"I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing." ~Socrates

So...I have mentioned before my issues with gossip. Gossip is a
terrible thing. No one likes to be the talk of the town, but everyone
loves to dish...

I've been browsing my daily news sites (cnn, bbc, and aljazeera) for
the past couple of hours thinking I'd focus on the one common evil of
the day. Nothing caught my attention as overly new or
interesting. So, I thought I'd stop by the tabloid of my hometown
to see who was doing what these day.

The Lusk Herald's top stories included Homeland Security funding (this
would be news in most towns or cities of interest, but this is not one
of those), a four day schedule change for the school year, and a new
lube shop for farm/ranch equipment is about to open for business.

Fairly cheesy stuff...

Then I headed for the juicy sections: Lusk Living, Court News, Birth Announcements and Obits.

I've just been caught up on who's getting hitched (blah, blah), who's
been caught with amphetemines (shocking!), who's been knocked up
(married couple, no big deal) and who's passed on (98.999% of the time
someone over 80).

I finish getting through all of the drama of the week and what is my
first impulse? "Damn! I have got to call Lucy and Lisa!" How pathetic I
am...how honorable to own up to my bad behavior. I don't blame
myself for this lust for trash. It is what you are trained
subconsiously to do from a young age in small towns.

All through my childhood I remember seeing, hearing, and being urged to
participate in keeping up with the Jones'. My first experience was at a
very, very young age (5 or 6) and hearing a woman comment to her
husband as they passed me in front of the Ben Franklin, "Oh, that poor
child." How is this part of the story? As I grew older, more folks
would take that pitiful tone as they passed me in places. It starts
with "poor child" and becomes more developed with "that Ramona (my
mother)" and "you know those children don't (followed by any number of
cruel statements)" and I've learned that the dialogue doesn't end once
you are out of earshot.

A terrible thing to do to a kid...Luckily, I've never been weak enough
to take it personally. My mother may not be June Cleaver, but she's
got a spark I've never seen in anyone else and loves more deeply than
even myself. I pride her for passing on the importance of unpenetrable
love and the good of a forgiving heart.

No matter how many kicks she got around town, she had three kids and a wonderful mother to love away the bruises.
But I digress...

I learned the tricks of the trade, anyone to grow up in such a place would be lying if they said they didn't pick up the habit.

It makes you grow a thick skin. You know that most of what people pass
on to each other are blatant falsehoods, and you do your best to focus
everyone's attention to someone else.

I have set myself free from this mentality...as much as possible. I
still crave to hear the news, but I do honestly fight passing it on to others.
It's helped to move away to a city of hundreds of thousands. Chris and
I have made a small circle and none of us participate in such cruel
games. I'm exhaustingly open anyway, so I don't really give many a chance
to point out my quirks. My quirks are open to anyone that asks (with the exception of the needed private idiosyncrasies).

You don't get crushed by the mob this way.
Don't take all of this to mean I view small towns as evil, or that all of my feelings toward Lusk are harsh. There is nothing cozier or more like home, but I'll never confuse it with Heaven. Surely Heaven is not so cruel.