Sniffing butts is impolite, verboten. Sniffing butts is a No-No. I know that it is, because my parents and my oldest sister (17 years older than I) told me so, a long time ago, without any help or nudging from Facebook. It was in 1939 when that happened. Facebook had not yet come on the scene. It made its first appearance 65 years later, in 2004. Humanity had managed fairly well until then to catch on to the rules of politeness and of political correctness, without Facebook’s help.
Still, being blessed with an analytical mind and fairly early in my life, before the invasion of Poland by Hitler’s Armed Forces, the Gestapo and the SS, between the time when I had started to play with the other kids in the neighbourhood, but before I had begun to attend Kindergarten, I had learned how to determine the source of farts. Believe me. It’s true. (The simple fact of it is that even little kids know where farts exhaust. When they are quite small and laugh about it, older people even think that is cute. Most people who had children know that, and those who don’t, didn’t pay attention to their kids.)
If I remember correctly, it was when many of my oldest brother’s friends filled up our fairly large kitchen, talking, while standing around, waiting for my dad to hand out a few drinks of schnapps, in celebration of a job well-done.
They had come to spread the sand and laid the patio blocks on it, with which to pave the sidewalk from the street, past the entrance to the house, and the space between the house and the small barn that had been built behind it. It had been a fairly big job. I know, because 14 or 15 years later, after the war, I had to redo the laying of those blocks (they had settled in places, allowing puddles to form). When I did the job, after hours and on weekends, it took me about two weeks to do what my brother and his friends from the Reich Labour Service had done in a day when I was 3 or 4 years old. To get it done in a day was worth a celebration.
As those young men were standing around and talking, in our kitchen, someone remarked “Man, who let that one go!” (A piece of advice, if you should happen to have done it, always divert attention by saying something like that. Always blame someone else, right?) I soon found out what they were talking about but also, that no one was willing to admit to having done the deed.
There was enough room amongst all those legs through which I had to navigate, but I was the right size for the job, able to do it without bending, and I began to investigate. I went to sniff butts and soon announced who the originator was of the smell that had caused the frantic opening of the windows.
Proud of having achieved my objective, I pointed my finger and announced “He did it. He farted!” I remember that the young man denied it (I imagine that the colour he turned helped to give him away, I wouldn’t have known), with my accusing finger-pointing at him giving him no escape.
My oldest sister told me instantly and quietly: “Walter, you are right, but you shouldn’t and mustn’t tell about such a thing when it happens!” That was that, and I learned from it. I learned at a young age that, to point at someone for having done something remarkable because it was not enjoyable is impolite. Still, there come instances in every life when finger-pointing is a civic duty and must be done. Consider the next section.
Being politically incorrect is verboten. I know it is, because Facebook told me so.
That was after I had remarked on the trustworthiness (or better, the lack of it) of climate science or the poor quality of social research relating to families and fathers or some such things. Facebook told me (ever so politely, as Facebook invariably is about such issues), that they were always open to teach me about what the desired community standards should be when I make comments that perhaps fall short of meeting such standards. That was not the first time Facebook insinuated such, apparently in the hope that I will figure it out what it takes to be politically correct.
Facebook has “community standards” that they wish to be used, and they wish others to accept that their self-assumed role as arbiter and judge of the propriety of the quality of human discourse is correct, politically correct. I know that, because they insist often enough that established ethical traditions that were distasteful are the new normal, and that what was once regarded as good is now bad. That poses a problem for many and me who consider themselves to be old dogs and therefore find it very hard to adapt to the Facebook-reality.
Look at the next section. It describes some of Facebook’s efforts to change the world, to do its part in bringing about the New World Order, by Turning moral traditions topsy-turvy: FB community standards vs moral traditions .
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