Searching for the truth and being right…

Quick update.  Mama keeps cooking so I am still trailing on the posts.  We had a busy week with school and softball for the girls, and the week before March Madness for me at work.  I know, that sounds like BULLSHIT because everybody is busy, but it is the truth as well.  That is the thing, sometimes even the truth has a whiff of BULLSHIT in it.  We all know it, it’s just part of the program.  My lovely wife keeps telling me it’s a good thing I don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story.  My response is simple and always the same… “I can’t make this shit up.”  And, apparently from the responses both her and I have received, we aren’t alone.  This BULLSHIT is going on all over in houses from coast to coast.  The fun part comes in sharing our stories.  Cue up the Law and Order theme… ba ba BA, these are their stories…

This post is about a topic that I am sure happens to all of us.  We have discussions everyday (except on those days that I am getting the silent treatment for something I said or did), and between mama, the ten year old, the eight year old, and myself, we have some strong opinions in this house.  Everyone has a thought and makes a case.  Simple discussions have turned into Supreme Court cases, and there are numerous times where each party has to make a case like a lawyer in a courtroom.  Ask a question, get a response, wait for an answer, make an objection, overruled.  Sometimes we have to literally take turns talking because it ends up like a show on ESPN where everybody is talking and NOBODY is listening.  Who doesn’t like being right?

The whole house knows if you come to me with something, you better have facts.  A lot of them.  I ask a lot of follow up questions.  I ask why you think what you do.  It’s not always fun, but it is always an engaging conversation.  And I say it all the time, I can disagree with you, but if you make a lucid, informative argument, I can see your side.  I may not agree, but that is why we are talking, isn’t it?  And I listen.  So, you better not make up BULLSHIT, and you better have your facts correct.  That’s all I expect along with listening to my side.  Contrary to belief, I don’t have to be right all the time, and I don’t mind being wrong.  I like to learn everyday.

In our modern, technological world, you really don’t have to know anything anymore.  In the old days, you had to look up stuff in the dictionary or the encyclopedia.  Remember those World Book Encyclopedias?  Or, you had to call someone who knew the answer and actually talk on the phone?  Now, we google it.  Don’t know where the place is?  Put it in your phone and it gives you a map.  Not sure what time they close?  The phone gives you the hours.  The smart phone has made our brains retain nothing.  I used to know everyone’s phone number.  Now, the only number I know is my own only because I have had the same one for 15 years.

Anyways, the best is when you are having a discussion and you know the answer.  Doesn’t matter what it is, you know it.  But, as is the case more often than not, the wife doesn’t believe you.  You know the drill.  You stick to your guns because you KNOW you are right, but this person who you share your whole life with looks at you like a lifetime criminal.  “I’m telling you, I know that happened, trust me.”  That should make it better, but in some cases, it makes it worse.  Ok, time to dig in the heels.  “Go ahead, look it up.”  In 2014, that means look it up in the google machine on your phone.

We have a fun tradition in the house that when you are right in one of these “discussions”, the person who did the questioning has to do what the ten year old has coined “Pay Up.”  That means you have to say out loud “You were right” seven times (once for each person who has lived in our house at one time or another, and one extra for the people in the cheap seats).  Try it.  Go ahead, it’s ok.  “You were right, you were right, you were right, you were right, you were right, you were right and YOU WERE RIGHT.”  I am not going to lie, that BULLSHIT is painful when you are the one saying it.  But when you are the one being serenaded, it’s sounds like the most beautiful symphony music in the world.

So, after this ridiculous back and forth discussion, we go to the phone.  Actually, mama goes to the phone while I sit on the couch with great anticipation.  I already know I am right, and it feels good.  But, I just sit like I have a royal flush, waiting for her to play the hand, knowing I have the hand won.  Then, it happens.  First, the screen is pressed to confirm the answer.  Then, the face.  You know THAT face.  The neck gets a little red from the rush of boiling blood.  The nose scrunches.  Finally, a quick mutter about a damn it, maybe a really, or even a I can’t believe it.  I sit up, chest puffed up, chin to the sky.  “Well?”

And, then it comes.  Seven times, and say it S-L-O-W.  No half assing it.  Loud and proud.  I stand up and conduct like Mr Holland conducting his opus.  I even start to shimmy, and throw in some cha cha.  I even throw in a little Hulk Hogan and cup my hand up to my ear to make sure I can hear.  I make them all join in.  Right on cue, on the last “right”, I do my best James Brown and blurt out “I FEEEEEEEL GOOD!”  It’s a walk off, shoulders shimmying, hips gyrating, almost passing out from the blood rushing to my head as I literally leave the room to revel in my glory.

From the other room, it comes.  “Great, girls.  Here comes more BULLSHIT for the blog.”

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