Humble Pie

"the idiom meets the eye"

I don’t mean to beat around the bush, yet I always seem to have difficulty getting to my point. I write in run on sentences, my narratives drag on from here to eternity, and my voice only cuts to the chase every blue moon.

I write from my heart, inspired by feelings that emote from myself and others. I pick up on subtle cues that often go unspoken and run with them, knowing they are none of my business. I hold them close to my chest, trying to unravel their meaning and make things right when often they have little or nothing to do with me. These are the times that I’m most often served up my own piece of humble pie.

Some idioms are cute, snarky, and fun. They roll off the tongue with little or no harm, just to shake things up a bit. My son thinks that the way in which I complete thoughts, and round about ideas while I’m having conversations is a language of my own. I’d like to take full responsibility as I should, but part of me harkens back to those good ole little Warriner’s English Grammar & Composition books we were chained to in Junior High. That book was intense and demanding. It was a sink or swim activity with each new chapter. I’d been speaking and writing english for over a decade yet the rules seemed foreign and indecipherable. I felt befuddled and overwhelmed realizing how much I didn’t know about English and realizing all of the things I was doing wrong.

Then we landed on idioms. I had arrived in heaven. Idioms are my world, my father lived and breathed idioms and early on in my childhood I began to decipher each one to determine if I was in danger or not.

My earliest memory of one of his idiom always followed someone in our family asking the simple question, “who?”

My father would quickly reply:

“who, who - feet fit a limb, shit through feathers?” looking back now, it was a glimpse of his ability to see things from all angles, his creativity that had no outlet, and the young boy inside of himself wanting to be seen and acknowledged. After the millionth time, it sounded like blah, blah, blah, just like most of what he imparted on us. Who cared if we sounded like an owl sitting on a branch in the middle of the night.

(original art for Think But A Thought by Jennifer Ellen Parker created by Roger. L. Morin)

He was full of idioms. He lived and breathed them, and in some strange ways when my children and friends have a hard time staying with me in daily conversations, I wonder if I have inherited his unique and perplexing linguistic style. It’s often that George will say, “I’m still learning how to speak Jen.”

When I was little I would repeat one of my dad’s poems at night till I fell asleep, over and over it would play out in my mind. I would try to imagine the characters, the setting, and the action that took place. My little fingers would pull my blankets up to my chin and keep me safe from the Boogie Man who often showed up unexpectedly to give me a fright.

“one dark day in the middle of the night

two dead soldiers came out to fight

they drew their swords and shot each other

the deaf policeman heard the noise

and came and killed the two dead boys.”

I never questioned where it came from, I always imagined he had made it up. Curiosity killed the cat, so I decided to pause and search it up. I’m amazed to find that the origin can be traced back to at least the eighteenth century to “Tommy Thumb’s Pretty Song Book.” I’m smiling because just like my dad, I’m really good at improvising, adding my own spin on things and while he had the general gist of the poem, like usual he had come up short.

I think a lot about words and how they matter. I listen for words not spoken, and fade away in conversations that keep coming about with the same thoughts circling like a train on a track. We think we know what someone is going to tell us before they open their mouths, and often we project our own experiences and beliefs on what someone is trying to convey. This is a nasty habit of mine and has gotten me into a world of hurt at times. I’ve lost relationships, opportunities, and even experiences because I thought I knew what I didn’t.

I know a sweet humble pie when I taste one. I think this is the one thing that I’ve worked on wanting so badly to not become my dad. Humble pie, aka humility, a modest view of my own importance in this world. It’s not that my feelings, ideas, beliefs, and experiences aren’t important and don’t matter. It’s that they don’t matter any more than anyone else’s and to think that they do is simply going bananas. When we think we know it all, can do it the best, and learn little or nothing from another person, we close ourselves up. We become cocooned in our own cud. Like a cow left unto its own to graze all day in a sleepy pasture, we can develop tunnel vision and think that there is only one way to live. Focusing solely on ourselves disconnects us from a rich, vibrant world with limitless views and opportunities to create something new.

I write about my dad, father, a lot. Now that he is gone there is no fear of retribution with him showing up at my stoop. It will be thirty one years this father’s day, when he took his life way up north in Houlton, Maine.

He drew his sword and shot himself…

Yet still his presence sits with me, and rarely a day passes that I don’t mourn the father I might have had rather than the one I was given. I try to take the good with the bad, remember his redeeming qualities but they always lead to the moments that caused me to recoil. His demeanor much like someone we all know in office, sits heavy on my heart. Heavy that his hurt caused him so much pain that he couldn’t help but allow it to leak out onto the rest of us. It was like breathing for him. His vitriol could cut through a moment like a double edged sword leaving you in pieces before you even knew you’d been attacked.

Words matter, choose them carefully.

Know your intention.

Are you trying to uplift the world and all its inhabitants or cut them off at their knees.

The choice is ours, each and every moment.

How will we wield our swords? To serve and protect or banish those who don’t seem to matter?

a peace of mind, bury the hatchet, make love not war, extend an olive branch, love conquers all, carry a torch, whisper sweet nothings, head over heels, tie the knot, hold one’s tongue, make peace with, break the ice, clear the air, LIVE AND LET LIVE, make amends, turn the other cheek, alls well that ends well, in the same boat, calm before the storm, keep the peace, bridge the gap, mend fences, SWALLOW ONE’S PRIDE, smooth things over, make waves, agree to disagree, turn over a new leaf, don’t walk on egg shells, patch things up, smooth sailing, lay down one’s arms, leave well enough alone, run a tight ship, settle the dust, make a truce, cool off, put one difference’s aside, on cloud nine, over the moon, jump for joy, bursting with joy, grinning from ear to ear, and my personal favorite on top of the world.