The care creep

The care creep. You know the type. He can be found at virtually every major American university. He’s the guy who always seems to be volunteering for virtually every altruistic cause he can possibly find.

He’s out saving the whales, saving the dolphins, or saving the cockroaches. He’s out saving the environment, the planet, protesting for Greenpeace, rallying for the besieged tropical rain forests. He’s out there saving the animals, clamoring for “animal rights” and “gay liberation.” He’s out there supporting feminist causes, working for equality and women’s rights.

You’ll find him in such notable organizations as Amnesty International, Habitat for Humanity, the Gay and Lesbian National Liberation Front . . . He’s into anything having to do with radical liberal causes of the left, from multiculturalism to devout Marxism.

If there were a war on, believe me, he’d be out there protesting, denouncing the United States with all the righteous indignation he can possibly muster…sympathizing with thugs like Saddam Hussein, whom he will be quick to tell you, is nothing but a helpless victim of Imperial Western colonial oppression, aggression and exploitation.

If he lived during the Vietnam War era, he would be a draft-dodger, a draft card-burner, or a rapid conscientious objector. He would be a useless, dope-smoking hippie lusting to join the Peace Corps instead of the Marine Corps.

You see, he cares. He really cares. He probably feels a great deal of guilt for being born into a white, upper middle class family, and he wants to somehow atone for it, by caring extra hard for the plight of other people: the poor, the destitute, the dispossessed, the racial minority, the oppressed and the disenfranchised, whomever and wherever they might happen to be.

As I said, they don’t even have to be human. They could be trees, narcotics, or animals.

I don’t know what must have happened to him when he was a child. He was probably spoiled by way too many hugs and kisses. Maybe he was an only child, or maybe he had too many sisters and played with far too many Barbie dolls. He was probably never given a toy rifle for Christmas or his birthday. His Dad probably never called him a loser, or ridiculed him for failing to perform mundane household maintenance tasks.

(A little Drill Instructor treatment from your old man is often quite healthy. It breeds insecurity, which sows the seeds of selfishness and ambition. It cultivates a useful go-for-broke fighting spirit, often characterized by a defiant sense of rugged individualism and a lasting commitment to competitive free market ideals.)

Although he was always a sissy, no one close to him ever pointed that fact out to him. I suppose if he could bench press 300 lbs., he probably wouldn’t be such a slimy care creep in the first place.

At any rate, whenever I see him on campus, I sometimes feel like walking right up to him and punching him squarely in the face. I tell you: It would be a mighty satisfying blow for freedom, selfishness, and rugged individualism.

Just kidding. But I still can’t stand him. The care creep.