When I was I was in high school, I had a part-time job working at a commercial greenhouse. We loaded dirt, unloaded trucks and goofed off in between. It was the kind of job where teenagers would come and go as the seasonal work was available.
Once, a new teenager joined our crew. Unlike most of the other kids, he didn’t go to our high school. He called himself Ricky. Ricky was loud, excitable and clearly had some mental challenges. Before long, we learned why. Ricky loved to sniff glue. He told us that he’d huff “anything, paint, gasoline,” but his favorite was the kind of glue that kids back then used to build models. Ricky admitted that this habit had messed him up, that he’d had trouble in school and he was trying to get on the right track.
Even though he didn’t go to our school, Ricky told us that his rehabilitation was being overseen by our assistant principal, a man named Harry. In fact, Harry took Ricky into his home to stay. We all felt sorry for Ricky, but good ol’ Harry was taking care of him. That didn’t make us feel any better.
Many years later, a man from my hometown called our county sheriff. He said that when he was 15, Harry had fondled him at our local park. As the case made news, Harry resigned and was charged with corruption of a minor. At least one of my classmates came forward with similar accusations that he said happened repeatedly in the assistant principal’s office.
None of this really surprised most of the people in my hometown. We heard rumors and saw Harry in the places where teenagers hung out, including in 1980 at a Black Sabbath concert. I can’t say for sure that Harry was up to no good, but I can confirm that he saw Ronnie James Dio in his prime. What was surprising to me was the reaction of my hometown. The majority of people seemed to support Harry, remembering him fondly from back in days when America was great.
I also can’t say for sure what was going on with Harry and Ricky, in the same way that I can’t say for sure that Donald Trump colluded with our enemies to help get himself elected. I’m pretty sure I know, but I can’t say. I also don’t know what happened to Ricky, but I suspect that his life has not been easy.
Sniffing paint and glue creates instant and irreparable brain damage. Keep doing it, and a person is going to be screwed up for life.
More and more research is confirming that social media can change the connections in a person’s brain. Heavy social media users report symptoms of addiction, including paranoia and withdrawal from friends and family. It’s not a giant leap to assume that if the media they’re consuming is deliberately designed to create anger, resentment, and hatred, it could do some long term damage. Keeping consuming it for years, and the damage could be significant and permanent.
When a person becomes that desperate, they need help. They need someone who understands their problems and offers to fix them. Just like Ricky needed Harry. Just like so many people needed Donald Trump. In each case, the victim didn’t really need the kind of help that was offered. They certainly weren’t going to be better off, only further damaged and traumatized. But it seemed like a good idea at the time, to a mind that has been ravaged by repeated exposure to toxicity.
Sadly, I doubt that Ricky ever recovered from his affliction. Can the American people recover from the kind of “help” Donald Trump has offered us for four long years? We’re about to find out.