Originally, This was a December piece. I wrote it to replace a different piece that I took down. The one I took down was quite long and got a bit dark and angry, and I decided that wasn’t the appropriate approach for the end of the year when people are supposed to make merry and be cheerful. But this wasn't really quite right for the holiday season, so here it is in January, and I hope my bit about Christmas carols at least brought a few smiles.
Instead, I’ve decided to take a look back at my blogs for
the year. I hope no one found them offensive in any way. If you did, I
apologize. No offense was intended.
I try to look at my writing from different angles. I suppose
some people could get the idea that some of my posts are, “Poor, pitiful me” in
essence. Nothing could be further from the truth. There is no intention on my
part to make people feel sorry for me or pity me. If you have gotten that
impression, re-read the piece. I’m generally poking fun at the silly child I
was. I’m always looking for the humor in a situation.
For example, after you’ve been told dozens of times when you
ask the question, “Why?” “Because I’m your mother and I said so,” you begin to
believe that’s the only answer you’re likely to get to that question. I did.
That’s why I stopped asking. There may be no such thing as a stupid question,
but if the answer is going to be, “Because I’m your mother and I said so,”
there will be questions left unasked.
Instead, I tried, with my little child brain, to fathom the
answer when I was told something that didn’t make any sense to me. Often the
reason something didn’t make sense was that the adult in the situation was using an
idiomatic phrase that I didn’t yet understand.
An example of this is when I was told to look up and down
before crossing the street. While logic would tell me to check for cars coming
in either direction, which I did, I could see no possible sense in looking up
or down (in the literal sense) before crossing a street, even at age three. My
mother simply assumed I understood what looking up and down meant (in the
non-literal sense). I did not. But she was my mother, and she said so, so I
obediently looked at the sky and the ground before setting foot across the road.
I was carrying out the letter of the law, as I saw it. She
thought I was being a smart alec. We were both wrong. But it was funny, even if
I wasn’t trying to be when I was three.
My truths are that I am an introvert, and I have poor social
skills, in that I often don’t pick up on the social cues people are shooting at
me. But in the retelling, I see where I went wrong, and try to find the humor
in it.
I tend to be sarcastic, but often hold that in check because
I’m not always sure the other person gets sarcasm. I myself am never quite sure
if someone else is being sarcastic or truly means what they’re saying.
When I talk about being kind of smart, it’s not a brag. The
older I get, the more people I meet that are much smarter than I am. It’s just
that in school, as a point of reference, we were “tracked” into 4 learning
tracks. First track was the students who generally placed high in tests and
learned easily. They were considered college-bound. I was in the middle of that
track, although in a couple of subjects, like chemistry, I was at the lower end
of the track.
Having friends was always a big deal when I was a child, and
I didn’t know how to navigate that. I still wonder why some people bother since
they seem to simply use me as a space saver until someone else comes along.
That’s on them, not me.
In recounting things like having a partner in line in first
grade, the assumption on my part was that being someone’s partner in line made
you friends for life. It is so wrongheaded and silly from an adult perspective that
it’s at least cute, and at best kind of funny that anyone would equate that
with friendship.
Things that are important to children often escape the
notice of adults. While I thought not having a partner in line meant that I was
behaving badly in the perspective of my teacher, she probably thought, “Why doesn't this child ever pick a partner?” if she thought about it at all. It
didn’t matter to her who she stood me next to. She was simply trying to shorten
the line. But to me, who you stood next to was important; if I stood beside one
of the outcasts – tales of the Good Samaritan not equating in a six-year-old
brain to anything to do with me – I became an outcast.
My family life was rather strict, but in terms of how my
peers were raised, not so much. We were held to a different standard than
people today.
I’ve had some tell me my upbringing was too strict. I didn’t
feel that growing up at all. But perhaps the way I was raised contributed to my
social awkwardness. It doesn’t bother me. I just shrug and say, “Oh, well!”
knowing that I was given standards with which to measure my behavior. And
often, my take on things is so far off the mark of what other people do or say
that I’ve been told on a few occasions that I should be a stand-up comedian. (I
know better. I simply don’t have enough material.)
What I find unjust is when I’m held to a higher standard
than my peers. Why is it okay for them to do and say the most hurtful and
atrocious things, behave in a way we were all taught was morally bankrupt with impunity when I am held to account for something that is simply clumsy that I may have said?
That is the one thing I find annoying that has persisted throughout my life.
I was and am socially awkward. It doesn’t bother me now. I
use it in my writing. It’s why I can think of people who don’t fit in, what
they would do or say, and how other people see them. It’s my way of putting
lime juice in something no one else would think to use lime juice for.
Often I don’t want to be a bother to people. I assume, if
they haven’t asked to get together with me, or friended me on Facebook, or made
some other attempt to contact me, they’re not interested. I have, at times,
reached out to people to get together for one reason or another. If they
accept, it tells me they really want to get together. If they say no, it might
be that they simply can’t get away at the time, for whatever reason. I know
people have lives. But it also might be that they have no interest in getting
together, and that’s their polite way of getting out of the situation. I never
know. So, to use a phrase from one of my favorite authors, I let the hare sit,
and don’t ask again. It’s not that I think I’m all that. I just don’t want to
bother people who don’t want to be bothered. If they want to get together, they
can ask. I asked; your turn.
I know I don’t look at the world the way most other people
do. I’m the one who used to hang upside down on the monkey bars and wonder what
it would be like to walk on the sky and have grass overhead, or walk on the
ceiling of the house and have all of the furniture glued to the floor overhead.
It does sound like having way too much time on your hands.
Some of my writing seems to come across as my thinking I’m
ugly and have no talent. Again, no. I’m not ugly. I’m not pretty, either. I’m
just ordinary. I’m always surprised when someone I haven’t seen in a while
recognizes me. I assume I blend in with the furniture.
I do have some talent, as well. I am a good singer, and I
think I’m a pretty good writer. I could be wrong on that last. It’s hard to
know because it’s like pulling teeth go get anyone to give feedback on my
writing. Sometimes I get a comment like, “It’s good.” Whatever that means.
Sometimes it means, “I have no clue what good or bad writing is.” Other times
it means, “I don’t think I have the expertise to critique someone else’s
writing.” And probably more often it means, “Oh, no. I’m expected to say
something. It’s good. That should satisfy her. At least she won’t ask anymore.”
My blogs are meant to be fun, or sometimes challenge people
to think of something a different way. I don’t know who reads them. I don’t get
much feedback. And when someone asks a question in the comment section, there’s
not really a place on the blogsite to answer questions. I think in the new year
I’ll answer any questions at the bottom of the next blog.
The blogs that are short stories are there in case – again,
I’ve had no feedback – some people would like to read a story for a change. I
use some experiences from real life, and some sheer fantasy. No character is a
real person in disguise. It’s experiences that did or could have happened mashed
together and baked at 350 for 30 minutes to produce an experience you may or
may not ever have had.
I hope you enjoy what I have to say and keep coming back for
more. And please, tell me what you think.
No comments:
Post a Comment