Two days ago, while shopping at Target with my wife and chasing my son between the aisles, a random thought entered my mind that all the sudden hit me like a thunderbolt. One of my favorite movies of all time is the Matrix, a futuristic movie that tells of a dystopian world where machines appropriate humanity and use us as sources of energy.
As much as I loved the first two installments of the Matrix, the last release left a bitter taste in my mouth. What disappointed me the most was the ending, I was able to deconstruct most of the movie and parallel it to what humans have become, but the denouement confounded me. Unable to grasp the meaning of Neo losing his eyes in order to defeat the Architect, I decided to pan the Matrix Revolutions.
Watching my son galivanting around Target in full glee and running up to random strangers to say hello with babbles—and my attempts to reign him in and apologize to people for his exuberance—was a watershed moment. I realized that I was trying to change him. Children come into this world free from preconceived notions and reservations only for parents to mold them so they can fit in. We code kid’s brains with “acceptable behaviors”; parents are the Architects who wire neo-borns to be a part of the Matrix.
For the most part, we do this for good reason; we have to protect children from their own proclivities. However, there is also a part of us that project our issues upon them; traumas we never addressed and issues we never dealt with get manifested outward as we try to protect them from bogeymen that only exist in our minds. What is the line, I ponder, between protecting children and...continued...
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teodroseIII
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