The Other Side of the Story

The Other Side of the Story

Wish I could say that there was nothing to write here, or maybe write some thesis on the value of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, but there is another side to everyone’s story, so I will let Pink Floyd do their own talking. But I will say, I am a little partial to their song, Comfortably Numb, almost named my Shovelhead chopper that, but that’s neither here nor there.
I have realized in the past few months that [the other side of the story] doesn’t really matter, it’s in what you give, [give] playing a bigger role than it should. For this instance I am not talking about gifts of any kind, it’s a little broader than that.
I was at this event, a person that I know well, probably a little better than she may think I do, you could say that I have known this person since I was born.
Now I had some reason to look for this person, I saw where she had gone so I headed that direction, like a journey with a quick end, through a door and into a large open room with a deck right off the the room that hangs thirty feet off the ground.
A lady was talking to this younger worker, they were setting up the event, so I asked them if they had seen the person that I was looking for, their reply: “Oh, that old lady, she is in there!” Pointing their fingers to this little room, but “old lady”, hmm, I know I am not young; so their words made me chuckle and then smile, knowing the person I was looking for.
As time went forward, there was little time to talk to the person and maybe say, well I guess we have gotten older; or something along those lines. So when it came time for the cordial relations and valedictions for the road back to wherever everyone came from; I gave the person a hug and said “well old woman.” You would have thought I slit her throat.
The person turned away from me (keep in mind, no one could have heard what I said) and started her speech about how she is still young inside, but we have heard all that before, I know I have; well go climb Everest while you still got it. Now after that, there were no goodbyes, they just left. But also after, I was called rude, twice.
One, there was no chance to tell her why I said it.
Two, no one knows why I said it, so why call me rude, why not ask what was that all about?
To reply to the first person that called me rude, I stated: If she would have shut up long enough, she may have understood, but she didn’t.
No there was no control of the situation, because there is blindness in the person when looking at the reality of age, people do see other people as old or young. In reflection of people thinking I was rude, I should have every right from now on to get mad at those simpletons that think everyone that made it through the ’60’s’, has gray hair and a mustache is an old hippie; now that offends me, I never did like hippies. I might tell you the truth that I don’t like hippies so don’t call me that, but I won’t go on a tirade about it.
The other part of the matter, if your only going to see one side of the story, when the whole story could be had instantly, then don’t throw out the [rude] word so quickly. If you are going to, then make sure your skeletons in your closet are nice and shiny; because if you really tic someone off, you may be reminded of them.
I haven’t talked to the person since, but that don’t surprise me any, I am a little old school when it comes to treating people with dignity; no one knew what the lady had said about the person, till the person made a semi public issue out of what I said. So if they are stewing in anger, then let them stew, it’s their anger. You want to know the whole stupid part of the incident, as loud as it got, with the total lack of understanding the people in attendance had of the incident; probably no one really cared about the tirade, it was insignificant to the people in attendance.
But I got called rude, like now all I can do is smile at the whole thing; knowing I’m bigger than a word. As long as I am bigger than a word, I can take this time to say: Sorry Sis, it may not mean much, because of the forgotten other side of the story, but sorry anyway, if that makes you happy.
But that is family these days, we can walk around the family, all smug, all controlling, all arrogant, only seeing our little bit and clique in the family, never seeking the truth of what has happened in the family. We can talk down to parts of our families, neglect or ignore, oh and the best is the anger we hold for parts of the family. Never changes does it, I know in mine, there is one person that has been more protected than anyone, and by me; unless I am ticked off, I’m not taking the time to say anything, not even in the last rights or words hour of my life.
If I did, I would probably just say something like: You all didn’t care if you knew the other side of the story before this time, you didn’t want to take the time, it wasn’t important as to why the truth didn’t matter and those speaking the truth was considered rude in their lacking of banner waving or flamboyant manners; as for me, I kept the peace, and I did it with an honest love. Looks like you will have to get the other side of the story . . . on the other side of the white light.

Take the time to talk to the family, they are supposed to mean more to any of us mortal beings here on this earth than all the trinkets or money that you could ever gather, you only get one chance down here folks; make the best of it.

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