Confidence - who tells?

Her best friend's lover was a good-looking, sweet guy. At coffee one afternoon he quietly propositioned her. He had never even touched her.

It bothered her a lot. She told several people, some who were known to be indiscreet. All were sworn to secrecy. None told. Eventually her boyfriend pointed out that it was disloyal to keep the event from her friend.

The interesting thing was that the wicked chatterboxes had kept shtum. Had she really told them in confidence? Had she hoped the story would get out?

It was several months later that the whole thing became common knowledge.

Confidence - self assurance

Very few people have the nous to confront bullies or bullying. A does and did.

She was playing in the sandbox in Washington Square Park. She might have been three.

One child was taking toys and pushing sand at another. The typical rotten kid behaviour that half the adults fume about, and the other half declare should be left to the children to sort out. (Three year olds? Hah!) At any rate, A looked over at the other child and said in a deep gravelly voice "Stop picking on her! Now!" A brief pause. "And don't pick on me either."

Laughter

"You have no sense of humor."

"You just don't get the joke."

Oh, she got it all right. The ongoing gimmick was that she was wrong, bad, or annoying. For some reason, when an insult, no matter how direct, was framed within a joke, it was supposed to lose its hurtful quality.

But it didn't.

She didn't laugh.

She was that serious girl. Who won't get your jokes. Who looks at you stone-faced.

She'd tell her friends about her students, her children. Sometimes the stories were sad, vignettes often are. Mostly though, her predicaments left her friends roaring. Her too.

Grace - or not

It was one of those winter days. Started out clear, but got colder. As the afternoon went on the sky turned an icy gray. She wore tight jeans, a pea-coat, and brand spanking new tan faux cowboy boots.

There was the puddle on the far side of the street, slush and God knows what else. As is often the case, no clear path around it. She soared right over it. Perfectly clearing a miserable obstacle. Hah! Her boots remained unspotted.

She couldn't have planned it better.

Of course then one heel slid across the iced covered pavement -- voilà! perfect pratful.

Grace - time's arrow

C and I met at work. A few months later I read out to him a sequence from Thus Was Adonis Murdered. He borrowed it. Julia was so obviously what all of us (sadly) are, dearly though we'd love to be Selena. (The author is Sarah Caudwell -- read her books!)

And then we became friends. His niece was two or three by then. In the course of describing his days (Little Theater, cats, etc) he'd tell me about her. Her birthday parties. How she reacted when her parents separated. What she was doing schoolwise.

This year, Grace graduates from college. 

Honesty - oh yeah those pics

I don't always hate them.

Wait! Before you go sending me your uncensored self, understand that you have to ask first if I want to see them, and you really ought to be someone whom I've indicated appeals. And in posession of pretty genitals.

Odd lumps, warts, pimples, weeping sores, and tattoos aren't added attractions. Men, add livid circumcision scars to the list. Shaven male genitalia, and unshaven male chests lead me to giggle. If you're female and have to shave your chest, skip me.

Now, if you're still sure that yours'll pass muster, feel free to send the pics.

Honesty - again

Pets quickly learn that what's on the floor is theirs.

There were twenty feet of low, open shelving, holding books and records. There were two young dogs.

One would paw books off the shelves and wander away. Next, the other would look at the floor by the shelves and happily start chewing on the brand new toys that had suddenly appeared.

Soon, the second dog knocked over more books. The first, miming surprise, attacked the new pile.

They oh-so-carefully stuck to the plan -- one destroyed what the other supplied, willfully ignorant of the source of their chewtoys, all rules unbroken.

Honesty

Some people's honesty comes across as cruelty to others.

Some people's attempts at kindness are felt as sugar coated lies.

How do we navigate this?

Clarity.

Identify what you want. Imagine yourself saying it. Then say it.

Remember, if it's important to you, it's important. When your interlocutors say it's not, repeat: it's important to you.

Open yourself to what other people say. If you don't understand, ask. When you're open to people, it's easier to be open with them.

Don't make excuses for yourself. Recognizing and acknowledging how you can be an asshole doesn't excuse you from decent manners.

Outsider

Many people talk about how they were outsiders as children or adolescents. Most weren't.

One kid had been at Little Red since the 4s (nursery school). No one ever had a playdate with her.
Another kid's mother told her she had to invite the whole class to her seventh birthday, including the outsider. She brought a whole slew of really nice things.

We might end the story there, with the entire class learning that if you're nice to odd ducks you might be rewarded.

Hah! Things didn't change. At some point she switched schools. I wasn't that kid. Were you?

Contrast

There was a white boy with iffy skin, and shortish (no more than an inch), dark, spiky hair. Clearly, he was well acquainted with product. He was playing with his sparkly phone, bits of which kept lighting up. On his head, a yarmulke large enough to stay in place without (obvious) bobby pins.

Further along the car, a very light complected girl day-dreamed, her hair piled into a big pink cap. It was crocheted (or knitted?) with a wide bill. Tendrils escaped it from below, neutral mousy brown. Hands idle, seated and chewing gum.

Seated and standing, kippoch and cap.