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The Moral Immaturity of the Millennial Generation
This morning in the PIT, I described my commute home last night from work. For those of you that haven’t heard, I recently moved to Portland, OR, where I work at one of the large hospitals downtown. Because of traffic and scarce parking, I take both the bus and the train into work. Last night, I left work about 15 minutes late. This may not seem significant, but when you’re beholden to a train schedule, leaving even 30 second late can put a major crimp in your commute. I was late leaving work because of the flurry of activity that happened with my patients at the end of my shift. One of my patients had come in with recent neurological changes, and after the work up had been done, at the end of my shift this patient was given a new diagnosis of cancer with a very poor prognosis. The family was sweet and understanding and appreciative; all of the things that make nurses remember why they became a nurse in the first place. I sat at the computer outside my patient’s room to chart, hearing the family cry together. I offered my presence and comfort, but it was clear that they wanted to be alone. At the nurses station, we all spoke in hushed tones about how sad it was, and how the worst diagnoses always seem to happen to the nicest people.
As you can imagine would be the case in Portland, my day had consisted of staff lamenting the election results. There was a litany of “I’m so depressed,” “I cried the whole time I was getting ready this morning,” and “I just can’t believe people would vote for him.” That morning, I over heard a woman tell her friend that Max (the light rail in Portland) had to close temporarily around one o’clock that morning because of protests; however, my commute to work was uneventful. I was anticipating an equally uneventful ride home, but that was not the case. When I got off the bus at Pioneer Square to catch Max, police were out securing crowd control barriers, and I could see an occasional “Trump is NOT my president” sign waving in the air. While running to catch the train that was pulling in, I saw a young hipster woman completely topless with anti-Trump sentiments written across her body. I reached the platform in time, but was informed by the police that the train would not be stopping at Pioneer Square because of the protests; I had to walk up five blocks to the next stop. Now, five blocks might not seem like much, but after a 13 hour day on your feet trying to slay the dragons of disease, it’s a lot. As I walked grumpily past all the 20-somthing homeless and protesters, I became increasingly incensed by the childishness of it all. I wanted to run back to find that young woman exposing herself and yell at her, “Showing everyone your tits won’t make a damn bit of difference or make anyone take you remotely seriously!! Put a damn shirt on and go get a job!” Meanwhile, my sweet patient was probably still crying in her hospital bed, coming to grips with her own impending death.
While I am technically a Millennial, I don’t feel like part of the group. The Millennial generation seems to be largely a generation of children who never got past elementary school in their moral development. In psychology we learned about Kohlberg’s stages of moral development: pre-conventional, conventional, and post-conventional. Historically, children make up those in the pre-conventional and conventional stages. Adults occupy the post-conventional stage, in which morality is driven by what is best for society or by a higher, empirical moral code. Children are concerned with being a “good boy” or “good girl.” Children see things as being black or white, an eye for an eye, fair is fair. As we mature, we are supposed to come to understand that things are not always fair, and tit for tat is not the best policy for society. Adults realize that our morals come from a higher source, and the rules must sometimes be broken in order to do what is right. The protesters in Portland and those spewing hate and hysterics on my Facebook feed have never grown up. For them, life must always be fair. If Sally gets a lollipop, then Kayla has to get one too. They don’t see inconsistency of their actions as relates to their stated beliefs of tolerance, acceptance, and diversity. They are children throwing a temper tantrum because they didn’t get a lollipop, but the conservatives did.
The contrast between the whininess taking place in Pioneer Square and the dignified sorrow of my patient and her family was shocking and infuriating. I wanted to drag that topless woman to the hospital and make her work with me for a week, to see the best and the worst of humanity. To see that life is not fair, and the nicest people you will meet are often the ones with the most devastating diseases. I’m not sure how to make the 20-somethings snap out of if. I can only hope that they eventually grow up.
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Well done, VC, well done. You are doing great work, and thank you very much for sharing it with us.
Can I call her my nizzle, too, or can she only be one person’s nizzle?
For shizzle, my bizzotch.
They only want to get rid of the electoral college when they lose – they try very hard to redraw the county maps to enlarge their grip – unfortunately for the Democrats, this was a landslide so they can’t squawk –
PS – Contessa – what a very sad but poignant story – I have to say I got a kick out of your tags!
Thanks, dawg.
Some did. Others have been voting for Barbara Boxer since 1983.
Oh honey, you can call me whatever you want!
Steve?
I think I’ll call her an ambulance!
There is something about being in the medical field that gives some perspective on the mundane. God bless our nurses.
Thank you. Beautifully told story. Choked me up. The
moronsyoungsters wailing and gnashing their teeth really do not know what they do. They have been indoctrinated from pre-school in a certain worldview and their eventual confrontation with reality will be brutal. Perhaps this election will be the first step for many of them. Let’s hope.Tell Her to call Sol. It’s hourly and has benefits to boot. Hell, I bet that shirt may even be optional.
The Oregon Trail museum out in Baker City is worth a stop.
I make phone calls and surf the Internet on my BBizzle.
Who is Adam and what does that shark mean?
See the seventh comment in the thread.
Pictures or it didn’t happen.
We had pictures of two of them who were protesting at Trump’s polling place in New York floating around the PIT. If you’re into that sort of thing, the PIT is the place to be.
The comment I happened to have skipped beyond the first sentence. Touching story.
Aren’t you glad you asked about that shark? ;)
FYI, the next protestor I see in TN will be the first one. :-)
Yeah. I thought it was some kind of pop culture joke reference.
VC’s at the other end of the west coast. Down here in L.A., it’s “Take your damn shirt off and get a job!”
Don’t be shy, Midge.
Bless you, Vicryl. I am sorry the tantrum delayed your going home to rest; you deserved better. And faux passion, faux grief, faux distress is wildly irritating when you know a little too well what the real thing looks like.
I didn’t make that giant yellow face, why does that keep happening?
You’re quoting someone who’s making a smaller yellow face. You can delete it if you want.
Umm… it was a comment meant for the PIT. My aim was off, is all. And you know what the PIT is like!