Consider This

By LC Van Savage

About a year ago I began doing phone dates with my grandchildren. On certain days at certain times I call them individually, and we have great chats. They tell me about their lives, I don’t tell them about mine, they tell me what they’re thinking about, I don’t tell them what I’m thinking about, they tell me what they want, I tell them they can have it, and so it goes. I love those calls. They are loving, sweet and nicely brief.

A few weeks ago I was chatting with our #2 son Mark’s daughter Darby (7PM Tuesdays) and thought it was going pretty well when she suddenly cut into my words with, "Gramma V., I’m boring on talking to you," and she hung up.

Well, there you go. After I’d recovered from roaring laughter, I began to feel a little jealous of Darby and her ilk---that’d be anyone around 5 years old--- because they can still get away with saying whatever is on their minds and they don’t have to worry about consequences. Well maybe that’s not completely true. At five, life is all about consequences, mostly involving those two universal words; time out.

But kids are however, able to speak their minds with complete clarity, honesty and non-embarrassment. Darby was boring on talking to me and thus quickly terminated the conversation, returning to her more important five year old play stuff. I was left wishing I could say things like that to people I’m boring on talking to, but of course I cannot.

As adults, we unfortunately are really not permitted to say such things, even when we feel them. But I for one, have never been a big fan of total honesty. At least not all the time, especially when it’s brutal honesty. I have acquaintances, for example, who take it upon themselves to say hurtful and cruel things to people, and when queried as to why they do that, their response is, "Well, you wouldn’t have wanted me to be less than totally honest now, would you?"

Well, yeah, I would. These folks do their total honesty bit by saying things like, "Hi Mabel. Mother McCree woman, you’re really packin’ on the pounds, arncha?" or, "Hello there Mr. Walters. Too bad about yer poor sainted wife, bless her soul. But she was gettin’ on in years anyway, right?, and you wunta wanted her to live forever now, wudja?" or "Where in the name of all that’s sacred did you ever get that awful dress?"

There’s a time for all things, and for creative, kindhearted white lying, the time is always. "You look beautiful in that dress," you say to a dear old woman while fighting down nausea caused by the dress’s horrid patterns and repulsive colors.

We all know people who proudly purport to be "totally honest," certain that this characteristic gives them license to tell you things about yourself you’d rather not know or had convinced yourself weren’t noticeable, like your hair dye, new teeth, plastic surgery, shoe lifts, hair plugs, implants, explants, enhancements, exhancements, corset, botox, and all like that. These brutally honest people say brutal things all under the guise of "doing the right thing, being totally honest." Sure, and then they go home and bootleg their pal’s new software.

So it’s clear, at least to me, that sometimes total honesty hurts and we maybe ought to learn to use it creatively and kindly. I wonder if those who "practice" it ruthlessly know it hurts. Alas, I suspect they do and don’t care.

I don’t know what the cut-off age is for when we have to cease innocently speaking the complete truth as we see it. Darby my darling girlchick, go right on telling me you’re boring on talking to me if you are, up to around maybe age sixteen. After that, I’m gonna have to ask you to --- well, just indulge me, OK?