The more uncomfortable a subject, the more I am drawn to it. The more I want to pick at it like a scab on a day-old mosquito bite. I know I shouldn't but, for some reason, I am compelled to pick and pick until it bleeds. I then have to dot my compulsion (or leg, in this case) with a piece of toilet paper; learning that trick from my dad, as he would exit the bathroom some mornings looking like a connect-the-dot art project. However, my little wet fragment, shielding me from the world, would quickly fall off. I would be left with the oozing compulsion all because I could not leave it alone. But what if I was being genuinely curious? There is nothing wrong with being curious. I was encouraged to be curious. Curiosity did not kill the cat in my house. And it always resulted in some form of satisfaction even though it was left with an oozing byproduct at times.
Take love for instance. I am curious about it. I am curious about the word, the sound, the meaning and the results. I am curious why I am so compelled to show it and say it and yet it makes people uncomfortable. But, we all want it so badly. We want to be told, touched and tempted by love. We want to do what Jesus would do (or at least the Beatles). And notice how people certainly have ease in showing it to puppies, talking in a high squeaky voice, but their eyes are diverted and disconnected to the human on the other end of the leash. Maybe we don’t really know to what degree or shade of love we can handle or hand out. Should it only be said in a relationship such as a parent or partner? But otherwise, it is not to be shared or shown freely in mixed company or corporate setting? And should we not exploit it with phrases like, “I love ice cream”. How do you love ice cream? Does ice cream love you back? How do you love an inanimate object? Shouldn't love be reserved for an emotional exchange? Give and take? What did ice cream ever give you but a fat ass or maybe "love" handles? So what is this fascination with love? It's only a word. How can four letters have so much of an impact?
One summer, Laura and I spent a lot of time on the golf course. We were decent players so it earned us the right to be somewhat competitive. Not necessarily with each other but with our own game and handicap. So, when we would not hit the ball as anticipated, we would shout out our favorite expletive, F*ck. It felt good. It got the tension released and ended up with a giggle of sorts. One afternoon, at the 19th hole, we had a discussion and decided a word is just a word and it is only a word to take notice of when someone gives it meaning. But why should we give it meaning? If we didn’t then wasn't it empty and meaningless? We were sure we were right but we were still fascinated by the word F*ck. (It was a slow summer.) But how could four letters, put together in a row, have such an impact on the speaker and listener. It seemed ridicules when we thought about it. Again, how could the order of letters lined up and vibrating past vocal chords with sound trailing through your lips to land on the ears of the listener provoke a reaction? Fascinating! Sufficiently pleased with our analysis, (slow summer reminder) we decided we were going to conduct an experiment and attempt to desensitize the work F*ck by using it as often as we wanted. We did have some scruples, knowing that most of the public still had an opinion about the word, so we were careful who we did our experiment around. So, off to the golf course we went, putter and profanity in tow.
It was a fun and expressive summer. We actually played well but not so great that we did not get to adequately conduct our experiment. F*ck was used quite a bit on tee shots. You just knew, stepping up to the white dimpled globe, it was going to meet its fate and end up well down the fairway; landing on the best patch of grass for that second shot. But a last minute squeeze of the grip pulled the club inward and the ball skirted off in a direction that was embarrassingly short and just inside the rough. F*ck! Second shot, you pulled out the best metal wood in the bag. It had rails that were supposed to lift the ball up and out, sending it on its way to that patch of grass where your tee shot was anticipated to originally land. Assessing, you adjusted for a slight angle and ball below your feet. You put yourself into a bit of a crouch and adjusted stance so you would be sure to hit that sweet spot. Swoosh. F*ck. Topped it. Not enough crouch and lifted. Good news was, you were on the fairway but lying 2 and you were still shorter than the previous days tee shot. F*ck. A couple more swings and you were finally on the green in 4. Still decent. Thank goodness it was a par 5. You were about 3 feet out. Not a terribly challenging putt. Should be able to sink it for par but there was a downward slope and break right anticipated. You made your walk to the cup, picking up micro fibers and tapping down dents where the asshole before you did not tend to the green. You crouched again but this time trying to line it up making sure you called that break correctly. F*ck. It sailed past the cup and you were now further out than your landing shot. F*ck. There went par. Eh, bogie’s okay. After a couple more swipes paired with F*ck, patience lost, it finally fell into the cup. F*ck. Double bogey.
We would proceed throughout the summer, still resorting to our favorite word to ease the tension and draw a giggle of sorts. It was especially fun on the back nine when we would scream it into the woods. And the experiment did work. It truly did desensitize the word but unfortunately, it was only for us. We still had a responsibility to the listener and the listener thought otherwise. So this brought us to another conclusion: our dialogue was only as valid as the listener was willing to not assign impact. Therefore, if the listener gave the word meaning, it did not matter that it did not have that meaning for us. We still had a responsibility to the listener. We actually knew that going in. As you may recall, I did say we had scruples so we conducted our experiment in a controlled environment. It was very non-scientific.
Remember the word love? This story brings me back to that word. Another four-letter word that packs as much residual difference as F*ck. If you brush away the dust, like an archeological dig, you find the residual bones of the word still existing after time. However, for love, it seemed to be just the opposite. It was not about the listener not assigning value but assigning the proper value. So, as we speak, we have a responsibility to the listener on how they receive our message. We cannot be selfish in our delivery. We cannot deliver freely, gaining benefits only for ourselves. If we have any integrity, we cannot irresponsibly let highly meaningful words fall on someone’s listening and not take ownership for the impact. So, as much as I want the world to sing, in perfect harmony, I need to be mindful of how I deliver my words. That is difficult for me. I am selfish in that I want the listener to get me. To understand where I am coming from and to what degree I am delivering. And if they don’t, I am not necessarily interested in making sure they do. That is wrong. I have a responsibility to them. I have a responsibility of relatedness that needs to be established before I can go off willy-nilly on my word spree.
So what do I do about it? I am not sure. Perhaps not say it? Choke on my self expression? Find a way to express it with the proper impact but deliver it in a non-confrontational way? Sounds passive aggressive to me. I have to think on this one. But in the meantime… I love you (*in a nongender-specific prison-sort-of way)? I “love” that phrase.
Does anyone else think it's ironic, strange or just sick that Anne Heche is in a show called "Hung"? Does anyone else think it's ironic, strange or just sick that the lead actor's last name is Jane but he is playing the role of Ray Drecker with an impressive "part". Or, does anyone else think it's ironic, strange or just sick that HBO is airing this?
