In Praise of the Grumpy

 Some of us get a little grumpy this time of year.  It's Okay. 

This poem's for you. For us. I'm a little grumpy today.  I'll get over it.  No notes of sympathy needed.  I'm just grumpy. I'm allowed.  We're allowed. (if you don't read the poem you're missing the whole point).

IN PRAISE OF THE GRUMPY

And as you stand there

Arms crossed

Managing to look both infinitely patient and impatient at the same time

Trying not to roll your eyes and wonder how much longer all this will take

Let us now praise you.

You: the grumpy, the grouchy, the grumbling.

You: the beleaguered and the put-upon.

You: our hidden hero.

Because while you are

Short-tempered with the witless

Furious with the shallow and

Yelling at the television

It is only because you are so thoughtful

That everyone else seems so thoughtless.

And while you insist that you do not care about

What anyone is wearing or

What anyone said or did or

What so-and-so said or did back,

Nor do you give two figs about

The disenfranchised urban-dweller of today or

The illiterate or

The underprivileged of some foreign land or

Whomever it is we're supposed to be caring about today and that

You will not, under any circumstances,

Attend the choir concert or

The holiday party or

The 12-step meeting or

The neighborhood street fair or

The fancy dress ball or

The class reunion - for God's sake especially not the reunion - and that

You mustn't be relied upon for

Donations or

A ride home or

Free advice or

Help moving in to your new townhouse or a

Damn birthday present or

Whatever it is that all those people with all those

Outstretched hands

Seem to want

You must know that we all know

That you do, indeed, care and that

You will, if pressed, attend and that

We all do rely

On you.

We can tell that you care,

Because you so assiduously refuse to conform to

Some greeting-card version of caring

And instead insist on caring about us as individuals.

You remember the conversation we had about

Ry Cooder's guitar playing, and

Six weeks later you slip us a

Homemade cassette tape with no label.

You shun the collection plate, and yet

You shove a hundred dollars into the Youth Group's coffee can

(A check, of course - no sense missing out on the tax deduction just because you had a weak moment.)

And when you go to greet us,

You look us in the eye and take our full measure

And if you should

Notice that we look a bit sad,

You will grab our hand and

Kiss us roughly on the cheek and say,

"You OK, darlin'?"

You might grouse about Christmas Eve,

But you do love Christmas morning.

And while you would never voluntarily look at a

Photo album,

You forever hold a picture in your mind of

How we looked in

That Halloween costume

That prom dress

That uniform.

And we know you will attend

(Quit squirming - this poem isn't that much longer)

Because underneath your self-proclaimed

Disdain for all humanity

You are curious.

Intensely, insatiably, incorruptibly curious

And while you act repulsed

I suspect you are truly fascinated by us -

This clamoring horde of strangers you are compelled to share the planet with.

OK, OK: with whom this planet you are compelled to share.

Good grief you can be a pain sometimes.

And oh, how we rely on you.

And finally,

While you have largely succeeded in getting yourself off of

The phone tree

(That tactic you had about boring everybody silly with the excruciating details of your latest Water Filtration Project did wonders for removing you from any thinking hostess' guest list)

We do still rely on you.

Oh how we rely on you.

Oh how we rely on you.

You are our voice of sanity

Our comrade-in-arms

Our truth-telling ally in a world of endless bullshit.

You are our hidden hero

Deceptively chivalrous with

Your tender heart clad in dented armor.

And you must know that

When you are gone

We miss you.

So go ahead and

Sneak out at intermission and

Have an extra drink to get you through the reception and

Just turn and walk away from the

Over-gesticulating and the infuriatingly self-righteous.

Save yourself from these petty cruelties so that

When the world becomes just too much for us poor mortals to bear

We can rely on you to save us.

Oh how we rely on you.

Oh how we rely on you.

Oh how we rely on you.

Now stand still, because we're going to give you a nice, big hug. 

Samantha Bennett

© 2009