One day my Sunday school class was discussing the commandment that says, “Thou shalt not bear false witness.” In other words, don’t lie.
God knew we wouldn’t obey that commandment much, but He wanted us at least to know that we are to deal honestly with each other. “Let your yea be yea and your nay be nay,” the Bible says. In other words, in addition to telling the truth, say exactly what you mean and mean exactly what you say.
We don’t obey that part either.
We know telling the truth is a good idea. Mama told us so. But we quickly learn in life that telling the truth does not always win us votes or friends, make the sale or keep us out of trouble.
So instead of telling the unvarnished truth, we learn to varnish it a little. We “equivocate,” which means to tell only a little truth (in honor of God and Mama) and leave out the part that might make us enemies, lose customers, alienate voters or cause Mama to slap us upside our tender heads.
To see what I’m talking about, look at real estate ads. Learning the whole, real truth about a property may keep you from buying it. So an agent may tweak his advertising a bit to hook you.
He’ll say, “This cozy cottage is full of original charm.” That sounds good, but it may mean that you’ll have to do a full renovation to get rid of the “charming” original plumbing that has rotted out the bathroom floor. The “charming” original kitchen has no dishwasher, and the oven last worked in 1950.
And the word “cozy” is a tip-off that the property is not spacious. In other words, you’d better plan to store your underwear in somebody else’s house.
If the ad says, “This lovely home gives you the opportunity to customize the space to suit your needs,” it means you’re buying a foundation with some studs sticking up from it. To actually live here, you’ll have to add little things like a roof, walls, floors and custom touches like plumbing and electricity.
Sometimes I see an ad for a “great bargain in a transition neighborhood.” The agent is really saying that the previous owner got out just ahead of the gang wars that were about to start. He’s willing to sell the house cheap, so you can enjoy the bargain price if you don’t mind living where the sound of gunshots can be heard over a background of sirens. But some folks are patching up the bullet holes in their houses—thus it’s transitioning.
Sometimes we skirt the truth to stay out of trouble. I recall the day that my son, then age 7, was in the den with several friends. From the bedroom where I was cleaning, I heard a horrendous crash from the den. Then silence. Then a little boy’s voice saying, “Uh, I think I hear my Mama calling me. I gotta go home!” Then I heard the front door slam. Then it slammed three more times as other little boys fled the scene.
David met me in the hall, white-faced.
“Well?” I asked.
“Uh, ah, the lamp got broke,” he replied, as if something supernatural had happened to it, as if a hand from beyond had reached down and smashed it with absolutely no input from five little boys and certainly without their permission. As if no human being of his acquaintance had a thing to do with it...as if it was not smashed by a football being tossed around inside by a bunch of boys who had been told NOT to toss a football inside the house.
But his clever grammatical twist on the facts—no one did it, it just...got broke—kept him out of trouble, which was his goal. I hid in the bathroom until I got over my fit of laughter.
Politicians equivocate by saying things like, “The senator resigned from the legislature to pursue other opportunities.” Often the senator is pursuing the opportunity to stay out of the slammer, but at least the “leaving” part is true.
In the South we’re trained not to hurt anyone’s feelings. We all have our degrees in Southern Hospitality.
So we say, “Y’all don’t have to leave so early!” when we really mean, “I thought they would never leave!”
We say, “Oh, please take that last pork chop so I won’t have to throw it out,” when we mean “Go ahead and take that one too, since you’ve gobbled down all the others that I planned to feed my family with tomorrow.”
You say, “Certainly I’m not mad that your dog pooped on my porch. No problem! I’ll just wash it right off. Why, my own dog used to do that. Don’t worry about it!”
You mean, “And notice, he used to poop on the porch. He doesn’t do that now because he doesn’t live here anymore!”
Of course, we all use that great Southern lie, “Bless her heart,” which sounds sweet, but it means “Could she get any dumber?” It means, “She’s got the manners of a yard dog that would poop on a porch!”
And when we’re really serious, “Bless her heart” means, “Her Mama oughta slap her good when she gets home, and I wanna be there to see it!”
