The straw that broke silence

CHERRIL DOTY

Dear, dear, what can the matter be; oh, dear, what can the matter be;

dear, dear, what can the matter be? ... Johnny’s so long at the fair.

The lilting, sing song voice is the scratchy one of my grandmother so

many years ago. It plays over and over in my memory. But it’s all

wrong. This isn’t what is the matter. This isn’t about Johnny or Fred

or Joe or any fair. “What can the matter be” is I seem to have lost

my sense of humor. The very intensity with which I react to the

remembered refrain says it all.

Oh, no! Here comes another childhood ditty: Where oh where has my

little dog gone? Yikes! I’d better get back my sense of humor

quickly, before I run through all of the songs of my early childhood.

A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket Well, at least this one

has something to do with lost things, albeit a letter to my love.

Mom, you’ve really lost it this time! I can hear my daughters’

voices now. They’re probably not referring to my sense of humor

either. But where is it? Nothing, but nothing seems funny. This is

not like me at all. Where oh where has my laugh-at-life self gone?

I’ve looked in my journal. I’ve looked in the studio, along the

seashore, out and about on errands, and with clients. I’ve searched

all over my desk, on my computer, in my car, and in the company of

friends. I’ve checked out the ground, the sky, the dust in the

corners, and even perused the comic pages at length. Gone. And the

only conclusion I can draw from it all is that it’s lost in my anger

at the way some things are.

I’m angry, of course, for what I fear for the future -- angry with

myself first and angry at a world outside me that by and large

doesn’t seem to value what I do. In this time leading to our national

elections, I’m angry that candidates look more like sparring children

on the playground than someone I would choose to lead our country. On

the local level, too, politics seems to be riddled with pettiness,

name-calling, and false innuendo, with smear campaigns impugning the

characters of those running for office. I am angry because I am lied

to on every front, whether the lie is based in intention or

perception.

Yes, I am angry because I am afraid and my heart is hard-pressed

to find laughter in the fear, the hatred and the lies. I am afraid

that if snide slurs and bullying innuendo can gain a strong foothold

then integrity will lose any value. I fear bravado will replace real

courage, rhetoric will replace action, lies will replace honor, war

will win over peace, and fear will preside where once there was

laughter and freedom.

I am angry. I am afraid. Yet I continue the search for my sense of

humor -- can’t help but think it’s in here still ... somewhere. Deep

inside I hear the small voice of hope next to that of humor, saying

that they are just being quiet while I get a handle on this, to see

what to do next. I hope they are right, for I want my heart to laugh

again. I want to live for the joy-filled tomorrows there can be --

not just for me, but for all.

I want us here in this city and in this country to save ourselves

from what my 88-year-old mother calls “the nastiest election in my

life.” I want us to pull up our courage and challenge what we either

do not believe or just find inherently “wrong” in a moral sense.

As I say these things, as I speak of my fear and my anger,

childhood ditties are replaced in my brain with the Toltec wisdom of

The Four Agreements: Be impeccable with your word. Always do your

best. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions.

Good advice to us all. I add for myself “This too shall pass --

find your sense of humor NOW!”

Laughter takes the sting out of truth-telling. -- Patrick

Goldstein

* CHERRIL DOTY is a creative life coach and artist. You can reach

her by e-mail at cherril@cherrildoty.com or by calling (949) 251-3883