Under the Wire

It is not popular to be my relative. Actually, being my friend isn’t too popular either. Truth be known, my wife and kids could be added to the list, also.

In my own defense may I say I am not a bad person. Except for a few speeding tickets, I’ve never been in trouble with the law. With the exception of my love of horses and roping on them, I seem to have no serious personality disorders.

I don’t kick dogs, use profane language (except at politicians) or indulge in mind-altering substances unless you count an occasional orange juice based concoction necessary to unwind after a day spent being unpopular.

Why then, you may be asking yourself, is this self-proclaimed nice guy saying he’s not very popular with just about anyone who knows or is around him?

A few don’t like me just because not everybody likes everybody. Will Rogers once said he’d never met a man he didn’t like. Well, I know a few he never met but that’s an entire story for later. The reason family and most friends keep me at arms length is because sooner or later I am going to write about them.

Think about it. If you commit an embarrassing gaffe around most folks, few know. Pull a bonehead move in my presence, wait a few weeks and you will show up in one of these columns. I rarely mention names on advice from my attorney (whom I never write about) but it doesn’t seem to matter. Folks recognize themselves.

“That was me, wasn’t it?” they’ll ask.

“Of course not,” I will lie.

“I suppose that will wind up in a story,” they’ll say to me after a particularly embarrassing moment.

“Of course not,” I lie again. I’ve never actually lost a friend over a column. It just seems after a while they keep a little more distance between us.

It used to bother me. I began to bathe more often, gargled daily and went from underwear labeled spring, summer, winter and fall to more appropriate intervals. Finally, I figured out it wasn’t personal hygiene but rather how I made my living that kept people at a distance. A few react just the opposite, oddly enough. Some call to relate their latest mishaps. While valued friends, I worry about them.

As the saying goes, “You get to choose your friends, but you’re stuck with your relatives.” I know this saying well because my relatives constantly remind me of it. I don’t worry about them much because I always had the support of my mother. She passed away two years ago at 97 years young, cutting the crowd who are comfortable around me in half. Not exactly sure where the other one moved to. Keep having my letters to him returned, marked “no such person, no such address.” Wonder where my sister is these days?