But I realize not everyone is like this. Some people don’t share as much of their own lives as I do. Some people don’t feel the need to announce their ALL their insecurities, stupid mistakes, mental health issues, etc. the way I do. Some people can sit on glad tidings for days! Even weeks! It baffles me!
Some people are just much more private than I am. Take my father, for example. Dad told his family
|Dad in his Navy days! Never heard a word about them!|
As a result, I only heard some of the colorful tales of Dad’s life second-hand…such as those of his own father, Pop Cunningham. Pop, as an 8th grader in 1913, used to leave for school in the morning, and end up instead at the horse stables in Central Park, smoking cigars and drinking sarsaparilla. Pop
|Little Me and the Notorious Pop|
So I came to equate “keeping secrets” with selfishly hoarding important information, and was determined to be an open book. Everyone knew when I was pregnant by the third day after conception. Everyone knew all my mothering and acting bloopers. And, alas, everyone knew some things about my kids that I’m sure they’d have much preferred they didn’t.
Over time, I’ve learned to curb the blabbing somewhat, but it’s an ongoing issue with me. You can trust me to the grave with your sad secrets, but don’t let me hear about your award, your new career, or other personal triumph. It may be your news to share, not mine, but that hasn’t stopped me yet!