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Charades
by: Kelly

For years, I played charades with the people around me. Ok- not charades, maybe facades.

So that I may compare the reaction of people to the "different" selves to that one true self that I kept a hush hush.

When I was the daughter of an electrician, there were two people who commented that they too were related to someone in that union. One gave specific company name where his uncle worked. Neither  presumed that due to this family link, I could personally re-wire their home, nor fix a short in the bedside lamp. In fact, no more discussion came from the shared fact.

When I was the daughter of a plumber, several people had uncles or cousins that worked on "the pipes" too, but no one asked ME to fix a leak, no one inquired about methods of unstopping a stubborn drain.

As a veterinarians daughter, I heard several "How noble" type comments- the soft side of my father admired by those whose perceptions of men are of a less genteel nature. I was never asked to deliver a bovine's baby, or nurse a sick kitten.

People thought it grand that my father was a dentist- but they never asked me what type of toothpaste was really recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists in America.  And no one hid the fact that they ate candy- lots of it, and didn't even bother to brush afterwards- after all- it was my father who was the dentist, not me.

Once my daddy was a carpenter- but no one asked to see MY work.

I was the first born to a lawyer-sometimes Prosecutor, sometimes Defense. No one ever asked me what Article 2, section 3 in the state code of law really meant. No one even assumed I knew it.

I was never asked to perform surgery as the doctor's girl.
Never expected to speak beautifully as the broadcaster's offspring.
Didn't file one tax form as the child of an accountant.

But when I said "He's a preacher"...


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