Word Games
The Things We Say (Non-fiction)
“I can be mean too, don’t forget that.”
My wife made that comment a couple of days ago.
I responded,
Not like me.
“Um, yes I can.”
No, you can’t.
“Oh, I can.”
Nope, you can’t.
“Yes. I. Can.”
No. You don’t have it in you, Jo. You just don’t.
“So, you are going to argue about who can be the meanest?”
Yes, yes I am.
She walked away with a shrug of indifference, muttering something that sounded curiously like, “Okay, weirdo.”
That strange bout of mean-mugging had me thinking about the things we say to each other, and how the words we choose to use have such amazing power.
Once those syllables escape our lips, they can’t be taken back.
The words we say have the power to amaze, amuse, bother and confuse.
They can be forgotten in a minute or stay with us…
forever.
Years ago, I was embroiled in an argument with a business competitor who was attempting to steal a piece of our equipment. In the middle of the row, my thieving sparring partner, an English chap, nonchalantly threw out three words.
“Calm down, Sunshine!”
That last, seemingly innocuous word, had me fit to be tied.
That muppet slagging me off in the King’s English with near-perfect diction, threw me totally off my game.
It was only a load of codswallop, but in a moment of smoldering frustration, I tried to return the vitriol by calling the daft bloke the first thing that popped into my head.
Moonbeam.
Yep.
I know.
It didn’t quite land the way I wanted it to.
Or, needed it to.
In fact, it didn’t land at all, and England Dan was chuffed to bits.
Which, led to a serious bout of cussing, bellowing and general consternation.
I was pretty salty.
He remained steady on.
When the argy-bargy was all over, he returned the equipment, and we both went on our merry way.
But, it did not alter the fact that I let that surly geezer from the old country get totally under my skin with one measly word.
At times, the right words at the right time can make a big difference in diffusing a confusing situation.
At a Todd Snider show in Cincinnati years ago, a loud, rowdy patron was rapid-firing a bevy of song requests at the singer.
Finally, Mr. Snider’s patience wore thin and he paused the show to speak to the gentleman.
“Um, sir… yeah, the one yelling, um… if you could, if you don’t mind, maybe just write your song requests on your beer cans and quietly slip them up onto the edge of the stage. I think that may work out better than just screaming words at me that I cannot understand. I’ve got lights shining at me, and monitors, and things in my ear and all kinds of shit going on up here.
“I mean, like… I hear you, but I don’t. Know what I mean?”
Then, he calmly and succinctly wrapped it up.
“I thank you for your time in addressing this matter.”
The entire crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, and the shouter was never heard from again.
No doubt, Bob Dylan would have handled things a bit differently. But, instead of tossing him out or berating him, the barefoot troubadour from Oregon decided to go a different route, and it worked like a charm.
Speaking of confusing, some words seemingly have that trait as their impetus.
Now, I’m not a hunter, and I don’t want to tick off all the folks I know who are, but I have to draw the line at hunting in my neighborhood.
A neighborhood full of kids, dogs, cats, horses and cows running amok.
My wife had a friend who brought her hubby over to meet us one day. He seemed nice enough, but as he was leaving, he had a question for me.
“Hey, would it be all right if I came over to hunt?”
I pondered.
Um… where?
“Right here.”
Like, in my… yard?
“Yeah, you have some land don’t you?”
Some… yeah… but, no! You can’t hunt in my yard.
I guess I could have answered,
Yeah, sure! As long as I can come over and fish in your kids aquarium.
The question that day was apparently a warning shot, because a short time later, another young buck snuck into our neighborhood and shot a deer on the edge of my land.
Okay, it was a human that shot a buck, but the sound of that close shot scared the hell out of my wife and I.
When I found the culprit, he was so garbed up in camo gear, I had to stay focused to be absolutely sure I was cussing him and not the tree he was standing next to.
He thought he had the answer.
“Yeah, I’ve got permission to hunt on this land.”
Until, I asked him a few questions.
Who’s land? The land your left foot is standing on or the one where your right foot is currently residing? Because that foot is in my yard, and the deer is straddling the line. You trying to hunt half a deer?
Crickets…
I try not to use ‘bad’ words, as a daily habit, but in the midst of watching basketball or soccer, or smashing my finger with a hammer, or dealing with road-raging drivers, those ten or fifteen terms we all love and loathe, do have the ability to make me feel a wee bit better.
Some of those words, I feel, were tailor made for unaware people.
I’ve written about the unawares and my normal inclination to smack them upside the head.
I know you can’t go around smacking people, and even if I followed through with that fun-sounding fantasy, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I’ve been known to throw thousands of hints at unaware people, and still, they remain unaware.
Unaware, that I’m giving hints.
Unaware, that I’m talking about them.
Unaware, that I want to smack them in the head.
Unaware, sometimes… that I’m even speaking.
Remember, unaware peeps are always unaware they are unaware.
Yes, I know we all have blind spots, and we can all exhibit unawareness in certain situations, but some individuals seem impervious to being aware.
Like it’s in their genes.
During my son’s soccer-playing days, I met a guy who was in a league of his own.
Which fit, because he happened to be the league president.
If the man met you, he would tell you he and his wife were sitting on seven college degrees between the two of them.
And, then, he would smile at you.
A long, weird, wide, beaming smile.
I was never sure how to properly respond to that.
Like, I mean, that’s commendable, but what do you say?
Yippee!
Or,
Well, look at you dawg!
Or,
Well, I’ll be damned! You two are just totin’ around a veritable cornucopia of sheepskin in those big ol’ noggins, aren’t you?
Usually, I just smiled back, thinking… yeah, I’ve heard that.
Maybe I should’ve called bullshit on him.
Damn, all of those B.A.’s and you still spout all of this B.S.!
Over the course of a soccer season, the guy would remind you of his academic prowess over and over again.
Like, that’s clearly THE point he wanted to get across to everyone.
He also claimed he was great at trivia.
Now, wouldn’t that be a load of…
fun?
Trivia, with seven degrees of separation…
from reality.
I’m not really sure what all of those degrees were actually for, and I’m not saying they weren’t legit. I’m just saying he was the obvious poster child for oblivious people…
and one goofy bastard.
Words can be used to make the world better or add to the vitriol.
Like online, where some people love to argue and harangue.
And like me, I guess, out here calling people goofy bastards…
but, I digress.
My Mother chose to use her words for better things.
She was a bright shining light in my life, and I have her fingerprints all over my soul to prove it.
Her calm demeanor warmed my troubled days like the sun’s beaming rays.
She had a phrase she always used when she knew something was bothering me.
She would just say,
“Don’t worry, honey.”
That’s it.
Simple, and to the point.
She never said it in a flippant way.
She just wanted me to understand that worrying does nothing to alleviate the problem.
I will shamefully admit, for most of my life, I didn’t take her advice to heart as I should have.
But now that I’m older, with so many worrisome scenarios on the horizon…
deep, heavy things…
I listen.
And when one of those heavy things lands nearby,
I can still hear her saying,
“Don’t worry, honey…
While I think to myself,
I’m trying not to, Mom.
I really am.
I’m trying.
Thanks for reading!
Please check the archive for more stories.
Haha I've had that "who can be meaner" argument verbatim with a few ex-girlfriends. Don't poke the bear . . . And my own neighbor last year wanted to shoot the couple of white tail deer that visit our yards and, considering I like animals more than most people, frankly, I was not happy about that. He never did shoot them, thankfully. This was another wonderful meditation Marty!
It's kind of funny, really. We can tell unaware people about the things they are unaware of and most likely, they'll continue on, as if we'd said nothing at all. I try to just be grateful for what I have and not expect much of the world. Hehe. Not that I won't shout at drivers when they do stupid things but even in doing so, I don't expect it to change a thing. With the seven-degree guy, I think a good response would be to say, "I hated college" and walk away. Ha. Just like your mother's wise words, the short, quick responses hit the hardest. Great post, Marty.