I’m an idiot

I feel like an idiot.

“How are you?” people used to say. 

And I’d reply, “Outstanding! Great! Terrific!”

I had no damn idea. 

It wasn’t optimism. It was naive. It was obscene. 

OF COURSE I was terrific. What the hell did I know?

I will plead ignorance. I will claim sanctuary in my ignorance. It is reasonable. And it is inexcusable.

But then I will claim sanctuary in my parents. They *do* know the pain. They *have* experienced the loss. *They* are who, like a toddler, I aped, play acted and emulated, thinking I understood life, when I didn’t know a God damned thing. 

But they do. They know a God damned thing, and they know a God blessed thing, and they know everything in between. 

And when I ask them how they are, it is “Great!” And, “Terrific.” And it is not stupid, uninformed bravado. It is knowing. Real. They know the positive and the negative and it is their choice to feel great and terrific and outstanding. 

And that is the choice I want to make. I *still* don’t know the depths of what they have experienced. But, when I inevitably do, I want to be like them.