Princess of Mad or The Secret of Being Cherished
All families have at least one great mutual custom. Maybe it holds them together, maybe it's just a habit. In my family, the one great truth to which every member adheres is that I must not know.
The entire family kept it quiet from me when Mum decided to write her memoirs all over the walls of her flat. My relatives painted over the damage and my matriarchal aunt-come-presiding-grandmother ordered everyone to keep it quiet from me lest I be upset.
Even she, however, realised that on visiting the flat I could not be kept ignorant of the way my mother lives without electricity or running water. So my aunt briefed me on not mentioning the wires ripped out of the walls, not asking to use the toilet, and just enjoying the dark as though we've always lived in crypts. Apparently it is very important to my mother that I do not know and she's convinced I will never guess, provided these tiny details are not brought to my attention. Her faith in my utter stupidity is heartwarming. And contagious.
Two nights ago my brother sat in front of me with stitches in his forehead a bloody hole in his scalp and various cuts and bruises all over his hands and arms. He explained that this happened when he got up and inadvertently hit his head on a dinner plate.
Would you like to be a Princess of Mad? Try not to blink, and keep your eyes wide and smiley. Say 'Oh rilly?' and listen patiently to the New Story for Maintaining Your Innocence while set changers move the scenery around behind your back. When you see it, pretend that the world was like this all along, and you've been delighted with it forever. Skip, wear pink and carry a kitten if you can.
And they will never notice when you have the occasional wrinkle, when you are tired, that you now wear reading glasses and have been known to understand a newspaper. In their hearts, you will be forever gormless, waiting in the garden for a unicorn.
My family's big secret? They applaud me when I'm smart. But they love, love, love me when I'm stupid.
The entire family kept it quiet from me when Mum decided to write her memoirs all over the walls of her flat. My relatives painted over the damage and my matriarchal aunt-come-presiding-grandmother ordered everyone to keep it quiet from me lest I be upset.
Even she, however, realised that on visiting the flat I could not be kept ignorant of the way my mother lives without electricity or running water. So my aunt briefed me on not mentioning the wires ripped out of the walls, not asking to use the toilet, and just enjoying the dark as though we've always lived in crypts. Apparently it is very important to my mother that I do not know and she's convinced I will never guess, provided these tiny details are not brought to my attention. Her faith in my utter stupidity is heartwarming. And contagious.
Two nights ago my brother sat in front of me with stitches in his forehead a bloody hole in his scalp and various cuts and bruises all over his hands and arms. He explained that this happened when he got up and inadvertently hit his head on a dinner plate.
Would you like to be a Princess of Mad? Try not to blink, and keep your eyes wide and smiley. Say 'Oh rilly?' and listen patiently to the New Story for Maintaining Your Innocence while set changers move the scenery around behind your back. When you see it, pretend that the world was like this all along, and you've been delighted with it forever. Skip, wear pink and carry a kitten if you can.
And they will never notice when you have the occasional wrinkle, when you are tired, that you now wear reading glasses and have been known to understand a newspaper. In their hearts, you will be forever gormless, waiting in the garden for a unicorn.
My family's big secret? They applaud me when I'm smart. But they love, love, love me when I'm stupid.