The reality of our current day is downright complicated.
Yet when presented with real, potential solutions by some statesmen, scientists and philosophers for these complicated problems, our eyes glaze over. Spare the details. We want the "For Dummies" version of curing societal ills.
In other words, we prefer bumper stickers, billboard slogans and Facebook memes instead of real discussion. I dare say even my seventh-grade granddaughter grasps that life's puzzles can't be solved in seven words or less -- the ideal limit for billboard content I learned during my ad biz stint.
This bumper sticker phenomenon is not new. But it's exacerbated by Facebook, Twitter and the demise of rotary telephones that connected a call by spitting fire inside a plastic box hanging on the kitchen wall. The benefit of that old technology, among others last century, was that it required you to slow down and set your mind to what you were to say once someone answered. It involved thoughtful pauses, especially if you were painstakingly dialing near full-circle numbers 8, 9 or 0.
Another advantage: No regrets last century from "reply to all" faux pas or auto-corrected texts that are wildly incorrect.
The first bumper stickers were produced by Forest Gill, a Kansas City silkscreen printer. He found new use for self-adhesive paper used during World War II. Thus, bumper stickers were part of the post-war economic boom begun in the late 1940s. Tourist attractions like Rock City in Tennessee, Meramec Caverns in Missouri and others in Florida used them. We have relatives in northeastern Alabama, near Chattanooga, so Rock City was a common summer destination in my youth. After touring gnome-filled caves, we'd return to the parking lot to find the signature bumper sticker "See Rock City" on the rear of our two-toned Mercury.
It was also in that era that the succinct political slogan "I like Ike" was popularized, though I don't recall specifically. I was only 2 years old when the respected general first ran for president. How effective that simple slogan was. It stated a candidate choice and perhaps opened a civil conversation as to why. Not at all like the profuse messages and zingers of today.
You can't pull up to a traffic stop without having an extensive, one-way conversation with the bumper and rear hatch of the vehicle ahead. By the time the light turns green you've learned, via stick figures, how many are in the family, what the favorite dog breed is and which kid is an honor roll student. Or conversely, which kid is capable of beating up your honor roll kid.
I've driven many miles on Texas' busy interstates in recent months where one can't help but see terse, combative billboards that represent today's empty platitudes that lead to more questions than answers. Former Republican state Sen. Don Huffines hoping to unseat Texas Republican Gov. Greg Abbott is an example. His highway boards are hit-and-run messages full of code words.
"Close the border," one board states. Now we all know that Texas borders Mexico, but border control and checkpoints are the purvey of Washington, not Austin.
"Stop giving illegals our money," says another. So, does that mean well-to-do suburban Republicans in Dallas and Houston shouldn't pay their yardmen and housekeepers?
"Eliminate property taxes!" Wait a sec. Texas has no income tax. So, if you eliminate property taxes, how do you pay for anything to do with government? High sales taxes?
And my favorite is "A real Republican." A jab at Abbott, but, oh dear. Now we have not only fake news but fake Republicans, too?
The bumper sticker I will never forget was popularized by the Campus Crusade for Christ circa 1975: "I found it".
I found what? Even as a young adult, part of the target audience, I was put off. "It" meant salvation through Jesus Christ. Therefore, the angst-filled realization of one's mortality and the true come-to-Jesus discovery of life everlasting was reduced to a bumper sticker. As a Christian, I cared not for the approach.
Luckily for all of Christendom there were no first century bumper stickers. Can you imagine the Magi departing the adoration of the Holy Child with "I found it" stickers affixed to the rear of their camel saddles? Surely King Herod's spies would have followed such clues with catastrophe ensuing. Even so, the gift-bearing visitors would have removed them forthwith. Because, you see, they were wise men -- the kind of men we desperately need now and well beyond our current season of adoration.