Requiem for Common Sense

IN these mad and far too politically correct times, common sense seems to have become somehow devalued. Not everyone appears to use it anymore.

So much so that the London Times once published this obituary:

“Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; life isn’t always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

“Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

“His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

“Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

“Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

“Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled some in her lap and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

“Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility, and his son, Reason.

“He is survived by his four stepbrothers: I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I’m A Victim.

“Not many attended his funeral because so few realised he was gone.”

I suggest that in the context of South Africa today, in addition to common sense, our newspapers could probably be kept writing obituaries for morality, tolerance, humility,  human life and so many others things that humanity used to hold so dear.

But enough now. This column is not supposed to be depressing, so let me end on a lighter note.

One day at the horse races, Piet was all but losing his shirt with one loss after the other. Then he noticed a priest wander on to the track and bless the forehead of one of the horses lining up for the fourth race. Lo and behold, that horse — a total long-shot outsider — won the race.

As the fifth race horses came to the starting gate the priest blessed the forehead of one of the horses.

Piet made a beeline for a betting window. Again, even though it was another long-shot, the horse the priest had blessed won the race. Piet collected his winnings and anxiously waited to see which horse the priest would bless for the sixth race.

The priest blessed a horse, Piet bet big and it won. As the races continued the priest kept blessing long shot horses and each one ended up coming in first.

By this time Piet was making a fortune. By the last race, he knew his wildest dreams were going to come true. He made a quick dash to the ATM, withdrew all his savings and waited for the priest’s blessing.

The priest stepped on to the track and blessed the forehead of an old nag that was the longest shot of the day. Piet also observed the priest blessing the eyes, ears and hooves of the old horse. Piet knew he had a winner and bet every cent he owned. He then watched dumbfounded as the old nag come in stone last.

In a state of shock, Piet confronted the priest: “Father! What happened? All day long you blessed horses and they all won. Then in the last race, the horse you blessed lost by a mile. Now, thanks to you I’ve lost every cent of my savings!”

The priest nodded wisely and with sympathy said: “My son, that’s the problem with you Protestants: you can’t tell the difference between a simple blessing and last rites.”

On that note, I wish all a joyful and blessed Easter.