Personal Myths

A myth is a story or belief that attempts to explain a basic truth.  It is a belief whose truth is accepted uncritically.  In a personal sense, certain beliefs about oneself are accepted uncritically and form the foundations of personality.

  Beliefs like – I am innately mechanical.  Or – With a little practice, I could be a suitable partner for Ginger Rogers.  Or – My ears have special powers.

  Just because we are calling them myths doesn’t mean these things aren’t true.  These personal myths are a source of confidence to draw upon in times of trouble.  Although they are often hard to believe, when the occasion arises the reality of these beliefs demonstrates itself.

I am related to Gary Cooper.

Personal myths are not necessarily handed down from parent to child, but it does happen.  For example, I am related to Gary Cooper.  In times of conflict, whether with landlords, rude strangers, or cab drivers, I am able to remain cool and respond with withering understatement.  Or, during times of awkwardness and embarrassment, I can still maintain dignity and, ultimately, triumph.  Likewise, when things need to be done, when I need to face up to villains, gunfighters, or bullies, I draw on those qualities that distinguished my famous relation.

   I’ll never begin to equal the Coop, but his example is there to encourage me and to show me the way.  I used to ask my parents about him and how he fits into our family, but they were always a bit vague on the subject and would then mention something about homework, so I dropped it.

I can make it rain.

   Another of my personal myths is that I can make it rain.  Were I to become a weather forecaster this could come in handy.  But this is not an ability I want to flaunt or misuse.

   I took my first swimming lessons from a man who was bald.  However, he did have curly, white chest hairs and a trident in his left hand.  Whenever I went down to the dock at the lake at my grandparent’s house, he would rise up out of the water, grab me, and throw me in.  Then, in a thunderous voice, he would command, “Swim!”  Most of the time I made it to shore.  As you can imagine, this was not a pleasant experience and one, which I dreaded all week.

   I decided to make it rain, figuring that by doing this, I could avoid the lesson.  This was an act of survival.  My swimming skills were not improving, as far as I could see, and I was certain that it was only a matter of time before I suffered a watery death that would not only upset myself, but my parents and my grandparents.

   I had read about rain dances performed by Indian shamans.  And so, on the day of my lesson, I drank the sacred chocolate milk and ate the necessary, not to mention holy, cookies.  I went out into the blazing sun in my swimming suit and danced in circles, chanting – “Hoya Hoya, Oonga Oonga.”  I took no notice of the neighbors.  After two minutes, I felt the first drop.  Then, another.  I looked up.  The sky was blue.  No clouds.  And yet, the rain poured down.  The lesson was cancelled.  I was amazed at my ability to bring this about and believed that, if I could do this, I could certainly learn how to swim.  Eventually, I did.

Famous people seek me out.

  Throughout my life, I have avoided celebrities.  I have no idea of what to say to them.  I can’t picture them doing the dishes or making up a grocery list.  People magazine hold s no attraction for me.  And yet, it seems that the rich, the famous, and the powerful seek me out.

   Once, when I was young I was loitering in a clothing store.  Up to the front door glided a long, black, shiny limo and from within it emerged several Secret Service men who surrounded a person who turned out to be Hubert Humphrey, then U. S. Senator.  They entered the store and glided straight up to me.  Mr. Humphrey smiled, shook my hand, and confidentially told me he was shopping.  He then purchased some socks, glided out the door with his friends, and was gone.

   Another time I was loitering at the airport and met Jimi Hendrix.  I was eating an apple, when this especially outlandish guy walked up to me and asked if I had another one.  I did and gave it to him.  He said, “Thanks, man.” And continued on his way.

   Later in life, while loitering one night at a bar, I watched a person I knew to be the great jazz bassist, Charles Mingus, walk towards me.  I calmly drank my beer.  He stood next to me and looked me over.  Then, in a voice that was a cross between a frog’s croak and the growl of some large animal, he said, “Don’t I know you?”  I said, “Of course you do, but we’ve never met.”

I have a special rapport with animals.

   Animals, though animals, are quite sensitive creatures.  Behind those mysterious eyes lies a consciousness not that different from our own.  Because they do not talk on the phone or use public transportation, they are more in touch with their spiritual side.

   I’m not sure what it means, but I feel that cows understand me.  When I’m in the country and walk up to the fence, they look at me with that special look.  There is a communication between us that goes beyond words.

   Cats and dogs also are drawn to me.  I possess some magic touch that makes them purr and wag their tails.  And, fish, which usually turn a cold shoulder to most people, will swim right up to me and bite my legs.

I can gain 5 lbs. one day and lose it the next.

   I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.  I believe in eating everyday from the four basic food groups: Alcohol, Fries, Meat, and Sugar.  Vegetables have their place, but it is secondary.  For a long time, I considered dessert superfluous, but have since broadened my vision of what is necessary to sustain life.

   It’s amazing.  I will sit down to a meal consisting of a huge steak, covered with butter, a steaming baked potato the size of a boot covered with butter, a modest proportion of broccoli covered with butter, accompanied by a baguette covered in garlic butter, and a bottle of red wine followed by a rather large hunk of French Silk pie.  When I weigh in, for the day, the next morning, I often find that I have gained up to 5 new pounds.  This does not disturb me, because I know that I have a metabolism that confounds, not only science, but common sense, as well.

   By not eating and working myself into a frenzy, I can lose this newly gained weight by the next morning.  Or, perhaps, the one after that. Definitely by next week.  I mean it.

I was born with a beard.

   This is not funny.  For those of you who don’t know me personally, I have a large white beard.  I trim it.  It grows.  I trim it.  It has always been this way. 

   I look back through old yearbooks and at old family albums and there I am - not only the tallest in the picture, but the one with the longest beard.  In fact, the only beard in all of these pictures.  None of my classmates or teachers had beards.  None of my aunts or uncles, either.

   My parents, bless them, have never made me feel that a beard is something to be ashamed of.  I guess seeing it on me, from day one, made it a special sign to them of some sort.  They did, at one time, get a little upset about my long hair, but you know how it was back then.

   I used to ask then if Gary Cooper was born with a beard, but they were always a bit vague on the subject and would then mention something about homework, so I dropped it.  Although there have been moments in my past when I felt self-conscious about it, I have come to celebrate this beard as just another part of me, like my toes.

   So you see, like our toes, these personal myths can ground us and support us in a world that is always changing and, that we have come to see, is always unpredictable.  They may seem to others unlikely and more wishful thinking than actual reality, but each of us carries, within us, our own mythology and that is what makes us the unique individuals that make up this wonderful world.