be resolved in order to move on. The teenage years are perhaps the most difficult, as they bring with them the conflict of identity. Perhaps it is that panic, the desperation to be someone, to be accepted, that sparks the cruelty, the unfairness, and the mockery. If that happens to be the real reason, I have no idea as to why I'm different. Or maybe I'm just the same.

The minutes have rolled into hours, many students long since drifted off. The lights speed by the window, screaming against the vast black sky. Souvenirs from the museum rest on the floor, gently nudging my ankle when the bus lurches. The hushed laughter from the back drifts up to the front of the bus, enticing, like a siren song. Laughter soon gives way to gossip, until one phrase floats over the rest. "Let's call someone." It seemed harmless. Simple, children will be children. Lights from phone screens shine up on the ceiling, reflecting the frenzy for a victim behind me. Suddenly, "Her." For the purpose of storytelling, let us refer to the following victims as X and Y.

"Oh, my God, you have her number? That's perfect! She's crazy!"
"What do I say to her?"
"Oh, she's obsessed with horses. Tell her one died. She'll flip."

With pained disbelief, I listen as they talk X into the death of her horse. X, my best friend for all of grade school. Even from my seat, I can hear hysterical panic on the other end of the line. The phone is clicked off, and it gives way to hysterical laughter behind me.

"Oh, my God! Did you hear her? She totally believed us!"
"Who next? Oh God, her! Call Y!"
"Perfect! I call her all the time. Just mention her weight, she starts crying, it's hilarious."

I cannot tear myself. I listen as they go through their phones, insulting everyone they can, reducing people to tears. My own throat burns from holding back sobs. The girl in the seat next to me slips her hand in mine, and I see she's close to tears too. "Tune them out." She whispers. I nod, and slip my earphones in. But, no matter how hard I try to focus on the music, I cannot. Their words echo in my mind. The rest of the ride is not at all better. They move on to impressions, and I'm an easy target. They mimic my voice, mock my clothing and hair, and make me out to be a bossy, over dramatic, self-centered outcast.

I do not know why people fight so desperately to find themselves that they only hurt others. However, I cannot blame them; it's only part of being human. I do not blame them. After all, they don't know how to be people. None of us do. Deep inside, I'm no different from them. Deep inside, none of us are any different. We're all human. We just don't know how to be.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you will join us, and the world will live as one."