Insert Foot in Mouth

Dallin Malmgren with apple in his mouth

In the Epis­tle of James, we read: “The tongue is a fire, the very world of iniq­ui­ty; the tongue is set among our mem­bers as that which defiles the entire body, and sets on fire the course of our life, and is set on fire by hell.” Hoo boy. I’ll go along with that. My mouth is always get­ting me in trouble.
It hap­pened again just last week. I was at a get-togeth­er, just sit­ting around chat­ting, when a very dear friend arrived. “How’re you doin’?” she asked. “Bet­ter than you,” I replied with­out think­ing. Her face fell. “Oh. So you’ve heard?” Huh? No clue. “Heard? What? I haven’t heard any­thing.” “Oh. From what you said—I fig­ured some­one must have told you. I’m get­ting a divorce.” Insert foot…
This seems to be a life-long prob­lem with me. Exam­ples are numer­ous, but I’ll just high­light a few par­tic­u­lar­ly painful ones. When I was a fresh­man in col­lege at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Mis­souri, I hitch­hiked home to my par­ents’ house in St. Louis. The house was emp­ty when I arrived, but I could hear peo­ple con­vers­ing on the back porch. I went out and found my folks hav­ing drinks with the cou­ple next door. I grabbed a beer, sat down, and answered the oblig­a­tory ques­tions about col­lege life, dorm food and my weight. Then an object on the back porch caught my atten­tion. “Oh my God,” I said, “who on earth gave you those awful wind chimes?” My moth­er glared at me, and my father looked down at the con­crete floor. “Uh, we did,” said the neighbor’s wife. Insert foot…
One of the sup­posed perks of my job is that you get to play an active role in your children’s edu­ca­tions. All three of mine passed through my high school—as a mat­ter of fact, they all took my Cre­ative Writ­ing class (at dif­fer­ent times). At least one wish­es he didn’t.
The first major assign­ment is an auto­bi­og­ra­phy; six chap­ters long, visu­al aids, life map, a pret­ty pack­age. On the due date, each stu­dent reads on chap­ter aloud to the class. It so hap­pened that my son was absent on the due date. A boy read his chap­ter on how much he loved roller-coast­ers. After­wards, I respond­ed. “I don’t like roller-coast­ers, because I don’t like heights. Which is a prob­lem when we go to amuse­ment parks. My daugh­ter is absolute­ly fear­less. There isn’t a roller-coast­er in Amer­i­ca she wouldn’t go on. My sons, thank­ful­ly, are a lit­tle more cau­tious. I mean, they like them, but they’ll check it out first. If it’s a lit­tle fore­bod­ing, they’ll take a pass.”
Fast for­ward to next day, my son back, his turn to read a chap­ter. “My favorite thing is roller-coast­ers,” he reads, “the big­ger, the faster, the scari­er, the bet­ter.” The class breaks out laughing—he looks up, embar­rassed, uncom­pre­hend­ing. Insert foot…
I have a worse one! I’m walk­ing down the hall­way dur­ing my con­fer­ence peri­od, and my oth­er son is sit­ting in a desk out­side of a room. “What’cha doin’?” I ask. “Mak­ing up a cur­rent events quiz.” A flash of inspi­ra­tion. His teacher is one of my coach­ing friends. I open the class­room door. “Uh, excuse me, coach, but I think we have a prob­lem out here. This young man seems to be cheat­ing on a quiz.” “Oh, is that right?” says the coach, going along. “We’ll just have to see about this.” He steps into the hall­way, lifts my son’s paper—and finds anoth­er student’s quiz under­neath! Total mor­ti­fi­ca­tion all the way around. Insert foot…
The tongue is a fire, no doubt. But a few small words in my defense. When my dear friend says “How’re you doin’?” and I respond “Fine”, the con­ver­sa­tion has basi­cal­ly end­ed, or is look­ing for a new begin­ning. My reply invites fur­ther inter­ac­tion. Con­ver­sa­tion is an art, and art involves tak­ing risks and self-rev­e­la­tion and explo­ration. The peo­ple I enjoy talk­ing to most are the ones who don’t cen­sor them­selves too tightly—who are hon­est and open and fun­ny and maybe even a lit­tle off-putting at times. I like con­ver­sa­tions that sur­prise me. Burn on.

Comments

  • This has nev­er hap­pened to me??? D Plante

    Daniel Plante22 July, 2013
  • the part about your son cheat­ing had me lit­er­al­ly laugh out loud. Lovin’ the blogs! Keep them up.

    Lauren Rollins12 July, 2013
    • thanks, lau­ren. i am so grate­ful that you read them faithfully–gives me con­fi­dence and moti­va­tion! (and yes, it was zack–that is off the record!)

      Dallin Malmgren12 July, 2013
      • haha­ha, lau­ren — i think i just real­ized that if i wrote that to you, every­one who goes to that blog sees the comment…that is even funnier!

        Dallin Malmgren12 July, 2013
      • haha I was guess­ing it was him but did­n’t want to call him out like that. lol but you did it for me.

        Lauren Rollins14 July, 2013
  • Wow Coach! I did­n’t know you wrote a blog(: this was a nice read, and I’ve expe­ri­enced numer­ous times where this has hap­pened to you at tour­na­ments and what not! Haha­ha hope you’re hav­ing a great sum­mer with­out me!

    Kaitlyn Efting12 July, 2013
    • haha, that’s fun­ny, kait­lyn — you are one of the few peo­ple that i can’t think of any­thing i regret say­ing to. (not sure if that is a com­pli­ment or not…)

      Dallin Malmgren12 July, 2013
  • Ebauman@luhr.bom

    Nice read mr M . It made me laugh ...maybe because it reminds me of myself ? The windchime comment is great and reminds me if a situation I could easily see myself in.12 July, 2013
    • yeah…my daugh­ter read that blog and said i spent 3/4’s of it talk­ing about how my mouth gets me in trou­ble and the last 1/4 promis­ing to keep doing it

      Dallin Malmgren12 July, 2013
  • Hi Dallin,

    I’ve tak­en the time to catch up on your blogs — a pleas­ant read. I am not sure how often I’ll be able to drop in, but glad you have set up a web­site and hope it encour­ages more writ­ing and a grow­ing audi­ence. Best wish­es and a hug, Kathy

    Kathleen7 July, 2013
    • thanks, kathy. it keeps me busy and i have a pas­sion for it. i appre­ci­ate your support.

      Dallin Malmgren7 July, 2013

Leave a Reply

* Copy This Password *

* Type Or Paste Password Here *