All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed.
Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.
My wife and I saw a T-shirt one time in the window of a Charleston, SC, shop which read, “I used to be schizophrenic … but we’re okay now.” It was funny, sure, but I couldn’t laugh too hard because I hear voices too. There’s one voice in particular that speaks to me frequently—a voice that sounds an awful lot like my father.
My dad was the master of the maxim. Whenever I screwed up, he would deliver an adage that fit the crime so perfectly it was impossible to argue against it. It was like a nuclear bomb that wiped out any hope that he might actually buy the arguments, excuses or explanations I worked so hard to create. Here’s a sample of some of his favorites:
· Two wrongs don’t make a right
· Don’t judge another until you walk a mile in their shoes
· It doesn’t matter what someone else does, it only matters what you do
· And he would sing this one: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when at first we try to deceive.”
I didn’t just dislike these mantras; I despised them, probably because I had to hear them so often. I wasn’t exactly a model child. In fact, if my parents left me in a dark alley somewhere and were tried for child abandonment; I think the only question the judge would ask is: Why didn’t you do it sooner?
These “Dadisms” were so frustrating to me because I couldn’t find a loophole. My protests, explanations and excuses were powerless against his omnipotent wisdom. I’m sure my father knew this. He didn’t encourage extended debates.
What makes these adages so effective is that they obliterate excuses and force us to accept personal responsibility for our choices. We can’t justify our behavior because of the behavior of others. No matter what kind of mental gymnastics we do, we cannot change or alter the truth that two wrongs don’t make a right. Two wrongs will never make a right, in any situation or circumstance.
Whenever I’m faced with a life choice that is confusing or gray, I often hear “the voice.” Instead of resisting it, I allow its wisdom to guide me. If someone has hurt me or someone I love, for example, the temptation is always there to find a way to strike back, to even the score. But then I hear my father saying, “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” and suddenly, the choice is clear.
When a part of us desires to commit another wrong to make things right, we often try to justify or rationalize our action until we come up with something that fits. If we heed this truth, however, then we just can’t do it. We have no alternative but to accept responsibility and pursue the right course of action.
I won’t get into the other voices in my head at this time, but I feel lucky to have my father’s wisdom as my moral constitution. He instilled in me a blueprint for character and decision making. He taught me the importance of honesty, accountability and hard work. I lost my way for many years, but I never lost the gift of his teachings, which did more than just guide me—they helped save me.
I’m especially lucky because next Friday is my father’s birthday. If I want to hear a real live voice, all I have to do is pick up the phone. Thanks Dad, for everything. And happy birthday.
Don Dwight in the NH Hills