I made a promise this weekend, that I would name my next blog post “If you were my boyfriend I’d find you really annoying”. After saying those words to a particular person who also happened to suggest I write a blog post on them. (You know who you are).
Funnily enough, I’ve decided not to dedicate an entire blog post to one person.
What I am going to dedicate this blog post to is honesty.
I honestly believe that honesty is the best policy.
It’s something I try and live my life by, all aspects of my life – at home, at work, with friends, in love. This is not necessarily me trying to prove to you that I’m a good person: honesty is the best policy, if only to save you a whole lot of hassle because at the end of the day the truth always comes out. This is a little lesson I learnt growing up as a teenager.
But what I’m wondering is: am I sometimes too honest?
I was at the funeral of my Grandad the other day and there was one thing that struck me. There was one aspect of his character that was remembered by every single person in the church. Well, there were two – his love of hockey (in particular his sliding tackles), which incidentally I did my best to recreate in my game this weekend, and it was a pleasure to win Man of the Match in light of that. The other was his plain speaking.
If there was one thing about Grandad, that I in particular remember, there was no bullshit. He would tell you exactly what he thought, even if, sometimes, in the Vicar’s words – you didn’t want to hear it.
I’ll give you an example.
The last time I saw my Grandad he was very pleased to see me. He kept on thanking me for coming to visit him (which he needn’t have done because it was a pleasure). He also kept on telling me how pleased he was to see me looking so good, and how I’d turned into a fine young lady . . . because he remembered me as chubby. Grandad, in his last days, had a habit of repetition. So I listened, quite a few times, to how one of the last times he saw me I was such a chubby young girl, so it was really nice to see me looking fit and healthy. Now, in his (and my) defence, my freshers regime of excessive alcohol, kebabs and minimal exercise coupled with maximum TV viewing (24, The Sopranos, Prison Break, Made in Chelsea etc.) had left me a little worse for wear at the time.
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However, if I’d have sat there and listened to this backhanded compliment from anyone else, I probably would have cried
from Grandad . . . well, it was just Grandad.
The man who was very vocal about his contempt for my brother’s long (by his standards) hair, and practically disowned him when he dyed it red.
No bullshit, plain speaking Grandad.
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I think I know where I get it from.
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Hopefully, I have a little more tact but, then again, this whole post stems from the fact that I told someone that if they were my boyfriend, I’d find them really annoying. It was said in jest, but to quote ‘Rap God’ Eminem . . .
I’ve started to notice that I tend to revert to the polars of Shakespeare or gangsters to emphasise my point
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And truthfully, what this person was saying at the time would have annoyed me if I was their girlfriend. (But in their defence, that’s probably not too hard)
Give me a drink or two, and my inner Grandad surfaces, saying exactly what I think, no tact.
Perhaps there is a thing as too honest. But at the end of the day, It’s better to be truthful than a liar. I’d rather say what I think than be too scared to voice my opinions. There is far more respect to be had from having the courage to speak the honest but unwelcome truth, than there is to pull the wool over someone’s eyes.
This is why I had so much respect for my Grandad. And I think, why everyone had so much respect for him.
You’ll find a lot of people in this world who will use language to confused and manipulate, to evade and to decieve. Seriously, just read a Shakespeare play or, alternatively, watch Prime Minister’s Question Time. It is the plain speaking people who are the gems. It takes courage to tell the truth.
If I have inherited this from Grandad, I can only say that I am proud.
It’s about time I turned to Shakespeare . . .
No legacy is so rich as honesty
Steph Taylor 