Scene: Middle School, 1997
7th grade me and my friend standing at our lockers.
Random 7th grade friend: So did you see Pam’s hair?
7th grade me: Yeah. I did. It looks terrible. It looks like she stuck her head in a bucket of bleach and then stuck her finger in a light socket.
Random 7th grade friend (looking nervously behind me): Oh, well, I think it looks okay.
7th grade me: What? Are you kidding? It looks like crap. I bet all her hair falls out.
Random 7th grade friend (looking even more nervously behind me): Um . . .
7th grade me (slowly turning around to find Pam standing behind me): *10 seconds of awkward silence* Uh, hi, Pam. Your hair looks great!
Pam storms off and never speaks to me again.
We’ve all been there. Well, maybe not, but we’ve all had friends or family members get terrible hair-cuts, perms, or dye jobs. I'm talking bad highlights, hair sticking up in different directions, bald spots.
You see, I always notice hair cuts. Always. And if one of my friends gets a really bad hair-cut, I say nothing. I would rather say nothing than lie to them and tell them their hair looks good when it doesn't. What if they take all these people telling them their hair looks good seriously? Then they continue to cut their hair the same way for the next 20 years? Do you really want to be responsible for that?
I was telling this to my friend Chris the other day and he asked me what I would do if my friend asked me directly what I thought of their bad hair-cut:
"I'd tell them the truth."
"You would tell them to their face that their hair looked like crap?"
"Well, I'm not going to say it like that. I'd put it a little nicer."
"Yeah, then they never speak to you again."
"Look, if you ask me what I think, I'm going to tell you. If you're not prepared for someone to tell you the truth, then don't ask."
"Fair enough."
This leads into my next question: It’s one thing to offer an unsolicited comment or opinion on a Facebook photo or someone’s latest hair-cut, but what do you say when a friend directly asks you for your opinion on something, or someone, in which your most truthful answer will not be a positive answer. What if the stakes are higher? Are there situations in which telling someone the truth will cause more harm than good?
How about the following scenarios:
Scenario #1: Your best friend’s significant other frequently says sexually suggestive things to you and flirts with you and your other friends when your friend is not around or not paying attention. Your friend is having doubts about their significant other’s fidelity, and they ask you if you think their significant other would ever cheat on them.
What do you say? Truth or lie? Half-truth? Evasive maneuvers?
Now imagine it’s their fiancée.
What do you say?
They’re getting married in a week.
What do you say now?
They’ve been married for three years and are already having problems.
Now what?
What if they’re not your best friend, but just an acquaintance? What if it’s not your friend but someone you can’t stand?
It’s not quite as simple, is it?
Scenario #2: Your significant other wants to pursue a career as a writer. You’ve read their stuff, and it’s nothing special. Maybe you’ve read more interesting stuff written on the side of a bathroom stall. They’ve already invested a lot of time and money (maybe even a college degree) into this career. They think they might be the next Hemingway or Maya Angelou. They ask you if you think they have what it takes to be successful. Is their writing good enough?
What do you say? Truth or lie? Half-truth? Evasive maneuvers?
Now imagine they’ve been rejected for the 20th time by a publisher and they are devastated.
Still the truth? Better to lie?
You’re married and they want to spend a large chunk of your savings flying around the country talking to different publishers.
Truth now?
It’s not your significant other, it’s your sibling.
Now?
It’s your son or daughter.
What do you say?
Getting more difficult isn’t it?
Scenario #3: Your aunt is dying of cancer. It’s revealed that her husband, your uncle, is having an affair with one of her close friends. Your aunt doesn’t know. She is very weak and probably only has days to live. Do you tell her the truth? Or do you pretend everything is fine?
The affair has been going on for years, even before she was sick.
Do you tell her now?
He’s fathered two children with his mistress.
Do you tell her now?
Your aunt is a millionaire and upon her passing, all her assets will pass to your uncle and his mistress. This includes all family heirlooms and properties in her possession.
How about now? You want her to die thinking he’s a great guy and devoted husband?
This last scenario actually happened in the family of a friend of mine. My friend's uncle cheated on her aunt with my friend's mother. They were sisters, and the aunt was in the hospital dying of cancer. My friend's cheating uncle was also her dad's best friend. They told the aunt the truth before she died. I don’t know how you make decisions like that.
You could think up a million scenarios, with a million different variables. I guess the question comes down to what kind of person you are. Would you rather hear the truth, even if it hurts? Or would you rather not know or be lied to, sparing your pride and your feelings.
There also has to be a distinction made between your opinion of someone or something, versus volunteering or withholding information from someone. The seriousness of trying to decide whether or not to tell someone their singing makes your ears bleed versus trying to decide whether or not to tell your friend their significant other made a pass at you is quite different. The consequences of telling the truth in these situations, or not telling the truth, are quite different.
Monday, March 15, 2010
When do you tell the truth? A tricky question . . .
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Get Better, Not Bitter
I read something somewhere that said children of abusive or alcoholic parents will follow one of two paths in their lives: they will become just like the parents that raised them, or they will put all their effort into being nothing like them. I think I am a strange mix of the two.
You see, no matter how much you try to not be like your parents, you can't escape the fact that you are a mix of their DNA. They may or may not have raised you, but they are still a part of you. Whether you like it or not.
When my alcoholic, dysfunctional parents divorced, I told myself that I would never get a divorce. No matter what I had to do, if my marriage was in trouble, I would go to the ends of the earth to fix it. I would do it for my kids, if I had any. I would do it for myself. I would do it for my husband. I would not give up.
My dad missed out on my life from age nine to age nineteen. He always said he didn't want a nasty custody battle, but I think he just wasn't strong enough to fight. He said he thought we didn't want to see him, but I think he knew it was my mom that didn't want us to want to see him. There were many nights when my mom would scream and yell at us that I wished he would rescue us, but he never did. I told myself I would never give up on my family. I would never abandon them when they needed me.
I understand that my parents had messed up childhoods, but I never understood, and still don't, why we had to suffer for the crappy things that had happened to them. My dad's dad was married three times and was an alcoholic, just like his father before him. My dad is an alcoholic, though he won't admit it. Grandpa told dad his whole life that he was stupid, and my dad has spent his whole life trying to prove him wrong. Even though Grandpa has been dead for several years, my dad is still trying to prove him wrong. I see the pain in my dad's eyes. I see him trying to numb the pain and forget as he drinks and drinks. I don't know if he sees the pain in my eyes.
My mom grew up in an equally tumultuous home. From what I understand, my grandparents fought a lot. I think Grandpa hit Grandma, but I'm not sure how often. It got worse the older they got, the fighting, not the hitting. By the time Grandpa died, they were sleeping in separate rooms. They'd been married for over fifty years. There are a lot of other things that happened to my mom, but I'm not clear on what they are. I don't really want to know. My mom is an alcoholic, but she won't admit it. She's a very angry, lonely person.
My dad's sisters, Kathy and Carolyn, tell me that I'm a lot like my dad. I'm sensitive and loving.
My dad's brother, Tom, tells me that I'm strong like my mother. I'm independent and smart.
Those seem like good qualities. Right?
My dad is also weak. My mom has an explosive temper. Dad often pouts when he doesn't get his way. Mom shouts and slams things when she doesn't get her way. Mom and Dad can both be very controlling. Dad represses his emotions, thoughts, and feelings while mom lets it all out and holds nothing back. They have both let the crappy things that happened in their lives destroy them, their marriage, and their children.
If you saw them at church, at work, or at the grocery store, they seem normal enough. Maybe even happy, but inside, they are broken, broken people.
I never want to be like that.
My favorite quote of the year is from a book by Donald Miller. Don meets a guy that grew up in foster care because he was abandoned by his parents. He never had a family. Somehow he grew up into a normal, happy, successful person, and founded a mentor program for boys without father's. Don asked the guy how he'd turned out the way he did after everything he'd been through. The guy told Don that when terrible things happen to you, you can do one of two things: you can get better, or you can get bitter. He chose to get better. So do I.
I know that I can't erase all traces of my parents from my personality and who I am, and I wouldn't want to. However, I can choose not to carry their crap into the next generation.
I've taken an inventory of the things I need to work on and watch out for. I've shed a lot of the negativity that my mother fed into me. I've shed a lot of the anger and all of the hate she poured into me. I'm steadily lengthening the short fuse she gave me. I will hold onto the strength and perseverance she instilled in me. I will keep her sharp wit and humor. I will not throw out her constant motivation to excel in all I do.
I will get rid of the low self-esteem my father has been weighed down by his whole life. I will not stifle my feelings and emotions like my father does. I refuse to use guilt as a weapon, one that he's carried his whole life. I will love others unconditionally, as my dad loves others. I will not judge, lest I be judged, as dad understands so well. I will give the shirt off my back to whomever needs it, as dad has done many times.
With God's strength, I will get better, not bitter. I can see the result of getting bitter in my parents lives. I don't want my kids to see that in me.
You see, no matter how much you try to not be like your parents, you can't escape the fact that you are a mix of their DNA. They may or may not have raised you, but they are still a part of you. Whether you like it or not.
When my alcoholic, dysfunctional parents divorced, I told myself that I would never get a divorce. No matter what I had to do, if my marriage was in trouble, I would go to the ends of the earth to fix it. I would do it for my kids, if I had any. I would do it for myself. I would do it for my husband. I would not give up.
My dad missed out on my life from age nine to age nineteen. He always said he didn't want a nasty custody battle, but I think he just wasn't strong enough to fight. He said he thought we didn't want to see him, but I think he knew it was my mom that didn't want us to want to see him. There were many nights when my mom would scream and yell at us that I wished he would rescue us, but he never did. I told myself I would never give up on my family. I would never abandon them when they needed me.
I understand that my parents had messed up childhoods, but I never understood, and still don't, why we had to suffer for the crappy things that had happened to them. My dad's dad was married three times and was an alcoholic, just like his father before him. My dad is an alcoholic, though he won't admit it. Grandpa told dad his whole life that he was stupid, and my dad has spent his whole life trying to prove him wrong. Even though Grandpa has been dead for several years, my dad is still trying to prove him wrong. I see the pain in my dad's eyes. I see him trying to numb the pain and forget as he drinks and drinks. I don't know if he sees the pain in my eyes.
My mom grew up in an equally tumultuous home. From what I understand, my grandparents fought a lot. I think Grandpa hit Grandma, but I'm not sure how often. It got worse the older they got, the fighting, not the hitting. By the time Grandpa died, they were sleeping in separate rooms. They'd been married for over fifty years. There are a lot of other things that happened to my mom, but I'm not clear on what they are. I don't really want to know. My mom is an alcoholic, but she won't admit it. She's a very angry, lonely person.
My dad's sisters, Kathy and Carolyn, tell me that I'm a lot like my dad. I'm sensitive and loving.
My dad's brother, Tom, tells me that I'm strong like my mother. I'm independent and smart.
Those seem like good qualities. Right?
My dad is also weak. My mom has an explosive temper. Dad often pouts when he doesn't get his way. Mom shouts and slams things when she doesn't get her way. Mom and Dad can both be very controlling. Dad represses his emotions, thoughts, and feelings while mom lets it all out and holds nothing back. They have both let the crappy things that happened in their lives destroy them, their marriage, and their children.
If you saw them at church, at work, or at the grocery store, they seem normal enough. Maybe even happy, but inside, they are broken, broken people.
I never want to be like that.
My favorite quote of the year is from a book by Donald Miller. Don meets a guy that grew up in foster care because he was abandoned by his parents. He never had a family. Somehow he grew up into a normal, happy, successful person, and founded a mentor program for boys without father's. Don asked the guy how he'd turned out the way he did after everything he'd been through. The guy told Don that when terrible things happen to you, you can do one of two things: you can get better, or you can get bitter. He chose to get better. So do I.
I know that I can't erase all traces of my parents from my personality and who I am, and I wouldn't want to. However, I can choose not to carry their crap into the next generation.
I've taken an inventory of the things I need to work on and watch out for. I've shed a lot of the negativity that my mother fed into me. I've shed a lot of the anger and all of the hate she poured into me. I'm steadily lengthening the short fuse she gave me. I will hold onto the strength and perseverance she instilled in me. I will keep her sharp wit and humor. I will not throw out her constant motivation to excel in all I do.
I will get rid of the low self-esteem my father has been weighed down by his whole life. I will not stifle my feelings and emotions like my father does. I refuse to use guilt as a weapon, one that he's carried his whole life. I will love others unconditionally, as my dad loves others. I will not judge, lest I be judged, as dad understands so well. I will give the shirt off my back to whomever needs it, as dad has done many times.
With God's strength, I will get better, not bitter. I can see the result of getting bitter in my parents lives. I don't want my kids to see that in me.
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