Life is too short to not say exactly what you mean
Ever since I was small I remember my father laughing as he’d say it. His 6-foot-4 frame would curve down to me, half in exasperation and half in beaming pride.
“You’re like me,” he’d say, “that mouth, Julia, it’ll get you in trouble.”
After arguing with my older brother, passing the snap of insults designed to hurt in a way that only siblings knew how to do. When I stood up to a teacher who I felt treated my recess line unfairly, compared to another class. Or when I was reprimanded in school for rolling my eyes, fighting over the rules of four square or teaching my classmates how to swear in French.
“That mouth will get you in trouble,” he’d say, “you’re just like me.”
Twenty years later, I am in college studying Strategic Communication and Journalism and my response to my father’s reminder remains remarkably the same.
- “What’s wrong with being like you?”
- “Sure my mouth may get me in trouble, but look where else it’ll get me.”
Despite his grand stature and monotone delivery, my dad shows warmth to every friend, student and family who enters our lives. Home-cooked meals, effortless sleepovers, bonfires and loud, loud laughter is the work of my father, offering a soft place to land for anyone who needs it.
My dad’s mouth does not cut corners. He will ask you exactly what he wants to know—do you really want that? Are your parents still together? Are you okay? And he will tell you exactly what he thinks — you need to eat a balanced diet. Well, did you study? You don’t need them, they’re too much drama. My dad will hold you to exactly who you want to be, who you can be, no less and no more.
All throughout grade and high school, my friends knew they could count on him. He was a basketball coach, a ride home, a science tutor and most importantly, an easy-giver of necessary advice. Even though I live across the country now, my friends will reach out to me saying, “Can you ask your dad this for me?”
That bond is because of my father’s mouth — years of knowledge both behind the desk and across the world. More importantly, an easy ability to share, completely free of judgment or admonishment. You can always ask him. He will always be willing to help.
Even when I was little I felt it, the easy loyalty that my father instilled from others, because they knew they could count on him — to tell it like it is and be there when they needed to hear it.
As far as I am concerned, I’d be lucky to have anything close to the mouth my dad does.
Despite childhood warnings, my father has never once made me feel like my sharp wit and bold word choices have ever been something to be ashamed of.
In grade school, when I was the tallest of five girls in my classes, with a loud laugh and a tendency to think I was right — my mouth taught me to question authority and my father backed me up. “Adults aren’t right just because they’re adults,” he’d tell me.
In high school, my mouth helped me learn how much I loved to write — asking questions, learning new things and sticking my foot in any door that opened. Today, I continue to pack my academic schedule with journalism and history classes, interviewing to be a tour guide for my incredible college. (Pretty on the nose for a girl with a big mouth).
But beyond academics, my ability to communicate loud and well is one of my greatest strengths. Sure, my quick wit and often miscalculated volume can lead to misunderstandings. I can say the wrong thing, make mistakes or misread the room. But I would so much rather people know what I am thinking, then not understand where I stand.
In all parts of life, I have clashed the hardest with people who have not found the strength to express their own opinions. Gossip, rumors and talking behind closed doors are the most stifling and limiting forces, hurting not only those who aren’t told the truth, but those who fail to do so.
I am far from perfect, but I believe with all of my big mouth that we all should strive to be frequent and free communicators. Whether it’s friends, roommates or partners, life is better and the world feels easier, if you tell people how you feel.
So I do.
When I make mistakes I take accountability, I try to put my ego aside and fix any missteps I take as a growing person. If someone hurts me, I let them know, I put my heart on my sleeve and know that I owe it to myself to advocate for the treatment I deserve. And, when I love someone, I say it, and I say it again and again and again.
While I may not fight over the rules of four square anymore and I’m more keen on English swear words, I always remember my father’s advice — this life is better if you say how you feel.
You will make mistakes, you will get things wrong and your feelings will get hurt sometimes. But, you won’t wake up wondering what might have happened and your loved ones won’t have to guess how you feel about them, they’ll know.
Take it from my dad and me, more doors open, more laughter echoes and your home is always warmer, if you say it with your chest.
Life is too short to whisper.