Indignified

the Claude Version

Thank you to my thirteen subscribers. From tiny acorns great oaks grow. Special thanks and appreciation to Indignified’s first founder-subscriber Edward Carpenter. His recent book Blue Helmet says it all - Edward is not only a friend and brother, but he is a force for good in the world.

Just a few more days until the Indignified Manifesto is released. So far here is what we’ve seen. I wrote a prompt for my own origin story (Indignified: The Unmaking of a Man) . Then, I wrote it. I took that same prompt and fed it to ChatGPT (with some spooky results), Deep Seek (kind of meh), Claude, Grok, and Gemini.

Today, we get to see what Claude came up with. Paid subscribers will also be able to see my commentary about Claude’s work and the original prompt that I fed myself and all the AIs to get these first Indignified stories before we formally launch on May 1st with the Indignified Manifesto.

Please share this and encourage your friends to subscribe (free or paid) - there are great things coming for everyone. ~CD Familias

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Indignified by Claude

Nathaniel Porter believed in dignity. As a child, he'd memorized his father's maxims on the subject.

"A man stands tall," Howard Porter would say, polishing his shoes on Sunday evenings. "A man earns respect through hard work and propriety."

Nathaniel watched his father's methodical movements from the doorway, absorbing the ritual alongside the wisdom. What he couldn't see were the cracks forming beneath the surface of his father's carefully constructed facade.

The Classroom

At sixteen, Nathaniel raised his hand in Mr. Dunnigan's calculus class.

"Sir, wouldn't it be more efficient to teach integration alongside differentiation? The concepts mirror each other."

Mr. Dunnigan's face reddened. "Porter, are you suggesting you know better than the curriculum board?"

"No, sir. Just asking—"

"Office. Now."

Principal Waters didn't bother hearing Nathaniel's side. The paddle hung on the wall like a medieval weapon, walnut with holes drilled through for maximum effect.

"Hands on the desk," Waters instructed.

After three strikes, Nathaniel's eyes watered, but he refused to cry. His father's voice echoed: A man maintains composure even in pain.

That evening, he showed his father the angry welts.

Howard Porter nodded thoughtfully. "Sometimes questioning authority comes at a price. But I'll speak to Waters tomorrow."

Tomorrow became next week, became never. Howard was too busy with his real estate business to confront the school administration.

"You've got to pick your battles," his father eventually offered. "That's wisdom, son."

The Military

At eighteen, Nathaniel enlisted, believing structure would provide the dignity he craved.

Basic training stripped him bare. Drill Sergeant Keller seemed to single him out.

"Porter thinks he's special!" Keller would shout. "Porter thinks rules don't apply to him!"

Nathaniel never thought himself above rules—he simply questioned arbitrary ones. When he suggested more efficient ways to organize field gear, Keller made an example of him.

Promotion to corporal came, then the incident: Nathaniel refused to falsify maintenance records for equipment his unit had never received.

"It's just paperwork, Porter," his commanding officer said. "Everyone does it."

His father's voice: A man stands on principle.

The demotion came swiftly. Then the drinking to numb the humiliation. Finally, the brig after he drunkenly confronted his superior.

He called his father for guidance.

"Military politics," Howard sighed. "Play the game, son. I could make some calls to friends in Washington..."

The calls never came. Instead, a dishonorable discharge and a one-way bus ticket home.

The Dot-Com Dream

Nathaniel rebuilt himself piece by piece. He learned coding, created a portfolio, landed a job at a promising startup.

"We're changing the world," his boss proclaimed. Stock options, catered lunches, beanbag chairs. Dignity wrapped in Silicon Valley trappings.

He met Sarah at a company party. They married within a year. Nathaniel Porter, respectable tech worker with a 401(k) and health insurance. His father even seemed impressed.

"You've landed on your feet," Howard said at their modest wedding. "I always knew you would."

Then came March 2000. The NASDAQ plummeted. Pink slips rained down.

"We're restructuring," his manager explained, avoiding eye contact.

Sarah was seven months pregnant. Their apartment lease was expiring. Nathaniel swallowed his pride and called his father.

"Bad timing," Howard said. "I've got investments tied up. But listen, this might be a blessing in disguise—a chance to reinvent yourself."

The Scholar

Reinvention came through student loans and night classes. Sarah worked days while Nathaniel cared for their son, Jacob, then switched for evening courses.

Four grueling years later, Nathaniel held his economics degree. The hood, the handshake, the dignity of academic achievement.

"Now you'll find something worthy," his father proclaimed at graduation. Howard had recently sold his agency and retired to Florida.

But 2008 had other plans. The financial collapse vaporized entry-level positions. Interviews yielded sympathy but no offers. The apartment they could barely afford became impossible.

"Just temporarily," Nathaniel assured Sarah as they moved into their car. Jacob, now eight, thought it was an adventure.

Three months of shelter rotations, food banks, and public restroom washing before Nathaniel found work stocking overnight at a grocery store.

The Merchant

From stocker to shift manager to assistant store manager in two years. Nathaniel learned retail, saved aggressively, researched markets. When a small convenience store went up for sale in a developing neighborhood, he secured a loan.

Porter's Market became a community fixture. Nathaniel extended credit to regulars facing hardship. He sponsored little league teams. He hired neighborhood teens.

"You've built something real," Sarah said proudly.

Even his father seemed genuinely impressed, visiting from Florida.

"Entrepreneurship," Howard nodded. "The true American dream."

Then the letter came. The property owner had sold the building. All tenants had sixty days to vacate.

"But my lease—" Nathaniel began.

"Read the fine print," the lawyer said. "Owner can terminate upon property sale with proper notice."

The relocation costs would bankrupt the business. Suppliers wouldn't extend credit to the new location. The family apartment went next—their landlord converting to luxury condos.

"This seems to be a pattern with you," his father said over the phone. "Have you considered that perhaps business isn't your strength?"

The Phoenix

Nathaniel reinvented himself again. And again. And again.

Grocery manager in another city. Insurance adjuster until the office closed. Community college instructor until budget cuts. Real estate agent until another market crash.

Each rise followed by a fall. Each new beginning ending in familiar disappointment.

Friends drifted away. Sarah's smile grew tighter, her eyes more tired. Jacob graduated high school and moved across the country for college, calls becoming less frequent.

"You never stick with anything," a former colleague remarked at a chance meeting. "Always chasing the next thing."

But Nathaniel knew the truth: he hadn't abandoned his pursuits—they had been taken from him.

The Startup

At fifty-three, Nathaniel coded his revolutionary application—a platform connecting small retailers to coordinate purchasing power. Investors showed interest. A tech incubator offered space.

"This is it," he told Sarah, whose belief in him had weathered decades of disappointments.

Howard, now eighty and in assisted living, listened to Nathaniel's excited explanation over the phone.

"Sounds promising," he offered. "Just make sure you have a fallback plan."

Three promising meetings with venture capitalists. Then March 2020. Lockdowns. Economic uncertainty. Investors pulling back.

"We're focusing on our existing portfolio during this crisis," came the emails.

The landlord of their apartment building refused rent deferrals despite the moratorium. When they finally found new housing, the moving company lost half their possessions.

"At some point," Sarah said one night, "you have to acknowledge the pattern."

The Breaking Point

On a Tuesday morning, Nathaniel stood before the bathroom mirror. Gray hair, lines etched deeply around eyes that had witnessed too many false starts. Behind him, Sarah slept, exhausted from her night shift.

He thought of his father, now in hospice care, still dispensing wisdom about dignity and perseverance from his deathbed.

He thought of Jacob, who had stopped asking about his father's latest ventures.

He thought of all the handshakes, promises, contracts, and commitments that had dissolved like sugar in rain.

Nathaniel packed a single bag. He left his phone, wallet, and keys on the kitchen counter beside a note:

I was not undignified. The world was.

He walked to the bus station, purchased a ticket with cash to a town he'd never visited, using a name he'd never used.

On the bus, watching the familiar landscape recede, Nathaniel felt something unexpected: freedom.

The world had stripped him of everything he thought constituted dignity—career, reputation, stability, respect. In doing so, it had inadvertently revealed the truth. Dignity wasn't something bestowed by institutions or achievements. It wasn't his father's polished shoes or framed certificates or business cards.

Sitting on that bus, nameless and unmissed, Nathaniel finally understood. True dignity came from surviving the boot on your throat—and still choosing your own path forward, even when that path led away from everything and everyone.

He would build nothing more. He would prove nothing more. He would only live, indignified and unburdened by the pursuit of respectability.

The landscape blurred outside the window as the bus accelerated. Nathaniel Porter closed his eyes and let his old life fade into the distance.

He was nobody now. And in that nothingness lay a dignity no one could ever take away.

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Below is the original prompt and my commentary on the story Claude wrote from my prompt. It is for paid subscribers only.