A Disease Called "Stupid"

I have tried to teach my kids to think before they speak. It’s a lesson that most of us have only learned from the bitter taste of foot in mouth, and as a father who loves them, I would prefer they avoid that experience altogether. I try to lead by example. That is my excuse for saying stupid things. I am trying to show them an example of how NOT to be. It’s difficult sometimes, and I don’t really enjoy looking like an idiot, but I’m doing it for my kids, so that makes it all okay.

I keep in practice even when they aren’t with me. Recently I pulled up to the speaker at the McDonald’s drive through and said, “I’d like a large cup of coffee,” then paused just a beat before adding, “TO GO.” To the credit of the person on the other end of the microphone, they did not let on that they were laughing at me, but I was pretty sure that they were. I would have been. If it had been me, I might have been tempted to say, “are you sure you don’t want to park and come inside where it’s nice and cozy?” Or “You’re welcome to drink it here at the window Sir; I’ll just let everyone in line know that there will be a little wait.”

Sometimes I say stupid things by being repetitive. Last week in DC a man on the metro platform said, “It sure is hot for April.” That was not a statement that required a lengthy response. A simple, “yes, it certainly is,” would have been more than sufficient between two total strangers, yet I opened my mouth and began to cough out nonsense. “Hot,” I said. “Yes, it’s very hot. Very hot for April. I don’t remember it being this hot this early.” Then, as if I thought I needed some kind of whimsical finale, I added an almost sing-songy whisper, “It is Hot, hot, hot.”

The man stared at me for a moment, then nodded and casually walked away; glancing back once to make sure I wasn’t following him. I played a quick rewind in my head of what just came out of my mouth and thought, where in the heck did that come from? This, I am sure, is why I did not date in high school.

Despite the selfless decision to sacrifice my self-esteem for the good of my children, I still try to draw the line at saying stupid, “hurtful” things. Unfortunately, sometimes my brain is on auto-pilot, stuck in the S gear where stupid things blurt out without any filter.

I live with four females of varying ages. Keeping track of the various insecurities, phobias, and sore spots would be a full time job for someone not afflicted with stupid mouth disorder. For me, it is constant uphill battle…on ice…wearing cowboy boots. If a day at home were to pass without me opening my mouth to say something unintentionally stupid and making one of them mad or hurt, it would be a day to live in infamy.

Often I end up standing alone in a room that had just been a swirl of activity and chatter, left only with the sound of stomping feet and a series of slamming doors, wondering what just happened. I usually start out being defensive, shaking my head at their over sensitivity, but after a few moments of deathly silence, I am fully aware that once again I fallen neck deep into my own ignorance.

I’ve gained a lot of experience at saying “I’m sorry.” Apologies must be carefully worded, so as not to make it worse, but by that point I am on full alert and my stupid filter is closed so tight that even my blinks are carefully calculated. The key is to not expect the apology to be verbally accepted. That would be letting me off easy and in my house that is just not done. I say my piece and walk away, hoping that at some point in the near future the offended party will simply return nonchalantly to my presence as if nothing had ever happened. We do not speak of it again and repeat the entire process the next time I say something stupid (which is sort of like saying “the next time I breathe”).

I am hoping that someday technology will advance to a point where microchips can be implanted in our heads to override the stupid part or our vocabulary. This could potentially mend broken marriages and put an end to feuds and wars. We could finally achieve what years of Miss America contestants have hoped and prayed for…world peace.

In the meantime, there’s little that can be done except futile attempts at silence (which is usually misinterpreted as rudeness or seething aggression), or the careful application of Duct Tape. I’m counting on the Duct Tape.