No-fly list

No fly list: 

On more than one occasion I have been unjustly accused of not having a 'filter'; implying that words fall from my thoughts and out my mouth without resistances. Oddly enough I thought I did a pretty fair job of holding some clever verbiage in my gray matter even though I'm sure it would have been hilarious if it had slipped carelessly into the conversation.  Either way, I can conclude at least two, possibly three thoughts about the words we utter. 

Our words matter: At any airport across the nation I often see signage indicating that TSA does not take kindly to jokes especially those related to explosives or weapons. I've not attempted to humor them with my interrupting cow knock, knock joke but I am sure they would find a mannerless Holstein irresistibly chuckle worthy. Even so I simply smile as I consider it and continuing removing my laptop from my bag, my tennis shoes from my feet, and everything from my pockets.  The words we choose and when we use them has significance and impact to others regardless what you think or what you meant or how much you apologize. I am not saying that is fair. I am saying that it is true. TSA doesn't think it's amusing in the least to casually speak of bombs in your carry on and to be quite frank, I prefer not to hear the person in the boarding line whisper under their breathe, "I hope I don't have to sit with her."  
I once heard a lady from the church say that trying to unsay something is like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. I think it is worse than that. I think it's like hitting someone in the face with a baseball bat then trying to take the violence and intent back. And if that isn't enough, try to unbruise the eye socket and push the blood from the flesh back into the vessel that has been damaged.

Words hurt: Toothpaste doesn't hurt. I have never been hit with the bat but on more than one occasion I stood proudly in my Red Bird uniform with a bat on my right shoulder and took a blow to the face from what was labeled a soft ball. It stings. Remember 'stick and stones can break my bones but words can never heard me?' That was 1970's grade school response to what we now call bullying. And though we often refer to the tongue as sharp, when it comes to penetrating your emotions, it more like being stabbed with a spoon or a butter knife at best. Half of the pain from words is the memory that sticks with you years beyond the original conversation. I can not for the life of me remember who ran against Rick Perry in the last governors race, I can't remember the birth date of my mother-in-law of 29+ years but I remember in the 9th grade when the cutest boy in high school told me I needed to start doing something more girl-like with my hair. That's what it feels like to be stabbed with a spoon. 

Words heal: Wouldn't it be awesome if when a doctor had to deliver the unfavorable diagnosis of breast cancer he could say, "well, there's good news and then there is bad news. The bad news, you have breast cancer. The good news, I just need you to chat a few little rhyming words and you'll be good as new!"  Words don't heal breast cancer or take the grief from death but they can start a healing process. Once when I was younger I miscarried a baby at 4+ months. The baby was due on Christmas Day in 1993; no relevance to that it just slipped through the filter. I went in for a sonogram and was sent directly back to the OB/GYN. It was a rough day. I remember the doctor reaching up and taking my hand. He said, "you'll heal."  There was no miraculous healing but through his compassionate words for me as a human, a mother, and hurting soul he began to doctor the wounds of my heart. A week later, while I was silently and privately attempting to recover, my cousin called. To be honest, I really didn't want to talk about this situation simply because it hurt and acknowledged pain was not my idea of small talk. She had the history to support her words as she had been through many miscarriages.  Calmly she called me by my name and said, "hug the son you have."  The healing continued. 

What an awesome tool we have in the spoken word. What an awesome responsibility we have to be silent.  Oh, to be better at them both.