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SALT LAKE CITY — It's that time, that wonderful post-air conditioner, pre-holiday time of year. Spring chickens should be laying any day now, and my seasonal affective disorder hasn't kicked in yet.
Before the leaves fall and I have to winterize the house and children, I need to take the time to look at my list of all the people I've offended — a substantial index that includes more than my fair share of humans.
Apology season happens mostly because I say more than my fair share.
After years of bizarro banter and behavior, I am very close to having to pick the road less traveled because no one wants to walk with me.
Earlier this year, I suggested that large women be treated with respect, upsetting a few vocal skinny women in the intermountain west who got a hold of my email address and sent me photos of siphoned fat in a jar, because I “obviously don’t know what all that fat really looks like from the inside.”
My fatal flaw (not that one — the other one)
I am outspoken, or out-written, rather. I am, congenitally I think, missing the mechanism that tells me when not to say something that I am thinking. The switch most everyone else has isn't there for me — the one that tells my brain to "just smile and wave, boys," instead of running my mouth.
Naturally, I have had to designate a month for the task of humbling myself for things I have said or done that have been inappropriate, unkind or unreasonable.
More than anything, I apologize for silly things I say that come out wrong. Did I think it over before I said it? Yes, I did. And in my head it didn't sound as horrifying. In my head it was a pithy, humorous treat that I thought would make me the next non-smoking, not-as-chubby Winston Churchill.
To the end of apologizing to all those in that category, I offer the following: (If it is really personal issue, you will be getting a card in the mail. I buy a large book of stamps every year.)
• I apologize for leaving the water hose on the front lawn overnight — even after my son reminded me to do so before he want to bed — and turning his room into a sort-of-fresh-water aquarium.
• I apologize to the members of Citizens for a Better Tomorrow for snorting during the Pledge of Allegiance. I was imagining the councilors as zombies, and I freaked myself out a little.
• I apologize to my chickens, which were surprised in the middle of the night by hungry raccoons and now feel that they have to take refuge on the telephone pole at night to sleep.
• I apologize to my sister Jamar, who lives in southeastern Idaho, for all the Pocatello jokes. Here is the last one: What do you call 32 people from Pocatello in a room? A full set of teeth.
You see! It’s stupid things like that that get me in trouble. I may as well toss stamps down the drain — "Dear dentists of the city of Pocatello and surrounding area ... "
• I apologize to my editor for a dangerous spelling problem that doesn’t seem to be improving.
• I apologize to my mother-in-law for teaching the grandkids to put black olives on their fingertips at Thanksgiving, and for teaching them to say "in your underwear" after anything anybody says.
Related:
Prodigal Dad on women and weight
Years ago I watched a character on a primetime television sitcom give a speech regarding how she felt about having gained weight.• I apologize to my wife for appearing to look much better to her on the whole before the deal was finalized.
And one giant sorry to my neighbors for all the story fodder. In my defense, at least I change your names and nationalities.
The wow of woe
As sorry as I truly am for inappropriate actions, there are a few things I am just not sorry for, and I mention these not in order, of the grief they have caused me or others.
I am not sorry for:
• Reading Dr. Seuss to my church primary class. Star-bellied Sneetches is a great story that makes a great point. For that matter, so is the one about North-going and South-going Zax.
• Occasionally dyeing my hair. I apparently feel much younger than I look.
• Taking a Gatorade to church. I am finally off habitual consumption of Diet Coke and I'm not going back. If it takes a Gatorade in my hand while I lead the choir, so be it.
• A zombie apocalypse may be in our future — I will not say I'm sorry, in advance, for having a few of you over for dinner.
And more than anything, I apologize for silly things I say that come out wrong. Did I think it over before I said it? Yes, I did. And in my head it didn’t sound as horrifying. In my head it was a pithy, humorous treat that I thought would make me the next non-smoking, not-as-chubby Winston Churchill.
So, I am sincere when I say I am sorry if my words offend — except to the skinny ladies who insist that big isn’t beautiful, or the woman who stated that stepdads aren’t real dads.
To them I wish all the blessings of heaven and the universe — most specifically, a clue. If Davison Cheney owes you an apology, please note it in the comment section. He writes the "Prodigal Dad" family column weekly for KSL.com. See his other writings at davisoncheneyprodigaldad.blogspot.com
