I've always been fond of columnist Dave Barry's "19 Things It Took Me 50 Years to Learn."
The list never fails to make me chuckle as I relate to more of his observations than I care to admit.
"When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy."
Seems a bit harsh. I prefer "eccentric" or "quirky," thank you very much. No need to call me crazy unless there are papers certifying the fact.
Even then, seems like a "bless her heart" would suffice.
I've spent most of my life thinking "that individual" was someone else -- not me, of course. It's the rest of the world that's nuttier than granola. Me? I'm level-headed and reasonable except for those moments when I'm not, and then I have every right not to be. See?
I'm beginning to think otherwise.
So I ask you, if others around you seem to be off their rockers, how do you know it isn't you whose bubble is a bit off center?
The trouble arose a few weekends ago when I hitched a ride with my cousin, Becky, and her family as they were heading to our hometowns. She was going to spend Mother's Day with her mother, my Great Aunt Georgie, and I didn't particularly care to spend this holiday alone, what with it being the first of many firsts this year without Mom.
Without wheels of my own, I was tethered to their plans for most of the weekend. At one point, they and about 12 others decided to go see a house one of the clan was in the process of purchasing.
From the outside, the place looked lovely, but upon entering, one was greeted with what happens to a place when the inhabitants leave -- seemingly in the dead of night -- three months ago. I'll spare you most of the gory details except for one.
As others looked around and talked of the possibilities, I noticed a 5-foot-long fish tank in the corner. There was about 1 inch of dark, murky water in the bottom -- and movement.
Oh, no. They left an aquarium full of fish ... to die.
"You don't need to save that fish," someone said. Like that would have a lick of impact on me.
Things looked bad. I perceived a solution.
While others talked of paint colors, I rummaged for a semi-clean cup amid the junk left behind. I nabbed the only signs of life I found in the tank, one sad goldfish and his little catfish friend.
Thoughts raced in my head as I watched the two fish huddle together in a Sonic cup. So many people saw them: their owners who left them behind, the real estate agent who showed the place, prospective buyers who viewed the property, the ones about to close on it.
Not another soul seemed bothered.
Why? Why was I?
Back home, as LB ("Left Behind") and Buddy swam in their new little tank, political ads -- the posturing, finger-pointing and endless banter of "he said, she said" that engulfs our world every few years and day to day in the professional life of a lawyer -- blared at me from the television.
I looked at the fish. One could claim I took property that didn't belong to me. That would be true.
Or that I found property that had been abandoned. That would be true.
Or that I rescued a helpless creature and gave it a chance for life. That would be true.
The facts are the same, the conclusions all true.
Yet in one view, I'm a thief while in another, a hero.
Oh, how the fine art of splitting a hair and spinning an agenda is as dirty to me as that inch of water was. Be it the courtroom, boardroom, living room, floor of Congress or town hall meeting, no place seems to escape the threat of those clinging to a position that suits nothing higher than their own interests. Where truth is malleable. Where the intent that everyone knows was behind a question is left unaddressed while we instead focus on what the definition of "is" is.
Politics, law and the world at large can be fishy places. It's easier to turn one's eyes, to talk of paint colors.
When trouble arises and things look bad, I ask, let me always remain crazy.
Commentary on 06/05/2014