Long ago I heard that little children, old men and psychotics always tell you the truth about yourself. I don’t buy the idea that they ALWAYS do, but I certainly have experienced some direct hits from people in these categories.
One of my granddaughters, when she was younger, would always tell me that I had bad breath when I was drinking coffee. Since she did not do this at other times, I concluded that she disliked the smell of coffee and was not discrete enough to ignore the aroma emanating from my mouth. She was telling the truth as she saw it….or smelled it.
When I worked as a nurse as a young woman, elderly men patients often told me that I was going to make a good wife for someone. I hoped they were telling me the truth. My husband, who is now in his late 60s, seems willing to stick it out with me for a forty-third year, so I guess the predictions were somewhat accurate.
As for psychotics…..early in 1965, I spent some time at Chicago State Hospital for my psychiatric nursing experience. One day I was walking between buildings on the grounds, having been sent on an errand of some kind. Several inches of snow lay on the ground, so I had no inclination to take any short cuts through the snow banks. I planned to reach my destination via the sidewalks and roads which had been cleared. Uh-oh! I was headed toward a patient who was approaching me swinging a large stick around his head.
I immediately thought about a “legend” told in hushed tones soon after our arrival on the state hospital grounds. I was never able to confirm if it was true. On one of the units, so it was told, was a woman in a vegetative state who had previously been a nurse at the hospital. She had flirted with a patient, but then resisted his advances. He had hit her on the head with a pipe knocking her into oblivion.
I did not want to become a legend and considered altering my course to avoid the stick-swinging young man. But, wading through the snow wasn’t an option, and I did not want to show fear. So, I marched along knowing we would walk right past each other. I held my breath and thought that at least I wasn’t guilty of flirting.
When we were within about 20 feet of each other, he slung the stick in an arc through the air and onto an adjacent snow-covered lawn. He then looked me up and down and said, “You’re fat….and cute.”
I smiled in relief and kept walking. At least he hadn’t hit me with the stick! And, he had told the truth about my weight. I was carrying around about 40 extra pounds at that point.
During the next two years, I lost the 40 pounds and met my husband. I managed to maintain my weight until hit by menopause. Even that hasn’t caused me to come anywhere near my 1965 weight. My husband tells me I’m not fat. Since he is now a little old man, I think he is telling me the truth. I do not currently know any psychotics from whom I can obtain a second opinion.
