The more I think about the conversation, the more it irates me.

It turns out that it was now all my fault? Adulthood is such a joke. When you are a child you project this sense of self-control, knowledge, wisdom even into the grown ups around you. When things went wrong when I was a child, I was made to know from the get-go that it was essentially all my fault because of course, adults could never err and I was disturbing the precious balance of their lives.

The more I think about the conversation, the more I feel like that child. To the point of seeing red.

To add insult to injury and without wanting to be portrayed as ageist, the person at the other side of the screen was substantially younger than me. Yet the patronising traits were already there, like they once sat with the adults in my school, my family, my community, my after-school activity groups, the shops and business around me, the local streets and the foyer of bars, the transport network; everything and everywhere. In this case, however, perhaps it’s cultural? Some residue of a sore loss 80 years ago, the bitter taste of your gramps telling you how things went south in their “own” land.

I was so emotionally exhausted during the conversation that at the time I could just deflect what was being thrown at me. I think I “won”, but if this happened now (ha! of course) I would essentially tear that man to bits. Poke and rip until whatever mental fortitude was gone. I’ve had that done so many times to me that frankly, it would be muscle memory. Absolutely, it would feel horrible afterwards but at the time it would be Art.

Being patronised as an adult is bizarre. As a clearly privileged white male I don’t often suffer it. But when it happens it’s hard to immediately tell that it’s actually happening, until after the fact. Then is when the anger kicks in, the exploration of all possible decision in the arena until the winning one is found. A post-mortem strategy that yields perhaps nothing to learn but fury.

I definitely hadn’t foreseen adulthood as this permanent ethical challenge to do the right thing, but at the same time, I would despise a life in which I am not given such test on a regular basis. The Right Thing, that mystical mental stadium that looks completely different each time:

Be the Bigger Person, be humble, and when in deep shit keep your mouth shut and look straight ahead. Except when having to chew on the ocassional dickhead to not be laughed at because if you try to bully me you are going to end up with more than surface cuts.

No “B” People, ever, except when you actually want to have something that ressembles happiness and friendship in your life – then you are going to have to lower your standards my friend, you can’t be thinking ahead of the game at all times and expect that MF’s are going to want to even know you, you weird creep.

Be diligent and cultivate yourself and think and learn but do not go and start figuring life out and, most importantly, other people’s bullshit because that is disrespectful and noone wants to be called out in their lies.

Be the Best, the Fastest, the First in Class, Shine above the rest but THEN, be happy with the mediocre hand that you were dealt and who the fuck do you think you are to ask for MORE? Like, memorise the game rules but then do not play to win, just sit there while others chomp on the prize while you crack on with a stupid smile on your face.

I did not want to be in this game, but I can guarantee that I am going to always come on top if you challenge me.

Cause at the end of the day, I am no longer that child.