Grandpa Joe and the FartSack Nazis

     The kid who found the Golden Ticket had a dilemma.  To use it, he needed an adult go with him.  His parents (I seem to recall—been 40 years since I read the book), worked a double shift in the toothpaste factory, so they were out.  So he turned to his grandparents.  They had nothing better to do—all four spent their days in bed.  You would think the kid’s problem would be that they ALL wanted to go to the Chocolate Factory.  Only natural.  Why would  anyone prefer a day in the FartSack to a day in the Chocolate Factory?  But, you would be wrong.  None of them wanted to leave the FartSack for the Chocolate Factory—except Grandpa Joe.  He was willing.  Afraid, but  willing.  Now, here’s the really weird part.  The others, the ones too afraid to leave the FartSack, didn’t applaud Joe’s courage, they discouraged him from going.  My childish mind could not comprehend why they were afraid to leave the FartSack, and I really couldn’t get why they tried to keep Joe from leaving.

     Now, as a grown up, I understand.  The non-Joe grandparents were FartSack Nazis.  At some point, probably so long ago they couldn’t remember it, they had chosen surrender to the FartSack over the challenge of living,  and with each passing day they lost a little more of their ability to undue that choice.  Perceiving the world outside of their FartSack as gradually changing in ways beyond their comprehension, they became afraid of it.  Ultimately, the Fear ruled what was left of their lives.  Grandpa Joe’s intention to leave the FartSack for the Chocolate Factory was either an act of extreme nonconformity or a declaration of war against the Fear—either way, it was something the FartSack Nazis could not tolerate.  Prisoners are like crabs in a bucket.  They can’t stand to see another crab escape.

     Today, we can see the result of a Nanny State that has been singing the soft song of the FartSack since the mid 1960s.  Gradually, one-by-one, people have surrendered to it.  First learning to prefer the lukewarm breakfast of gruel that the Nanny State delivers to their beds to the idea of going into the kitchen themselves to make some fresh bacon and eggs, and then discouraging the Free from making their own breakfast.  “It’s too dangerous and scary.  Be a good FartSack Nazi and eat your gruel you non-forming bastard.  I’d rather see you die than see you make it out of this bucket.”

     This morning, I rebelled a little.  I told the Bojangles guy to go ahead and Bo-Size my Cajun Filet Biscuit.  What the heck, everybody has their own Chocolate Factory.   Take that Michelle.