There are many who see my disposition as being dour and not as sunny as it could be and I am happy to have them point that out. Not that I didn’t already have some inkling that my tendencies aren’t always suited to the chipper. Those bright faced folks fail to understand that the world allows for all sorts of extremes, and without sharp variances in those extremes, their own blissful personalities would go lacking of notice. They should in fact be thanking me for giving them the opportunity to shine their light of joy onto the world. I prefer vanilla ice cream, black t-shirts and consider taco pizza to be an abomination. If anyone enjoys dressing up like a dandy and eating spumoni ice cream, I am in favor of it. I am not critical to criticize, but rather to offer up the idea there is an opposite to the placebo effect cheeriness too often over-illuminated in American culture. Bah-humbuggers and curmudgeons aren’t always given the respect they deserve. Many times, in truth, they are the most sensitive among us, daring to be willing to look through pretense and fantasy to deliver objective opinion at the time it is most needed and least welcomed. It is a high thin wire to walk across while balancing being peevish and spiteful with offering solace and compassion.
As much as I admire them, I am no curmudgeon or bah-humbugger. Proffering ill news to the blankly optimistic is sometimes necessary and I flee from doing it. I am not up to that task and leave it to others who are better than I at rending illusion from reality. If I don't have real answers, it is because I still don't know what questions to ask. I really am not as bad a fellow as I might seem to some. There is no conundrum in eating a bowl of Cheerios or buying a kid a Happy meal. It is fine to launder my black shirts with Cheer detergent. I may gripe and grumble, but I don’t ever mope or stew or, to date, need any sort of chemical assistance. And I am not an unhappy person, though I am rationally aware that there is no font of happiness. Amusement can be purchased for short periods while merriment comes and goes. The songbirds in and around my back yard are sometimes chased away by crows, and in turn my neighbors take to pounding spoons against pie tins and tossing firecrackers in their direction to coax them to move on. I stand back and enjoy that raucous and laughable symphony as I imagine the crows themselves stay around long enough to have a good laugh before moving down the road to again bedevil their more harmonious compatriots. No, I am not unhappy, and if I am ever to be reincarnated I hope that I will come back as an especially boisterous crow and retain my sensible disposition.