Snippets and Snobservations
– Not suggesting these are the observations of snobs – it just tickled me to
put the two of those words together.
My step-grandson Milo – three-and-a-half – is taking
swimming lessons. Before the lessons
started he wore inflatable plastic “floaties” encasing his upper arms and
adamantly resisted jumping off the side of the pool into the water and
stubbornly refused to swim under the water as well. (Note:
I myself am unable to do either
of those things. Though I’ve been
swimming without “floaties” since I was fifty.)
After an astonishingly few number of swimming lessons, however,
Milo has abandoned the “inflatable floaties”, jumps enthusiastically into the
pool and propels himself under the water like a nuclear submarine.
In a couple of weeks, “The Magnificent Milo” has moved from the
“not brave” side of the ledger to the
triumphant home of the aquatically courageous.
Conclusion:
“Not brave” is hardly a permanent designation. Under appropriate circumstances, you can
comfortably change teams.
What explains Milo’s
miraculously speedy relocation?
Apparently, swimming lessons.
Before them, Milo’s response to his parents encouraging him to jump into the pool and swim under the water
had been a tearful, non-negotiable “NO!” “Teacher I-forget-what-her-name-is” says,
“Jump into the pool, Milo” and he jumps.
She says, “Swim under the water, Milo” and he submerges and off he goes.
Why? Because “Teacher
I-forget-what-her-name-is” gave the order.
What it looks like is that being brave alters depending on
who it is that’s telling you to. If an experienced “Authority Figure” tells
you to jump in the pool and swim under the water, you jump in the pool and you swim
under the water. If, on the other hand,
your parents or proximate relatives
tell you to jump in the pool and swim under the water, you do neither and cry.
“Brave”, relationship-driven in that case, seems situationally
as well.
I recall a show runner I once worked with – a notorious
“Ladies Man” although the appellation may reflect a certain jealousy on my part
– returning to work on Monday, suffering from excruciating lower back
pain.
Inquiring into the origin of his discomfort, the show runner
explains that, over the weekend, he had participated in an informal softball
game and he had wrenched his lower back performing a heroic maneuver at
shortstop.
For reasons I cannot adequately explain – or justify – I
continue badgering the man, insisting he come clean concerning the real reason he incurred his injury,
which I already suspect, but I need him to acknowledge it out loud.
The beleaguered invalid parries my aggressive probing with evasive
clarifications, concerning having forgotten to “warm up” before the game,
admitting to age-related vulnerability, stressing the importance of that play
to the encounter’s ultimate outcome.
Instinctually, I am certain there is more.
“What was the real reason for your heroics?” I proceed
doggedly, convinced that there’s a secret he is reluctant to reveal.
It turns out I am correct.
Heaving a sigh of frustration at my unwillingness to “let it
go”, the man finally – and truthfully – reveals why he had athletically overreached
and had contorted his lower back.
“Because there were girls
watching, okay?!?”
“Bingo.” Viola.
And “Case closed.”
Another factor
underlying courageous behavior:
There were girls watching.
Neither (post-swimming lessons) Milo nor that libidinous
show runner may, in reality, be inordinately brave. What they both did, however, was overcome their
trepidations, one in response to professional direction, the other, risking it
all for the attention and admiration of gender-specific onlookers.
This observation, I believes, gives hope to us all. Because it proves that…
You do not necessarily have to be brave to behave bravely.
In fact, frankly, I find the “un-brave” behaving bravely substantially more admirable.
Assuming the existence of a naturally brave personality, a “naturally
brave” individual behaving bravely is equivalent to an inordinately tall person
behaving “tall…ly.” This is hardly “Stop
the Presses!” newsworthy. That is
generically what they do.
A generically cowardly
person behaving bravely? – Now you’ve got something! That’s a “Dancing Chihuahua.” That’s something for the archives. (Or “Social Media”, which are the archives of
today, until malevolent hackers jump in and make them abruptly disappear. You cannot “disappear” archives. Though they are uncomfortably dusty.)
Do I have an appropriate example of a generically cowardly
person behaving inordinately bravely?
Funny you should ask.
(Tipping an acknowledging chapeau
to comedian Morrie Amsterdam.)
A visitor to a beach town in coastal Turkey (pardon the redundancy
– where else would they have a beach
town?) enters a local barbershop, to enjoy the uniqueness and exoticness of a Turkish
shave. There, he discovers that, as a
“finishing touch” to the straight-razor procedure, Turkish barbers
traditionally burn the hair off the edges of the customer’s ear peripheries with
fire.
Though this final procedure is optional, the visitor – on
whom the smart betting money overwhelming favors “coward” – courageously
bellows, “Let’s go!”
Yes, there is another man taking his picture. But the visitor has no idea he would be doing
so. (Otherwise, he would have definitely
covered his bald spot.)
No.
There was an unexpected “Moment of Truth.”
And staring that “Moment” directly in the face…
The visitor had accessed the strongest and grittiest part of
himself…
And he was brave. Snippets and Snobservations
– Not suggesting these are the observations of snobs – it just tickled me to
put the two of those words together.
My step-grandson Milo – three-and-a-half – is taking
swimming lessons. Before the lessons
started he wore inflatable plastic “floaties” encasing his upper arms and
adamantly resisted jumping off the side of the pool into the water and
stubbornly refused to swim under the water as well. (Note:
I myself am unable to do either
of those things. Though I’ve been
swimming without “floaties” since I was fifty.)
After an astonishingly few number of swimming lessons, however,
Milo has abandoned the “inflatable floaties”, jumps enthusiastically into the
pool and propels himself under the water like a nuclear submarine.
In a couple of weeks, “The Magnificent Milo” has moved from the
“not brave” side of the ledger to the
triumphant home of the aquatically courageous.
Conclusion:
“Not brave” is hardly a permanent designation. Under appropriate circumstances, you can
comfortably change teams.
What explains Milo’s
miraculously speedy relocation?
Apparently, swimming lessons.
Before them, Milo’s response to his parents encouraging him to jump into the pool and swim under the water
had been a tearful, non-negotiable “NO!” “Teacher I-forget-what-her-name-is” says,
“Jump into the pool, Milo” and he jumps.
She says, “Swim under the water, Milo” and he submerges and off he goes.
Why? Because “Teacher
I-forget-what-her-name-is” gave the order.
What it looks like is that being brave alters depending on
who it is that’s telling you to. If an experienced “Authority Figure” tells
you to jump in the pool and swim under the water, you jump in the pool and you swim
under the water. If, on the other hand,
your parents or proximate relatives
tell you to jump in the pool and swim under the water, you do neither and cry.
“Brave”, relationship-driven in that case, seems situationally
as well.
I recall a show runner I once worked with – a notorious
“Ladies Man” although the appellation may reflect a certain jealousy on my part
– returning to work on Monday, suffering from excruciating lower back
pain.
Inquiring into the origin of his discomfort, the show runner
explains that, over the weekend, he had participated in an informal softball
game and he had wrenched his lower back performing a heroic maneuver at
shortstop.
For reasons I cannot adequately explain – or justify – I
continue badgering the man, insisting he come clean concerning the real reason he incurred his injury,
which I already suspect, but I need him to acknowledge it out loud.
The beleaguered invalid parries my aggressive probing with evasive
clarifications, concerning having forgotten to “warm up” before the game,
admitting to age-related vulnerability, stressing the importance of that play
to the encounter’s ultimate outcome.
Instinctually, I am certain there is more.
“What was the real reason for your heroics?” I proceed
doggedly, convinced that there’s a secret he is reluctant to reveal.
It turns out I am correct.
Heaving a sigh of frustration at my unwillingness to “let it
go”, the man finally – and truthfully – reveals why he had athletically overreached
and had contorted his lower back.
“Because there were girls
watching, okay?!?”
“Bingo.” Viola.
And “Case closed.”
Another factor
underlying courageous behavior:
There were girls watching.
Neither (post-swimming lessons) Milo nor that libidinous
show runner may, in reality, be inordinately brave. What they both did, however, was overcome their
trepidations, one in response to professional direction, the other, risking it
all for the attention and admiration of gender-specific onlookers.
This observation, I believes, gives hope to us all. Because it proves that…
You do not necessarily have to be brave to behave bravely.
In fact, frankly, I find the “un-brave” behaving bravely substantially more admirable.
Assuming the existence of a naturally brave personality, a “naturally
brave” individual behaving bravely is equivalent to an inordinately tall person
behaving “tall…ly.” This is hardly “Stop
the Presses!” newsworthy. That is
generically what they do.
A generically cowardly
person behaving bravely? – Now you’ve got something! That’s a “Dancing Chihuahua.” That’s something for the archives. (Or “Social Media”, which are the archives of
today, until malevolent hackers jump in and make them abruptly disappear. You cannot “disappear” archives. Though they are uncomfortably dusty.)
Do I have an appropriate example of a generically cowardly
person behaving inordinately bravely?
Funny you should ask.
(Tipping an acknowledging chapeau
to comedian Morrie Amsterdam.)
A visitor to a beach town in coastal Turkey (pardon the redundancy
– where else would they have a beach
town?) enters a local barbershop, to enjoy the uniqueness and exoticness of a Turkish
shave. There, he discovers that, as a
“finishing touch” to the straight-razor procedure, Turkish barbers
traditionally de-folliculate the aural peripheries with
fire.
Though this final procedure is optional, the visitor – on
whom the smart betting money overwhelming favors “coward” – courageously
bellows, “Let’s go!”
Yes, there is another man taking his picture. But the visitor has no idea he would be doing
so. (Otherwise, he would have definitely
covered his bald spot.)
No.
There was an unexpected “Moment of Truth.”
And staring that “Moment” directly in the face…
The visitor had accessed the strongest and grittiest part of
himself…
And he was brave.
 |
(An Alternate Explanation: I was embarrassed to "wimp out" in front of the barber. But I prefer the first one.) |
