To Tell The Truth

I was wondering today about the truth. Truth is rarely writ in ink; it lives in nature, so says Martin H Fischer (I know, I didn't know who he was either). So, if we can't write truth, but were obligated to say the truth or say nothing at all ... then I wonder how silent the world might become. No small talk. No how are you, because who would have the time to listen. And certainly no, what do you think of my shoes?

If I could only speak the truth would I be able to tell my children they can be anything they want to be, because I'm not convinced being an astronaut is within their reach, despite my comments to the contrary.

The hairdresser who cuts your hair would have to fess up when holding the mirror behind your head. "There," she would have to say with a distinct grimace. "That does look like hell. I can't possibly take your money. You look just as bad as you did before. Guess it wasn't the haircut?"

When you buy socks and pay eight dollars a pair you could ask the salesclerk, "Is this a fair price for a bit of cotton and nylon" and the clerk would just bow her head in shame. On a bad day she might hurl out accusations such as, "You're shopping at The Bay, do you really think any of these prices are fair?" and her arm would sweep in a wide demonstrative arc. I'd concede with, "Sorry, stupid question."

When you go through the check-out and the friendly salesclerk asks, "Did you find everything you were looking for today?" you could counter with, "Do you really care?" and the conversation would halt and you wouldn't have to go into an explanation about why you forgot your resuable bags because today (though not every day) you don't really care about the environment. You want to care but today isn't the day for it.

And when you had an ultrasound on your breast after your breast was put through a mini torture test that would rival "the rack" of medieval times (You've Come A Long Way, Baby does not play in the mammagram room) the technician would be obligated to turn to you and say, "This isn't looking good," rather than that sorry smile when she tells me to have a good day and that my doctor will call. I didn't think she meant my doctor would call before I even got home. She should have said, "Just don't bother sleeping for the next two weeks." I think it is better to know upfront.

And of course, the obvious, "Do I look fat to you?" would become redundant.

I've been lied to a few times in my life that really counted and I've also heard the truth when I wasn't prepared. I'm not sure where the balance is. I know I fear a lie far more than I fear the truth. Though the truth may knock us down and put its heavy foot on our throat, it is not an evil adversary. They (and I have no idea who they are) don't say the truth shall set you free for nothin'.

Would truth eliminate the need for kindness and gentleness? Would we love all the people we say we love? And do we really hate all the things we think we hate? I'm positive that I hate winter, at least I think I'm positive.

I suppose all I can say is, "What does it all mean, Basil?"

submitted by W A Stewart February 17, 2010.