Not a huge fan of April Fools’ Day, really. My least favorite part of it is when people lie about something and then mock you for trusting the lie. I don’t think I’d mind the holiday if it were just obviously broad stunts and tall tales.
But my whole life I’ve been one of those people who is always very direct. It often gets me into trouble, and so over the years I’ve tried very hard to work on tempering that directness with kindness. Sometimes I fail miserably, but I promise I’m always trying.
I moved here–Tennessee, The South–a week after I was married, five weeks after I turned 21. I came from the Midwest and imported with me that Midwestern sense of what “polite” is. And the cornerstone of Midwestern politeness is honesty. A diplomatic honesty to be sure. We won’t tell you that the dress makes you look fat. Instead we say something along the lines of “you might want to wear something else.” Whereas upon moving southward it seemed to me that the way folks handle similar situations here is to say to your face “oh what a cute dress!” and then talk behind your bac about how fat you look in it. Then again, that may be how adults everywhere deal with things. Prior to relocating here I lived a pretty sheltered life in a rather close-knit community of likeminded people. So it is entirely possible that I’m incorrectly blaming the southerners I meet for a universally bad habit.
I would much rather have someone say upfront that they don’t like me than to feign friendship. One of the most painful moments of recent years occurred when I found that people I had opened my heart and home to had been harboring a deep dislike for me the entire time.
And I say all this because that’s kind of what the worst aspects of April Fools’ Day are like to me.