July 2002 Editorial
From God’s Lips to My Ear
I got to thinking
about lines the other day—straight lines, specifically. By definition,
a line is straight, but as I pondered the many kinds of lines in nature,
I realized that very few are truly straight. Take, for example, a route between
two cities, as the crow flies. If you marked a line on a map with a ruler
(see “The Tsar’s Thumb”)
between Moscow and St. Petersburg, or between San Francisco and Chicago, it
would be straight on the two-dimensional surface of the map, but in reality
it would bend with the curvature of the earth.
A beam of light traveling at 186,000 miles per second through space would seem to be
nature’s perfect example of a straight line; however, its path would
be compromised by many influences, such as atmospheric disturbances, gravitational
fields, and no less a force than Albert Einstein himself (he proved that a
straight line in space is actually a curve). And speaking of gravity, one
would think that Newton’s earth-bound apple would fulfill the conditions
of our search. Had Galileo possessed the means to conduct his Newton-inspired
Leaning Tower experiment from a much greater height, such as five miles, he
would have seen a variation in the falling objects’ paths. The rotation
of the earth around its own axis and accompanying weather systems would create
a set of conditions which would affect the gravitational attempt at creating
a straight line.
I realized that in nature there are only two examples I could think of that would qualify
as being truly straight. One is the earth’s axis. When it comes to a
spinning planet, there is zero tolerance for any deviation. The line from
the north pole to the south must be straighter than an unplucked banjo string.
Anything less would create an irritating wobble in our journey from A.M.
to P.M., and from equinox to solstice. Certainly the
earth’s axis is as straight as they come.
The other example is one that I learned from my experience as a father. Aside from the
axis of a heavenly body, there is no other line straighter than the connection
between a toddler’s brain and his tongue. I have never seen a more direct
and immediate route than the super highway linking the conception of a child’s
thought to the voiced delivery. No sooner is the mere germ of an idea formed
in the young one’s gray matter than it bursts forth into the world in
all its raw, uncensored, and often embarrassing glory. No editing there. For
a child, no standards, rules of etiquette, or even vehement warnings can keep
a good thought down. There is nothing more bare, basic, or shameless in its
nakedness than an observation voiced by a three-year-old in a large company
of adults. The little one will comment on anything, from the size of the boss’
nose to the funny smell that eventually gets blamed on the dog. No amount
of shushing can squelch his honesty. Nothing or no one is safe, and everything
and everyone is fair game.
From brain to tongue there are no side trips, no extra stops to check for propriety,
no deletions. A child says it as it is. Adults will “brooch a subject,”
“beat around the bush,” and “side-step the issue.” We
cite examples and use allegories, paradigms, and parables to illustrate a
point. We have created all sorts of devices to talk around the issues
without really committing to anything. A political candidate can speak for
hours without giving a clue as to which side of the fence his legs are dangling.
White male politicians, on realizing they need the black vote to get elected,
quickly manufacture a few new platform planks that they think will appeal
to those constituents. A read of a “wet finger in the wind” determines
their position that day on abortion, a school bond issue, or a presidential
impeachment.
How quickly we lose the honesty of a child as we mature. In growing up we learn the tricks
of the trade in the verbal arena. Honesty takes a back seat to ulterior motives
and disguising our thoughts and intentions. White lies and deceptions form
the plots of most sitcoms on television, and we love it. We live in a climate
of excuses, irresponsibility, unaccountability, and buck passing. People cannot
commit to policies, positions, relationships, or above-board courses of action.
Maybe we should obtain some absolute, concrete opinions from our truly grounded three-year-olds.
Hey, Mickey! If we could only speak what is in our hearts right then and there:
a straight line to the tongue. No detours to evaluate what others may think.
No changing our minds mid-stream to accommodate changing attitudes and agenda.
Let’s all take a lesson from our straight-arrow young folk and be a little
more honest with the world and ourselves, and speak our minds for a
change. The Jews have a saying, “From God’s lips to my ear.”
You can’t be more direct than that—unless you are a three-year-old.
©2002 Stuart Vail
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