blowing smoke

I grew up speaking Midwest Nice. People weren't "arrogant" or "opinionated" or "awful." They were interesting or (in that special hushed tone) underprivileged or different (that one came with its own brand of nose crinkle, so you knew it was the bad kind of different). On evaluations there weren't "problems"; just growing edges. Neighbors were all smiles as they waved to you from their front porch and invited you over for cookies, but later you'd find out they were still silently fuming about that rake you left on their lawn last fall.

Germans tend to be very direct. You do something right, they tell you. You do something wrong, they tell you that too, in the same tone of voice. Where Midwest Nice might stammer "um... wow, that's a really interesting color on you. It brings out your, um, freckles," Deutsch-Direct cuts to the chase: "Jess, that shirt is not flattering at all. Get rid of it. Seriously." One of the best compliments a German can pay is "the problem with your presentation is..." Pointing out the cracks is their way of saying "You are worth my time."

At first I was insulted and taken aback and scared to go out in public. But God made us adaptable and I got used to it. I learned to take it in the spirit in which it was meant - honesty. Keeping things on the up and up. And then I learned to appreciate it. If your friend tells you when you have spinach in your teeth, you can be more confident that she'll speak up when you've got egg on your face.

So over the course of the four years, I went from speaking fluently and exclusively Midwest Nice to becoming a true bilingual. I can still blow smoke up your ass* if I have to, but you'd better believe that you're not the one I'll come to when I need an honest opinion.

I don't know whether it's from living in Europe for so long, or from battling this disease whose insidious weapon is untruth... but it's becoming clearer and clearer to me that sometimes, "niceness" is just a pack of lies. So when someone walks into my life and speaks the truth to me in a clear, no-nonsense tone of voice, it's a lifeline. It shines a light through the lies and shows me the way out. It draws a line through this bizarre maze of "nice" which doesn't always equate with "true." (Who makes these rules anyway?)

Down the basement
Lock the cellar door
And baby...
Talk plainly to me.

*huh? Where did this expression come from? An equivalent German phrase is equally puzzling: 'smear honey around your belly button.' Would you really want me to do either one? I'll let you ponder that.