You know, there's nothing like family to make you realize you are an abject failure.
Alternately, I went to a funeral of a woman who was always very intent on what people thought of her, on keeping her good name in her community. She spent so much time being blameless that in a way, there wasn't a lot you could say about her in her eulogy.
I suppose I could link these ideas and say, well, if I'm a failure, at least I give the family something to talk about.
That logic seems faulty, though.
Don't listen to me. The veneer of sociability has worn down. And I hate that I cannot convince my family that just because I don't live in the South doesn't mean I don't love it. Or that I don't miss it. Or that I feel in any way superior to it.
2 comments:
"Alternately, I went to a funeral of a woman who was always very intent on what people thought of her, on keeping her good name in her community. She spent so much time being blameless that in a way, there wasn't a lot you could say about her in her eulogy."
--This is something I've only been realizing the past few years. But as I've been bucking that desire to always say the right thing... some truly awful thoughts have come out of my mouth. Still looking for my own recipe of polite and authentic.
And I'm really with you on the strangeness of our (my own included) fear and desire to ignore or repress death. I'm searching for a path here too.
sounds like time for a visit and a great conversation don't you think?
Best wishes with your visit to the south.
Bless you. I was truly rude to someone on the flight back and regretted it instantaeously, so I agree that we come programmed to appease - certainly southern women, probably southerners in general and I'm sure quite a few other cultures as well.
But it's more about choices than words - I'd like to be able to choose the things that make me happy and be polite about how I get them. That may prove impossible. I'm certainly finding it impossible.
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