Since the beginning, I’ve had the phrase “only you!” aimed at me in various accusatory and insinuating tones. We’re all always informed we’re unique and different and “special” …in our own way. “Bloggy, only YOU could come up with …” Recently my son made an innocent comment, a compliment actually, that has had me visiting this subject.
On the way to school one morning my rawkin’ 4th grader began, “Daddy? You know how you say words sometimes, like ‘innun-see-ace-she-un’ (intentionally sounding it out funny in the way I like to trash words)?” I nodded and he went on, “Well, that’s why I’m such a good speller. Sometimes I get stuck on a word and I say it to myself, like the way you’d say it, and somehow I know how to spell it.” I grinned from ear to ear, thankful that the habit hadn’t worked against us. (“Rutabaga” was a surefire word to use when he was a baby to make him giggle. Rrrrrollllll that “R” and it’s golden!)
After this exchange I flashed back to high school, just inside the door that led out to the smoking area. I had the image of my then girlfriend (as if I have one now, ha!) walking away as her friend said, “You know that’s why she likes you, don’t you?” I was clueless of course, and asked why. “It’s the way you talk.” I was surprised, and little confused, she went on to inform me that, “You don’t talk like everyone else. Not bad, but you say things differently.”
I snapped from that moment back to reality and realized maybe I’m just now understanding what she was getting at after all these years. A moment later I was in the 3rd grade. I was in the cafeteria sitting close to the kitchen, opposite of the entrance. The gym back then doubled as the dining room. The long tables folded up into the walls during gym time, and were let down (with a great screeching and thunderous amount of noise) for lunch. I looked across the way and caught my teacher’s eye. She was standing and bent over whispering to another teacher and when they both looked my way and were laughing, I immediately knew what they were talking about. You see, we’d just played a word game, the first one I remembered ever playing. I remember Mrs. Johnson going over the “rules” and how you just say the first word that comes to mind. She gave a few examples and we were off. It seemed like it was lightening fast as she went from one kid to the next zapping a single word across and them ricocheting the reply. I was very nervous and when it got to be my turn, I was determined to be just as fast as or faster than the other kids. WHAM! The teacher shot my word to me. “Dryer.” And with the same exacting efficiency, I returned fire. “Bounce!” You see the power of advertising on the young mind. It was a fairly new product and that was the first word that came to mind. Laughter ensued and the game slowed considerably.
On this same topic, today the high school memories resurfaced and I found myself facing a teacher I affectionately called (not to her face) Miss Barrel Butt. It seems she’d caught me one too many times in the hallway making kissy kissy and decided to call me on it in front of the class. I informed her I didn’t appreciate her doing so and she pointed out that it wasn’t *she* who had been making out in the hallway for everyone to see. I ended it with, “Well, I can’t help it that you’re not getting any.”
Of course outside of school I used words here and there to my benefit. Once a group of the guys were walking around the neighborhood and Tim (yes, Tim the Mailman) decided that the shorter route, straight over the VW Bug, was a much more sensible means of transportation, rather than going ‘round. He did, and his football-player-sized body dented the hood on the descent from the roof. We took off and he went home while the rest of us continued to walk. On the next trip around the ‘hood, the owner of the car ran out to meet us as we passed and overheard us comment on the dent. He hadn’t actually seen any of us do it, but he’d heard us talking. He decided I was the one to confront (=smallest in the group) and began mouthing off. He threatened me with, “…and if you were a man, I’d knock you on your ass!” I smiled and laughed and said, “And if YOU were a man, I’d knock YOU on YOUR ass.” I turned, and walked away. [He ended up calling the cops, but my name had been left out of his complaint.]
This morning, at the end of my annual review, my boss thanked me for my efforts here as we were exiting his office together. He mentioned my co-worker Stacy was next, and as she is fairly new, this would be her first time to have a review done with him. By that time we were out in the hallway and I raised my voice, “So should I walk past her office in tears?” Several people were in earshot, including Stacy, and started laughing. One of the managers told my boss that wasn’t very nice and he said, “It was Bloggy that said it, not me! You know I would never have come up with that on my own!”
Of course I don’t always navigate a conversation easily, or in the proper direction. I remember riding in the car with some of the family to take one of my sisters to college. I don’t remember who we were talking about, but I blurted out that, “I wanted to stick my foot up his butt!” After the shocking gasp sounds coming from every seat but mine, the next several silent miles were my punishment as I wondered what I’d said that was so bad.
This all makes me snap to the front porch of the house, around this same time, when I was talking to a friend of mine. Mom and I had just gotten into an argument and I stormed out of the house, and my friend came with me. We started talking and were interrupted as my sister came out and got in her car. I started whispering to my friend as she rolled the window down demanding, “WHAT did you just say?!” I knew she couldn’t have heard me, so I gave her the standard, “Nothing.” She reminded me that she had a friend that was deaf and that she could indeed read lips. I quickly said the sound-alike, “Witch. W.I.T.C……H.” She rolled up the window in a huff and drove off.
Then there was that time in my late teens I gave myself the “Nice Job, Asshole” Award when I dutifully told my parents that the reason they no longer got hugs from me was because they didn’t deserve them.
Funny how we can wear some memories in comfort and pride, like a brand new jacket. While just one or two bad memories can bubble up and tarnish the lot. Makes you wonder if we’re more damaging to others, or ourselves.
But I have had better moments where allegedly I “always say the right thing” and supposedly “have an old soul”. (Maybe they referring to my footwear.)
In any event, I suggest taking the high road and going the way of a good honest compliment if you’re going to challenge yourself to speak your mind. It’s better for the sender and the recipient. Build trust, don’t burn bridges.
If that doesn’t work, tell ‘em “You’re a worthless bag of shitdust you fucking lowlife piece of motherfucking shit!!”
