There is a saying, ” Don’t assume, it makes an *&& out of you and me”. Well, I am not going to type out the word but it starts with an “A” and ends in double “S”. I think it is safe to say that not everyone knows everything about another person. I certainly don’t and I can almost bet you don’t either.
How many times have you watched someone from a distance or maybe not a distance but never less you observed them and what their actions and words were about? I have some but honestly, I learned a long time ago that people will seldom voluntarily show you their true selves and more than not what you see is not the inside of the person you are looking at. It is almost certain that we all have things we do not want anyone else to know about us, am I right?
There is something to say for the outspoken ones, you can almost know what it is they are about. Now that does not really tell you what is in the inside of them, but you could have enough to make an assumption. It is the quite ones you need to be careful trying to make assumptions about. I think that there are some spot on things you can assume about. Like for instance, if you see someone who is holding up a sign and it has a clear and direct message on it, you could assume that is the way they really feel. Why else would they advertise and make a public stance , right? Still, you don’t know all about them. Think about that.
If you want to assume something about someone, it is best to try to gather facts, rather than speculations. That is if you can. Somethings are not really clear. This all brings to my mind a story I heard once. I am going to share a link with you. You can read it for yourself, but here is the short version.
In this story, a kid named Peter watched over some sheep for his village. He liked to keep himself busy, one could say. In other words he got bored easily. He pulled a prank on the villagers a few time, yelling out that he saw a wolf who was going to get the sheep. Each time the villagers responded to his cries and came running with sticks, and weapons to fend off the “wolf”. Peter would laugh at the villagers because he thought this sort of thing to be amusing. Each time he was punished by his parents. It did not change his pranks though, until…
On a particular day there was something making the sheep nervous. He thought at first, he had better handle things for himself, as to not make the villagers mad at him again. He saw that it was a big scary wolf. He shouted out to the villagers, but no one came. The villagers heard him but assumed he was doing his past pranks and they ignored his cry for help. Can you blame them?
The next day the villagers saw that Peter was hiding in a tree and there was dead sheep everywhere.
So from this story, one would surmise that the villagers were justified in their thoughts of Peter and in assuming he was still pranking them, even though he really wasn’t. See assuming is part of the course when a person has repeated the same kinds of actions, or comments, or what have you. In this kind of situation that Peter was in, it would be the thing to do, to assume. Although in real life one cannot just simply gather concrete knowledge or absolutes from assuming.
My thought on the topic of “ASSUMPTION“ is one in which I say that …
“Just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, doesn’t mean it is a duck.”
Thanks for reading.
Photo by Artem Bali on Pexels.com
There was a place I went to frequently, back in my younger years. It was a place I felt I could sneak to and where I could DISAPPEAR. This place was a secret, no one knew about. I went there on days when I was feeling “blue”. Often times it was a place that I could hide and cry if I needed to. I was amongst my dolls and things, a place I felt that I was meant for me. This place was my closet.
My closet has louver doors, that opened and closed with wheels at the bottom that followed a grid, much like an accordion. There were 2 sets. I loved them because they slid and because while inside the closet you could peer out through the cracks in the louvered doors. They were painted white on the outside, as well as on the inside. I guess the only thing that was wrong with those doors was if you accidentally pinched the skin on your fingers or hands trying to use them. This happened quite a few times to my recollection.
My closet was filled with my clothes, toys, and dolls, not to mention book bags, and forgotten items. I fixed my closet so that I could go inside and stay for a spell depending on my reasons, which were usually to DISAPPEAR. See, anytime my parents were upset with me, or I was in trouble, I found myself longing to be inside my closet and hidden away from all the things that upset me. Often times I ran to my closet because I was wanting to be safe, safe from situations that made me uncomfortable and seemed to diminished my smile.
For a kid this was a great place to go to. A place surrounded by their favorite things and yet hidden away from the turmoil outside in the real world. I loved my closet, it saved my spirit on many an occasion. I often feel myself wanting to gravitate to a closet similar in nature, on certain occasions, still today. Oh, if things were that simple again! Now, I cannot disappear when I feel sad or upset, but once it was what “saved me’.
How can a person think that your past is insignificant? I’m not saying every single facet has to be recorded somewhere, and kept track of. On the contrary, the past is irrelevant, to the point of having it brought up, when it’s a person’s future they are trying to better, or improve upon. For example, a person who was a liar or stole something, and now they are trying to be a better person, in that they do not do those types of things anymore. This is where remembering or keeping track of one’s past might interfere with the present person they wish to become.
There are other things though, in one’s past that have played such a role in whom that person has become. If you don’t think of their past as significant then you might dismiss their struggles, their journey, or their pain and joy. That would be sad. A lot of people spend a bunch of time, energy, soul-searching, to make their lives better. If we overlooked that part of them, yes, their past, we fail to see the true them. In my opinion, that’s like an injustice to them.
My hopes in writing this short blog is that next time you look at the whole person rather than a moment of their lives. Everyone has a past, and sometimes we need to lift them up for surviving, or applaud them for changing.
When you grow up not knowing from whom you came from, this being my case since I was adopted, you feel like you are living in someone else’s life. It is easy to feel weird or awkward. I felt this way throughout my younger years. Here I was living in a house with a dad, mom, older sister, and younger brother. I was the middle child, the only one that had been adopted.
I always felt that I was different, that there was something in this mix of family that did not represent the “whole” me. I say “whole”, because I never felt whole, after finding out I had been adopted. I really did feel awkward.
I always wanted to know things like, “Do I look like them, talk like them, eat the same foods as them, and so on”. Them, being my birth family. Sometimes I would see resemblances in my adopted family and me. I would catch people talking to one another and claiming that I had the same features as one or the other adopted parent. I am not sure if everyone my family knew, knew I was adopted. I do know however that my church family knew. It was talked about in whispers amongst them and they did not think I could hear what they had said. Sadly, I did. Adults can be insensitive to a child’s feelings and they often time think the child cannot hear them, or understand what they say. I say to never underestimate the knowledge of a child and the grasp of understanding they have.
See, “awkward” almost seems like an in appropriate adjective to describe myself back then. Although awkward was definitely how I felt at times , especially in a public place. I never really felt like I belonged in my adopted family and I am not really sure if they thought I did or not. I do know that once my younger brother said I was his cousin and that I did not belong in his family. I really felt those words he said that day. I think they forever will haunt my mind.
If there was a time that I felt complete or where I belonged, I cannot recollect. I really think the place I am today, with my kids, grandkids and husband, is the closest thing I will ever know to be my place of belonging. That place is where I do not feel awkward, I do not feel weird and I know that I was meant to be where I am.
Continue reading Am I awkward?
I remember being in second grade and standing on my seat to my desk telling the class something very special. It was during a party for someone’s birthday. What I was telling my classmates was that I was adopted. I remember this kid asking me what that meant.
Now this was a big topic for second graders, because no one had even really heard the term adopted. I explained it kind of this way, “My mom and dad got to choose me”, and I continued explaining that instead of being born into the family I now live in, I was chosen from a bunch of other kids and wanted so very much by my “now” parents that I am special.
“Special“, hmm, at least that is how it was told to me, when my mother explained it. I wish I could remember what had brought it up in conversation, but I have never figured that out. The point I was trying desperately to make in my class, during that birthday party was one that I believe for my own self as a child. I believed I was special.
Too bad that thought lost it’s momentum as I aged. I did not look at my adoption like that ever again. To this day I still don’t. Special has nothing to do with why I was adopted, as I later found out, and that word was far from what my adoption really was.
I know I sound bitter or maybe even a little sarcastic, but let me tell you, being adopted for me was a very different experience than the ones you hear about in the movies or in books. I was adopted because my birth father had been killed. Yes, killed. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I was too much burden for my mother since my older sister was around too. My birth mother could not handle two kids and I was the one who required the most attention, so I was the one who was gave up for adoption.
Now to be fair, my adopted parents were my birth Aunt and Uncle. My father was my adopted mother’s brother, so it was not like I was in the system. I was still with family. This is where things got complicated. My birth mother and my adopted mother was not friends. There was some sort of conflict way before I came around. So the stories that would be told when I would ask about one or the other, was so confusing to understand. Each story varied and each person had their own versions of what actually happened back in the time of my father’s death and my being adopted out.
That makes for a lot of animosity and conflict. So I never saw my birth mom till many years later, when a boyfriend I had went on a mission to find her for me. For which he did and he also took me to see her.
Talk about a story for another day! So see adoption for me, was most difficult and not being allowed to be around the family I was born into made things sometimes so hard to handle.
It goes to show you that not everyone has a perfect life and there are many differences you may not even notice when looking at another individual. We all are different and yet so much the same. If a person could walk in another’s shows, oh what they would feel and see!
I hope you are reading some of my poems. I think once you do you can relate to them.
I write things that come off the top of my mind and never do I practice writing. It just comes really easy for me, I use my writings as a form of therapy , if you will, and it helps me a lot.
I was adopted when I was a baby. I think that part of my writings reflect the feelings and emotions of that experience, a lot.
I try to use simple forms of expression when I write so that others can better relate.
I hope you will check out my poems and see for yourself.
Thanks for your support and interest.