Opinion: A matter of perspective
Ever examine how life, really is? As opposed to how you want it to be, or even what you thought it would be? It is all a matter of perspective. While reading your weekly slice of gravy, is it presented as a rant or a whine?
Epithets are all matter of tone, rather than words, for example. If you say “my friend,” it can sound full of love and be the highest compliment. Or say “My Friend,” and it sounds like a murderous threat. There must be hundreds of examples where this applies.
I rarely achieve perfection. My whole life is the cliché, “Close enough only works in horseshoes and hand grenades.” I get the job done, but never quite hit a home run. I am so far from perfect, and this is not surprising! It frustrates the other people involved and me.
But the older I get, the less it bothers me.
Radical change isn’t something most people embrace, I don’t. A reliable routine depletes the excitement in one’s life. But, I have decided that astonishment and surprises are highly overrated.
The Madera I grew up in is very different than the town we live in today. Actually, it’s a different world we have inherited from the one our ancestors inhabited.
My grandparents and my parents for that matter, strived to own a reliable car, an adequate place to live and enough food to feed their family.
Today many people want to drive a flashy car, live in a big house fancier than their neighbors and eat meals that qualify as gourmet, non-GMO or some other criteria that sound impressive and add to the cost of the food.
There is nothing wrong with that, providing the children are getting properly nourished.
Parents seem to care about things that never occurred to my parents. When I misbehaved, “home correction,” was swift and often severe. If I didn’t like the way I was disciplined, they didn’t care if I had my feelings hurt. Negotiating is not something my parents did with their offspring.
When it came to spankings, fortunately, I didn’t get hit very often. But there was never any doubt that my dad would turn me over his knee and give me a couple or three swats. Mom on the other hand seldom hit us and was the one to try and reason with us. All we had to do was fall back, look contrite and let her psycho-babble run down. With Dad, he waited a couple of hours and then he would hug and kiss us and all would be forgiven. Except for any punishments he had promised us. He would tell us we were grounded for a specific time period and believe me he rarely lifted the sentence.
When I came home with bad grades graduating eighth grade, I had to go to summer school and bring home good grades at the end. In the summer
When I was 12, six weeks the summer before high school was a long time. When I got caught smoking on school grounds sophomore year, Daddy grounded me for three months and revoked my telephone privileges. That year the only thing I wanted for my birthday or Xmas was my own telephone line. As everyone was opening presents, a phone in my bedroom started ringing. It was a wrong number and it wrecked the big reveal, but I got the ugliest olive green Trimline telephone made. It was THE most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on! As a bonus, my parents got their phoneline back.
Halloween is on Monday. Whether you see it as a fun day full of costumes and candy or as a sacred holy day honoring our departed loved ones, have a blessed All Hallows Eve my dears.
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Readers may contact Tami Jo Nix by emailing tamijonix@gmail.com or following @TamiJoNix on Twitter.
