I try not to start sentences with “One time in Dear Abby…” I swear I do. But sometimes, it just happens. It has happened on dates, it has happened at
parties, and it has happened at work. I
wish I could say that it was a singular instance, or even better, that it had
never happened at all, but the truth is, it has happened a lot. It will probably happen again.
Whenever I can, I read Dear Abby.
I love that column. I love it
dearly. I am also a 29 year old man. For those of you who do not have the soul of
a 70 year old woman, Dear Abby is a syndicated newspaper advice column that was
established by Pauline Phillips in 1956.
(If that’s not right, blame Wikipedia.
That’s where I did all my extensive research.) She wrote the column under the pen name
Abigail Van Buren. The first name
Abigail came from a Bible lady that was always giving out advice and the Van
Buren part came from a former president Martin Van Buren. Presumably, this is because she thought he
was a good president. (I don’t
know. Wikipedia didn’t really say.) Pauline wrote the column until the year
2000. At that point, her daughter Jeanne
started to write with her. By 2002,
Jeanne was writing the article alone.
Unfortunately, Pauline Phillips passed away early this year (2013).
I will admit that I do not find Jeanne Phillips to be nearly as funny as
her mother. But, should Jeanne ever get
wind of this, she should not fear.
Jeanne Phillips is MY Dear Abby, and the love I have for the column
comes from her work. I only bring it up
because I need to at some point say WHY I consider Dear Abby to have such
merit.
It is my opinion that any person alive could write an advice column where
the advice is “right;” especially if they do not have to look the person they
are giving the advice to face to face. With
a clear head and some distance, it’s easy to know some version of the right
thing to do. Given the right parameters
or template (Christianity or Liberalism for example), any person alive could
run a problem through the objectivity machine and pass along to their readers
the solution output on the other side.
The trouble is, when in the midst of conflict, we are not machines. We are human.
We can hear logical advice, either from close friends or advice
columnists, but in a moment of passion, that advice will make little
difference.
I’ve also found that we are all
born with the same needs. We all need to
eat and sleep. We need to be safe and
warm and comfortable. We need to be
loved. We need dignity. The worst people alive and the best people
alive both need these things and the best and worst people alive both want these
things for their beloved. Conflict… dum
dum dum… comes when our ability to obtain these things is challenged by others. While conflicted, we fail to think. The trick then, for the advice columnist, is
not to simply give us advice, but rather, to distract us from our own humanity
and direct our attention toward the humanity of others. Disarm them, lead them to discussion, and
they will solve it themselves. There is plenty
of room (both metaphorically and literally) for freedom. With some discussion, there is actually very
little need for conflict at all.
This is what makes Dear Abby so strong.
Each of the Phillips women, in their own, way have/had a natural talent
for disarming the heavily guarded masses (I am including myself in the heavily
guarded masses) and instigating discussion.
Pauline is funny and Jeanne is so direct it often catches me by
surprise. Neither can be boiled down to
a bag of tricks. Both get us talking. Both are Abby. And once they’ve got us talking, we talk to each
other; not back to her. Those that bear
with me through my “One time in Dear Abby” starts often follow me into hour
long discussions that start at the Dear Abby story and move into whatever close
at hand problem brought up the Dear Abby story in the first place.
But what is all of this about? Why
am I coming out of the Dear Abby fan club closet? The answer is that I have been told by a
friend that I ought to write some sort of psychiatric, psychological,
philosophical blog thing. Upon hearing
that, my first reaction was that I hate blogs.
There is no dialogue. There is no
discussion. It’s just opinions, and in
the massive pile of opinions online, how would I find an audience that really
mattered? How could I find one that
could really benefit? Then, she stroked
my ego a bit and said I have a knack for it.
I’m not into or very fond of peacocking, but my friend is not wrong
about that. Whatever that disarming
ability is, that ability that Abby has to make emotional and instinctual
problems logical and simple, I have as well.
People on buses (people I don’t even know) sometimes just start
unloading their problems on me. Perhaps
it’s because I look like Jesus. Perhaps
it’s because I have a habit of walking around with a big stupid smile on my face
like I’m laughing at some old joke I heard.
I don’t know what it is, but I’ve got it.
So I should then, right? I should
do this. But it needs to be a
dialogue. If it doesn’t instigate discussion,
then it’s pointless. I can’t just blow
it out my ass about whatever I’m feeling might be important on any particular
day. That said, the problem becomes
obtaining submissions. I have not given
any public advice, so there is no public that is aware that they ought to seek
my help. In the beginning, I fear I need
some help from friends and family. The
blog (or column) will be here on this Blogger website and submissions can be
sent to my e-mail which can be found by viewing my complete profile. Or, what the hell, just e-mail me at patrickalanweaver@gmail.com. For those not familiar with the Dear Abby
format, you would submit a letter with a problem and then sign it something
like “Down and Out in Dubuque.” I would
see the e-mail address, but the public would never see anything other than “Down
and Out in Dubuque.” You can address it
to “Dear Jesus” if you want, or “Dear Patrick,” but I will probably not include
either in the article. I don’t mind
using the whole Jesus thing as a gimmick, but I’d rather not hide behind it too
much. After a while, it ceases to be a
joke and becomes actual arrogance.
If nobody responds, I won’t write the thing. I wouldn’t want to. If people do respond, I will try to do two or
three a week. Submit yourself. Tell your friends. Help me help you. J
