pretty (ugly before)

pretty (ugly before)

I’m not sure why I handle praise so poorly, why it makes me feel fake and uncomfortable. Several weeks ago I gave a speech, and while I was very happy with the words, the reception overwhelmed me. Afterwards, a couple of people wanted their picture taken with me. I smiled awkwardly. Several came up to give me high fives. I don’t really know how to give a high five, so it turned into one of those awkward high handshakes and confused wiggling of the fingers as we tried to figure out what to do next. A woman stopped me and this is sort of what happened.

/cue the ducks

Her: I LOOOVED your speech.
Me: Thanks, that’s very, very kind.
Her: You have a gift.
Me: Oh, please. Stop. But thank you.
Her: NO. DON’T DO THAT. YOU HAVE A GIFT. ACCEPT IT.
Me: Okay.
HER: STOP. YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT YOUR GIFT.
Me: Oh. Then, uh, I do.
HER!: NO. YOU DON’T. ACCEPT IT.
me: I…I…I’ll be good.
HERHERHERHER: A GIFT.
me: mommy

Of course, I could probably dig through the mental archives and find one of those familiar childhood passages where you come home having scored a perfect 4 on your food groups quiz and your drunken parent tells you to stop showing off you little hypocrite why is it that you think you’re the smartest 6 year old in the State of Texas you little shit if you think you’re so smart why don’t you figure out how to stop ruining my life I’m sorry I didn’t mean that it’s just that I really thought he was the one god I’m so sleepy.

But the whole point would be merely to illustrate that many of us who were raised by baby boomer parents were taught the value of modesty because baby boomers understood the danger of living in a world where other people might receive more praise than you and that’s a hard diazepam to swallow.

Sadly, my ungainly approach to kind words has manifested in some odd behaviors. I turn off comments anytime I think I might receive compliments. I BEG people to insult me. I overindulge in alcohol (OKAY I OVERINDULGE IN ALCOHOL FOR OTHER REASONS TOO. MOSTLY.). I burn my privates (TMI?).

I take pictures of ducks.

And worst of all, I fail to appreciate the gestures behind the kind words. I can count off the names of the lovely flowers, birds and bugs that adorn my backyard, but somehow overlook human grace?

She liked one of my posts and wanted to say so with this:



And I’m just going to have to learn how to accept that. Because I shouldn’t be turning away life’s little niceties.

(Still, if you’d like to call me a dirty son-of-a-bitch, that might make this first step a bit easier to manage. Just sayin.)