I’d lose my will to live if I believed people actually heard themselves talk.
My co-worker says things like, “Ron is a completely new person. He did a 360-degree turnaround.” Or, “Where did you get those flowers? From FDIC?”
She can’t distinguish syllables from words, either. During one of her daughter’s temper tantrums, I heard her say, “Samantha, I have two words for you. Be-have.”
Much to my dismay, I have never called my co-worker a moron. Nor did I tell my gloating neighbor that the ability to make a seamless transition to college life is a trait shared by serial killers. Still, I don’t see people chomping at the bit to call me nice.
My friend Wesley and I consider it supremely unjust that we don’t get credit for the times we wanted to make an offensive comment but didn’t. To this day, we mourn every one of those missed opportunities for a laugh at someone else’s expense.
Oh, to have the freedom to respond from the heart, like my then three-year-old did when I asked him to apologize for hurting daddy’s feelings. Zach thought about it for a moment and said, “Sorry [long pause], idiot.” I will always regret having to tell him he must never apologize like that again.
From his first colicky moment, Zach was exceedingly in touch with his feelings. A very late speaker, his first words were “F---ing shit, mama! Beep beep!” At first I thought this was outrageously funny. But as the first day of pre-school drew near, his cursing began to make me uneasy. I called his pediatrician for advice.
"Alan, Zach is using really foul language in the car. I’m afraid he’s going to get thrown out of pre-school.” Dr. Poole has a great sense of humor, which is every bit as important to me as his medical acumen. “Well, what’s typically going on when Zach curses?” he asked. I told him the timing “seemed” to coincide with my beeping the horn and yelling at other drivers. “Lisa,” said Poole, “quit beeping the f---ing horn.”
