My Word is My Word
I’ve given my son many gifts, but the finest of them is the truth. My father used to promise me the zoo, to get me out of the house, out of his hair, away. I would go, begrudgingly, looking forward to my reward. There was no zoo. How could he?
My word is my word, you can count on it. I am full of whimsy but my word is Gibraltar.
I used to lie about everything. An astute observer of how much reality could be handled, I would parcel out the truth; different versions for different temperaments. It gave me a strange power (control), when people believed my lies, but it caught up with me, and I nearly lost my life.
If you can’t admit you’re drowning, how can anyone help you? If you never tell the truth, how can anyone believe you? I’ve worked hard to come clean, to be honest, to be impeccable with my word. It’s not that I can’t change my mind, but I’ll always tell you why, and try to make it up to you (am thinking about young Scott here, “But You Said!” “Yes, I did say that, but since then, more information has come in and I’ve adjusted my decision.” In a hundred million years, I wouldn’t purposely deceive him. Trust is the bedrock of relationship. The corner stone. It makes everything, and I mean everything, forgivable.
LBM 6/22/2021
