<p class="bodytext">‘Did you get hit by a truck?’ demanded Gabriel. My young grandnephew was voicing what adults were hesitant to say. Earlier that day, while out on my walk, I had fallen and hurt myself. Since people had politely refrained from mentioning my injuries, I had no idea how unsightly I appeared.</p>.<p class="bodytext">When Gabriel came out with his candid comment, I glanced in the mirror. To my dismay, I saw that my nose and forehead were mottled with bruises, and I had a swollen black eye. I hastened to apply a cold compress and other restorative remedies, but none of them worked wonders. “I look terrible,” I wailed.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Gabriel nodded, rather too readily. “You do,” he agreed, “and your scars will take ages to go away.” Strangely enough, that unpalatable utterance proved more effective than my creams and concealers. Casting cosmetics aside, I settled down to wait for my abrasions to heal. A week has passed, and I face the world (pun intended) with positivity tempered by pragmatism.</p>.<p class="bodytext">There is considerable merit, idiomatically speaking, in calling a spade a spade. Even more commendable is the good sense to accept unvarnished statements of unpleasant facts. Hans Christian Andersen’s story of a man, whose new clothes were no clothes, might not have taken an embarrassing turn if someone in the emperor’s inner circle had been sincere. He or she should have pointed out that the extraordinary apparel, touted by tricksters, was nonexistent. Lacking upfront intervention, the emperor stepped out majestically, convinced that he was magnificently dressed. Spectators, believing that the gorgeous garments were only visible to the wise, acclaimed him. One little boy, however, bravely blurted out that the emperor was unclad.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“Children and fools tell the truth,” is a proverb which means that those who are innocent and guileless are forthright, making no attempt to be socially or politically correct. So are genuine well-wishers who have our best interests at heart. We ought to be open to their outspoken opinions, welcoming constructive criticism that is beneficial to us.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“You are putting on weight and had better resume your walks,” remarks Gabriel bluntly. This is not quite what I want to hear, but I have to comply. After all, frankness, not flattery, is a friend. </p>
<p class="bodytext">‘Did you get hit by a truck?’ demanded Gabriel. My young grandnephew was voicing what adults were hesitant to say. Earlier that day, while out on my walk, I had fallen and hurt myself. Since people had politely refrained from mentioning my injuries, I had no idea how unsightly I appeared.</p>.<p class="bodytext">When Gabriel came out with his candid comment, I glanced in the mirror. To my dismay, I saw that my nose and forehead were mottled with bruises, and I had a swollen black eye. I hastened to apply a cold compress and other restorative remedies, but none of them worked wonders. “I look terrible,” I wailed.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Gabriel nodded, rather too readily. “You do,” he agreed, “and your scars will take ages to go away.” Strangely enough, that unpalatable utterance proved more effective than my creams and concealers. Casting cosmetics aside, I settled down to wait for my abrasions to heal. A week has passed, and I face the world (pun intended) with positivity tempered by pragmatism.</p>.<p class="bodytext">There is considerable merit, idiomatically speaking, in calling a spade a spade. Even more commendable is the good sense to accept unvarnished statements of unpleasant facts. Hans Christian Andersen’s story of a man, whose new clothes were no clothes, might not have taken an embarrassing turn if someone in the emperor’s inner circle had been sincere. He or she should have pointed out that the extraordinary apparel, touted by tricksters, was nonexistent. Lacking upfront intervention, the emperor stepped out majestically, convinced that he was magnificently dressed. Spectators, believing that the gorgeous garments were only visible to the wise, acclaimed him. One little boy, however, bravely blurted out that the emperor was unclad.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“Children and fools tell the truth,” is a proverb which means that those who are innocent and guileless are forthright, making no attempt to be socially or politically correct. So are genuine well-wishers who have our best interests at heart. We ought to be open to their outspoken opinions, welcoming constructive criticism that is beneficial to us.</p>.<p class="bodytext">“You are putting on weight and had better resume your walks,” remarks Gabriel bluntly. This is not quite what I want to hear, but I have to comply. After all, frankness, not flattery, is a friend. </p>