With all the things people think they know about me, there’s so much they don’t. I don’t make a secret about being gay or a liberal (neither predicated the other—I was just born that way). Many people think they know me, but what they know is the product of my experiences, the sum total of what my life has made me.
Independent: yes.
Mouthy: yes.
Sometimes stupid: yes.
Those are the obvious things. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon the figure that much out. All you need to do is talk to me for 15 minutes.
Very few people know how I became the person I am.
They would be surprised to learn that I directed the children’s choir at church when I was in high school. Or that I played alto and baritone sax, as well as piano. That I sang with a number of ensembles, ranging from the high school choir to the Civic Chorus to college choirs.
Or that I was president of my college music fraternity.
They don’t know that my educational background is in English, with a special fondness for Southern literature. Or that in grad school I ended up focusing on medieval literature and tried to develop a coherent of tragedy that started with Aristotle and ended with the deconstructionists.
That I have probably already read any news story they’ve seen. That I’m probably better informed than they are and keep up with everything from politics to non-profit finance to local issues, like property taxes to changing the election system for city politicians.
They certainly don’t know about my struggle to live my life honestly and without apology.
That one took 23 years.
I prevaricate on that one, because it took me that long to be honest with myself. I didn’t get around to everyone else for a while. So let’s just call that one 28.
Most people know me as the accountant with the crazy husband. The one who never takes time off, who works in the background making other people look good. The quiet-but-mouthy one who gets so involved with work that he doesn’t know whether his boss is in her office or not. Even though it’s only a few feet away.
The computer geek that knows how to do stuff they can’t and knows when to just say no when he doesn’t. To them, I’m tech support.
They know one part of me.
Part of that is intentional: they know the part that I want them to know. The other part I keep to myself and reserve for a few special people.
Those few know the real me, the whole me, the one who gets up early every Sunday morning for CBS Sunday Morning, because, in all the years I’ve been watching it, it has never failed to stimulate my mind. The one who loves watching cooking shows and creating recipes out of thin air—most have never been prepared, but they seemed damned-good at the time.
They know that taking care of my crazy husband is my first priority. If he needs me, I’ll be there. Whether he recognizes me or not.
They know that my next priority is my family, whether we’re getting along or not.
They know that my heart is in Tennessee, even though my body may be in Texas.
Even with all the beauty we live smack-dab in the middle of here in Texas, I’ll always have a soft spot for the cherry tree in Mama’s back yard. We planted it from a seedling that had sprung up next to Granny’s cherry tree when I was a kid. It did well and has grown into a mature tree.
Maybe like me
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