A man of few words

Unlike the evil Don John, Daltonboy has been nicknamed "The Sweetest Man in the World." Regarding the art of conversation, however, DB and DJ could be brothers. (DJ would still be the bastard, by the way.)

Let's take a look at a few examples:

1) I make dinner. Everyone begins eating. DB eats slowly, meticulously, and single-mindedly, with no unsolicited comment. So I generally solicit one, although I don't know why. It doesn't tell me anything.

Me: How is it?

DB (looks up from plate, as if confused about why people are talking): Huh? Oh. Um, it's fine.

Me: What does that mean?

DB: It's good.

It goes on from there, but doesn't really yield any other information, other than the dish is edible, and certain people would appreciate being allowed to return their focus to the primary purpose for sitting at table.

2) We go to a yard sale. A guy is selling a tool, let's say a chain saw. DB asks how much it is. "A hundred dollars," the guy says. DB is silent. The guy thinks he's irritated, but really he's just thinking about whether or not the chain saw is worth a hundred dollars, and if it is, does he want to pay it? DB is what's known as a thinker--a ruminator. Time! He needs time! So he stands, staring into space, and he thinks about this situation from every angle, without a word. For a very, very long time. The guy starts to get nervous. After all, DB is holding a working chain saw. Is he angry? Crazy? He doesn't look crazy. Does he realize the asking price is way too much? What is he going to do? Should the price come down? After all, it is 11:00; not too many more people are going to come by. Not too many more chances to unload this thing. "Seventy-five," the guy says. No response. Now DB has to adjust his thinking to include this new information. There's no room for talk here. Seconds go by. I'm not uncomfortable, but the yard sale guy is starting to sweat. "Fifty bucks," he chokes out. Silence. "Forty!" Big sigh from DB. "Okay," he says. The guy practically starts crying with relief, takes the forty bucks, and runs into the house. His wife can handle the rest of the sale. He's got to get rid of that copy of "Texas Chainsaw Massacre." Watched that thing one too many times, I bet. A sixty percent discount, and all DB had to say was, "How much?"

3) The city is considering changing the name of its annual celebration, currently known as "Steel Days." DB heard about this and went to work. He thought the suggested change to "American Days" was so watered down, boring, and stupid that the committee just needed to hear something that fit better in order to drop the idea. So he spent about eighty hours (incredible as it sounds for him, multitasking--he'd get a job started on a machine and think this over while he waited for it to finish) contemplating what the new name should be. He took his unsolicited opinion to a recent committee meeting, and I'm embarrassed to say that even though his witty suggestion of "Dayza Vayeff" made me laugh and appreciate his sense of humor, there was no way I was going to accompany him to a place where he was going to look like a total idiot. The Sweetest Man deserves my support, and he's generally got it, but not that night.

4) We get out the Boggle game. I wonder why DB agrees to play it. "Because you love Boggle, and I love you," is the answer. Sweetest man in the world. On a good round, I'll get about forty words. A spectacularly good round for DB yields maybe ten. He just has to think for a long time about each word. Also, he thinks in a very linear way. Words that twist and turn and double back on each other don't impress themselves on his mind. After years of playing, I've finally gotten him to look for an "s" in the vicinity of the last letter in each word. Next, Cicada introduces Speed Scrabble to the family. From the beginning I can tell that it's a bad idea for DB to participate. The word "speed" suggests things that DB cannot even contemplate without developing a severe headache. Or, as the case may be, a severe case of Mr. Poopybutt. No need for the details here. We end the round with little crossword-type configurations in front of us. DB is staring at a pile of random letter tiles. "I'm going to bed."

I'm not making excuses for childish behavior, but we all do it sometimes, like when we feel threatened, trapped, or stupid. The thing is, most of the words I hear from DB are kind, tender, compassionate, extraordinarily witty, and just plain quirky. Being a woman of many words, I appreciate being given ample opportunity to say whatever I want to say without having someone interrupt me all the time. It works for us. So I forgive the occasional slips, and cherish the other words I get, few though they may be. Every one of them is heartfelt, and one positive thing is that he never speaks before thinking, so we don't hear any of that insensitive, impulsive stuff that people around here get from me on a regular basis.

So I'm thinking about going out on a limb, and taking a line from his (or Shakespeare's) book. Next time my adorable husband tells me I'm beautiful, or wonderful, or amazing, or perfect, which should be within the hour, I'll simply say, "I thank you; I am not of many words, but I thank you."