My mind and my mouth – and the things that come out of them– are, I think, both one of my greatest assets and my greatest weaknesses. I almost always think before something comes out, sometimes I even over-think. But I don’t always have the most popular opinion – and I’m not always that graceful in terms of how I say or write things.
Among some gems in my catalogue:
At age five:
Sr. Ida (Catholic School Kindergarten teacher): And so Noah had two of EVERY kind of animal on the ark.
Me (sitting on the floor looking up, stretching and waving my hand): Sr. Ida, what about the dinosaurs, I don’t see their picture here?
Sr. Ida: Well, there were no dinosaurs.
Me: That’s a LIE. I saw the dinosaurs at the Children’s Museum. This is a stupid story.
Off I went to the principal’s office before I could corrupt the precious young minds of my classmates.
And then later to my mother:
Me: Why did Sr. Ida lie? She says those stories in the Bible are true, but then she lies. Why?
There was never a good answer.
At age ten:
Host in a Restaurant: You’ll have to wait to be seated.
My grandmother (on the third round of chemo for the cancer that would eventually take her life): Is there a bench we could use while we wait?
My grandmother: Then I’ll sit here. (Taking a seat at an empty table just by the door)
Me: (Whispering and giving host a knowing look) It’s OK, mister, she’s got C-A-N-C-E-R.
My grandmother told me before she died that that day I became her hero again. I still miss her.
At age eleven:
Upon meeting my father’s girlfriend, she was wearing blue shorts with teal socks and a red top.
GF: (Outside of my father’s presence): Just so you know, I DON’T like children.
Me: Just so you know, I think you’re ugly and your clothes don’t match.
At age fifteen:
In high school CCD class where the teacher had just expounded his theory that God sent AIDS to punish gay people.
Me: Really? What kind of disease is God going to send to punish you for being an idiot?
Lucky me, I got kicked from the class! My mother says this is one of her proudest moments.
At age twenty:
In college, after being told that handing out condoms as part of a class project around safe-sex and AIDS prevention was simply not allowed.
Professor: You simply can’t pass out condoms – it would ENCOURAGE our students to have SEX!
Me: Good Lord, you really think they need encouragement? We’re in college – remember?
Professor: So you think college equals sex?
Me: No, but I think nineteen year old guys and nineteen year old girls wanting to impress or please them plus booze plus the absence of our parents certainly equals sex. Then again, I’m not that good at math.
Professor: Is your blood sugar low?
Me: Ah, no.
At age thirty three:
Just recently, talking with my boyfriend about the rapid decline of the dealership he works for during the day. The dealership had been around in a small town, owned by a popular family, for over 80 years before being bought out last year by a crew of slick, greasy, guidos from Johnston, RI.
Bob: They just couldn’t make it work.
Me: Maybe because they’re out-of-towners trying to sell “Honders with leathah interiahs” to people who don’t know what the hell that means…
So you see how it is. I rarely feel sorry about what I say or how I say it – even if I get in trouble over the words, even if I make someone dislike me. And I wonder – is this a flaw or a strength – do you think? Is it a little of both?
As I was writing my last post – I thought of the times I’ve said odd or totally irrational or illogical things during a low bloodsugar, the times I’ve said exactly the opposite of what I truly feel or mean, or the times I’ve imagined myself something to say in the middle of a low – just to be able to hear my own voice – to know that I can still speak.
I am thankful for my voice, but maybe on occasion, I wish it were quieter, I wish I were less apt to wanting to be heard.
Now I’m just babbling…