Silencing the Metronome: Growing Pains and Armpit Stains

Tick Tock, the pendulum swings

each side sings its song

One for the better and one for the worse

neither to admit their wrong

Tick Tock, the clock confirms

we can’t go back in time

Be it black or be it white

your opinion’s not worth a dime

I debated simply posting this and letting nature take its course.  To do so would have led to some very interesting conversation for those brave enough to voice their thoughts.  Since I don’t usually get much of a response given my limited readership, I think I will go ahead and explain.  What started as a cleverly written verse about blind optimism and even shorter sighted pessimism became something much more to me the more I read what it was that I had actually written.  To begin with, it is important to know that when I write, I only write what I know to be real.  I try not to fabricate drama where none exists and in turn avoid glazing the truth to a shiny pearlescent sheen.  Being a blog author myself, I spend a fair amount of time in the blogosphere perusing the works of others.  Most being at least semi-autobiographical, I find myself scratching my head sometimes at the content.  I use the term “semi”-autobiographical because most seem to have an innate need to fabricate a truth about themselves to portray to the public.  They seem to go about this in two manners, neither of which has a better claim.

There are those who veer toward the dramatic and every episode of their lives must be turned into a stage performance.  Even the slightest negativity is blown completely out of proportion till it overshadows everything else.  These folks seem to think themselves a magnet for misfortune and often say things like “Drama just follows me everywhere I go!” or “This kind of thing only happens to me!”.  I can assure you that neither is the case.  The truth is something more along the lines of “My life is so mundane that I feel it necessary to invent and fabricate a web of half-truths to make my life less boring than it actually is”.  The flip side of this coin is no easier to palate.  These are the “Shiny Happy People”.  Those who want you to believe that their lives are perfect and free from strife.  They claim their children are angels and there isn’t a moment of discontentment in their completely fullfilling marriage.  This is as big a con as those who claim that their life is full of want and woe with rotten children and cheating spouses.  In every life a little rain must fall.  Your children will disappoint you, your spouse will disappoint you, and you will disappoint them in return.  A little strife does not equal devilish hatred and will not condemn you to an afterlife of hellfire and damnation.

I guess what I am getting at is this:  What ever happened to honesty?  When I am happy I try to let that show.  Perhaps I am down more than I am up, or perhaps the opposite is the case.  I haven’t really gone back to check.  The point is, when I am proud of my kids I say so.  When they have stepped in it, I share that as well.  Same goes with the wife.  As you all know by now, I think rather highly of her.  Wouldn’t have chosen her as a spouse if I didn’t.  There are some days though, that I wonder what in the hell is running through her head.  Actions that frustrate and dismay.  And again, I share that too.  I even do my best to admit when I disappoint them, though I think I am not as self-deprecating as I ought to be sometimes.  I can be an ogre and I can be a Grinch, but I can also be kind and loving.  As I have mentioned, I can even border on the quasi-sentimental if you will.  So, the question for me is not of honesty but rather discretion.  My life is typically an open book and while my wife has gotten fairly used to my lack of candor, the children are a different story.  Some things are better left unsaid and certain confidentialities should not be betrayed.  So, where do I draw the line?

For instance, I haven’t a single bit of remorse in announcing that despite the fact that I am a grown ass man, I still find it next to impossible to keep from getting deodorant all over my clothes.  Whether the application method be pre-shirting or post-shirting, the outcome is the same.  Honestly, was there some pubescent training seminar that I somehow missed out on?  I see hundreds of fully functional individuals each day, yet none of them appear to share my need to be caked with deodorant to the point of looking like a Hostess powdered donut.  Now, I must admit that this is a sliding scale as there is a fair portion of French society that elect out of the usage of deodorant, yet those that do, don’t seem to have it painted all over the sides of their shirts.  Yet if this was an issue for my children I would be hesitant in discussing the matter for fear that it would discourage them from utilizing necessary hygiene products, and we all know how much I dislike a cloud of “kid stink”.  And this is just a relatively comical hygiene issue, imagine the plethora of meaty yet delicate subjects that I could weigh in on, yet somehow edit out of my report to protect the innocent.  You should all know by now that I don’t have much of an edit button, so for now I will be satisfied to tell it like it is (exactly like it is) provided my parental judgment  doesn’t get the best of me.  Until we meet again . . . R.