LIGHTEN UP

I’ve spent a lifetime as a mom and teacher taking myself too seriously. I thought it was my job to try to keep kids on the straight and narrow pathway, always wanting them to learn and do the right things. Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t have much of a sense of humor. I kept things so serious because I felt I was put here to balance out the ridiculous. To right those who never took a thing seriously. To be ready for a heavy dose of reality or common sense smackdown wherever I saw it lacking. And believe me, there were often those lacking any kind of direction or reality or common sense in the classroom, so the job was unending. Until I began writing about the ridiculousness of my own life.

This past year, I have blogged story after story of the poignant or hilarious of my life. Self-deprecation is my jam. I love it. To me, it is much funnier to make fun of myself because of some ridiculous antic than make fun of someone else. Every day, I see less and less humor and more and more political and social correctness. Those of us who have lived a few years are baffled by this change of consciousness. I should capitalize BAFFLED. There is no room for lightheartedness when someone is constantly being the righteousness police. Everyone is not out to get us and self-justice is not a battle that has to be fought every minute of every day. It is not always all about “us”. LIGHTEN UP.

Excuse me while I step down from my soapbox and share about the time my father was in the nursing home and my husband and I went to visit one Sunday. How do I know it was a Sunday? Because I was wearing a dress (a pretty rare occurrence). How do I know I was wearing a dress? Now just stop. Wait for the punchline.

Okay, so I was wearing this dress and needed to find a restroom. I found a discreet one down a hall that was pretty unpopulated. When I came out, I began looking for my husband and dad who had vanished. I went up and down those long hallways a couple of times, walking the gauntlet of lined up Gerry and wheelchairs, and finally asked a coherent resident who was the father of one of my former classmates if he had seen my dad.

“I saw them go that way, toward the dining room.” As I was about to thank him, he leaned in and put his hand up to the side of his mouth as if he had a secret to tell me. “Honey, you need to check your dress.”

I felt around the back of my dress, and to my humiliation, I pulled the bottom of my dress from my underwear. Oops. I thanked him and marched my way to the dining room instead of stopping to post on social media how misogynistic that loaded “honey” was.

LIGHTEN UP. It is pertinent to our survival, honey.

Photo by Charles 🇵🇭 on Unsplash