excuses, excuses

"it's not an excuse, it's an explanation." so said an article i was reading about relationships between poor test scores and poverty.

because the counter argument, whenever one brings up that poverty is the best predictor of low test scores, is that you are making excuses. excuses for lots of things, they claim. excuses for bad teachers, excuses for failure, excuses for the horrible unions. excuses, excuses, excuses.

and so this article was seeking to anticipate that all-too-familiar cry with "no, Poverty is not an excuse for anything, rather, it's an explanation for lots of things. lots of things that contribute to children of poverty getting poor test scores.

but somehow, i don't think that those who don't get it, will discern this distinction between an excuse and an explanation. and while i could, it's not my intention at this time to debate those people about school issues, but instead, it's my intention today to discuss this inability to discern the difference between an excuse and an explanation.

because yes, this is personal to me. once upon a time in a land far away, an ugly monster, disguised as a handsome prince, hurled this at me- that i should not connect an apology (that i was trying to make) with an excuse. because the excuse rendered my apology not an apology.

ARRGGG! that's how i felt at the time, and truthfully that's how i still feel now. because i wasn't trying to excuse myself, i was TRYING to explain why i might have felt the way that i did, and how that might have caused me to act the way i did or to say what i had said. i was trying to EXPLAIN!

to me it came down to something like this: you're not supposed to scream outloud on a bus. it's rude. it scares other people, it distracts the driver. no question, you are not supposed to scream on a bus.

so one day, you're riding the bus, and you scream. really loud. and you are about to be thrown off the bus by the angry bus driver, until the passenger standing beside you notices that your hand is trapped in the door. and he makes the suggestion that perhaps the reason you are screaming is because you are in pain. so is that fellow passenger making an excuse for you? or is he perhaps explaining why you screamed.

so now, should the bus driver take that explanation as just an excuse by a couple of rowdy passengers? or perhaps should the bus driver consider that it was an explanation for the screaming and that he should seek to do something about it. like perhaps, listen to what's been said and then open the damn door to release your hand? and maybe, just maybe, even give you an apology for not understanding that your hand was caught in the door.

but no, ugly monster guy not only doesn't consider it an explanation, he calls it an excuse, that i'm making to what? to make excuses for what i said and how evil i was. and who else does that? he continues. that's right. abusers.

and that's about when i really lost it. SERIOUSLY? who the hell accuses someone of such a thing? really, who?
especially, who the hell accuses you of such a thing while you are trying your best to make an apology. if they supposedly love you? really, who does that?

ugly monster guy, that's who.

now in a fairy tale, disney-pixar movie type world, in the end, misunderstandings would have been cleared up with explanations, and love would have prevailed, and the ugly monster guy would have peeled off his ugly monster face to once again reveal, a sweet handsome one underneath those other two masks. but that's not what happened. instead he kept wearing the ugly monster face and walked away leaving me to behave as something of a banshee, myself. and this is not an excuse for my bansheeness, not because it's not an explanation, but because there is no excuse of that for myself. i sunk to new lows. and that is that. no excuses here. it is what it is. i was human. and so at times, i suck.

and the sequel to the story is that when he walked away, he slapped the handsome face back on and pretended it all never happened, and went on to live happily ever after with someone either better than me or luckier than me, or both. hakuna matata to you, darlin'.

me? well, yes, i've made improvements in my life, and i've done an awful lot (read: too much) of introspection about myself, and i've moved a bit forward. but even still, i feel that i'm the loser here. i'm the one who obsesses in a diary/blog about it all. and relates almost every experience i have or thing that i read against that now long-ago event.

and on this, i'm not making an excuse, but once again, rather an apology (to any reader)- hooked with the explanation that i've been able to come up with for myself. you'd think that i'd just be glad that my hand was no longer trapped in the door, wouldn't you? instead, i obsess. and i'm truly sorry.

but just so you know, dear reader- i actually am better through this obsession. the obsession helped me gain and helps me keep perspective. i AM glad that my hand is no longer trapped in the door. No longer do i shed tears or gnash my teeth or sob uncontrollably. no longer do i seek out counselors or therapists or divine intervention or death. no longer, am i truly unhappy. in fact, most of the time now, i am quite happy. i love my new life, my new apt., my new job, many new friends. i love my family.

but i gotta tell you, i still wish the whole thing- soup to nuts, good to bad, would have never ever happened. i'm MAD that my hand is damaged, ok? yes, i can use my left hand quite well, i'm adaptable. but i miss my right hand ok? and i'm not one of those who was glad she got cancer to teach her the meaning of life or that life is good and precious. i had a pretty good grasp that life was good before i met him. i had a pretty good grasp that i should be grateful for all that i had before i knew him. i did not need a lesson or even a wake-up call. i am better yes, but i am not a better person because of it all. so, i'm not willing to make that excuse for it all. but i might make that explanation.