Fairytales, Fiction, and Truth

Not all stories start out with “once upon a time in a land far, far away.”  Likewise, not all stories that begin that way are fairy tales.  “Far, far away” can be a state of mind, an outlandish attitude, or simply the distance between good friends, whether metaphorical or geographic.

Sometimes it’s merely the gap between our inner and outer selves, the differences between who we are when no one’s looking and the semi false face, complete with manners and dignity, that we put on when out in public.  Or maybe it’s just a matter of upbringing that we behave one way for so long until the world teaches us better, yet undeniable traces of our background still shine through regardless of how much, or how well, we’ve grown.

We see falsehood everywhere.  I wore makeup yesterday, for example, and spent a little extra time with my hair.  I wore the sweater my youngest had given me for Christmas, and I absolutely adored it.  The colors were perfect, it was a garment that was finally long enough for my tall frame, I felt good wearing it, and I felt like I looked good, too.

It wasn’t me, and it’s not like me to fuss that much over hair and makeup.  It felt fake, like I’d stolen someone else’s morning regimen instead of sticking to my own.

Although it probably won’t stop me from repeating the experience at some point.  After all, I will definitely wear that sweater again.

There may be no help for my speech pattern, though.  It reflects a combination of travel, education, and age heavily influenced by the surroundings during my formative years.  The accent gets worse when I’m tired, and slips completely in reverse when I’m angry.

I may never forget that day I was asked to stay after class by my college Communications teacher about twenty-five years ago.  She waited until everyone had left before addressing me.  I was making straight As in her class so I knew there wasn’t a problem with my work.  She began with an apology for keeping me, explained that curiosity had gotten the better of her, and while she didn’t wish to impose any embarrassment, she just had to know.  “How is it that you write so beautifully every assignment I’ve ever given you, but you speak horribly?”

I gave her the answer I’d heard my uncle give when asked that same question.  “I learned to speak at home, but I learned to write someplace else.”

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8 Comments

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8 responses to “Fairytales, Fiction, and Truth

  1. Monika Romans

    Love it! Heard it many times….I finally found you, Katrina! Love your articles! You are such an inspiration, for now I too will write! Love, Monika

  2. I loved your post—made me think. I smiled when I got to the part where you put make-up on, a sweater you adored, and fussed with your hair. I’m sure the colors of the sweater brightened your countenance. I didn’t see fake. I saw a facet of Katrina. One where you’re in the zone, endorphins and all. 😀

    What kind of accent do you have?

  3. Oh, you really hit a nerve with me! I could go on for hours and hours about this, writing or speaking. I was raised by a southern mama, but in the north. You wanna talk about fake, lol! I faked my speech patterns for so long, and when I got to Georgia, I just let it go. When I’m tarred or angry — eesh!
    Truth is, I pick up languages and dialects very easily, so if I spend a few days in one place, I will start to adapt. This is very noticeable when I visit southeast Virginia, which is not a sound too unlike your own. (And where my grandaddy came from.)
    At home, I speak terribly, too. Big words and all that, but more like, “aintcha gon take yer pocketbook ta sundee school?” It’s no wonder people think anyone with a twang must be stupid. But you and I know different/ ly. 😉
    Oh! And I’m glad for your new sweater!

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