The other day, I was reminded of the importance of one little word.
A word with only three letters but a big impact.
The word is ‘but.’
It wasn’t a word I have thought much about in a while but when it was brought to my attention, I realized it is a word I needed to pay attention to.
This one little word may have been the redheaded duo’s favorite word.
“Your biscuits were good,” Granny began, “But, they were too big.”
“How can a biscuit being too big be a bad thing?” I demanded to know.
She looked at me with disgust. How dare I defy anything she declared as fact?
“Because they are. Your sausage patty is only so big. What are you going to do with the leftover biscuit?”
“I make my biscuits for butter and honey,” I said.
She snorted. “Of course you do. But, normal folks like sausage and none of that vegetarian nonsense.”
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t even a vegetarian anymore, but it wouldn’t have mattered.
“You did good on that test, but,” –
“I like your new haircut, but,” –
“Your house looks nice, but,” –
I have learned to not only dread but wait for the but.
The but that comes to let me know that whatever compliment had been previously given was about to be taken away.
Granny was famous for it.
Mama, as kind hearted as she is, is much more subtle with her but.
And even though I am 45, I want Mama’s approval.
Some things, she is easy to please.
Others, she can hold me to task more than Granny and would probably impress the old gal.
Where Granny was critical about cooking, Mama reserves her negating for things I do to my hair.
“Your hair is cute,” she began one day. “But why did you want to color it red.”
“I was paying homage to the crazy redheads in my family,” I replied.
“Hmmm,” she demurred. “But, difference is, we are natural redheads, Kitten. You are a natural brunette. Stick with what God gave you.”
“If that was the case, I would be bald, Mama. And so would you.”
She also doesn’t understand some of my other life choices.
“It’s wonderful you went back to school, but,” – here it comes – “I don’t know why you didn’t go to law school. Probably because I wanted you to.”
I sighed. It was hard to endure the buts. I was given a compliment only to be followed by something that completely wiped out the previous praise.
I cringe when I hear that word, so I cringe a lot; it’s said by everyone.
I didn’t notice how much I said it until I realized how much I hated it – kind of ironic, isn’t it?
I would thank my husband for doing something and throw a ‘but’ in there.
Mama would ask me if I liked whatever she got me, and I had something to undercut it.
‘But’ was everywhere.
I wondered how different our perspective would be if instead of trying to find flaw with something, we just focused on the positives of a situation.
I know when I hear the but, I immediately anticipate some criticism coming. And after the but is uttered, I don’t focus on the things I did right or the praises; instead, I focus on the one thing that I did wrong.
The but is a great big minus sign, taking away any good we may have done and tend to put us on the defensive.
I decided I needed to try to limit my buts unless they were absolutely necessary.
Cole decided to help clean one day.
I hadn’t asked him, he just did it because he knew I had so much to do.
So, he washed the dishes and folded laundry.
“Mama, I wanted to help. Did I do it OK?” he asked when he finished.
The laundry was not folded the way I like. I have always had a thing about how my towels are folded.
I prefer the dishes to be stacked a certain way to air dry.
“Yeah, but,” – I caught myself.
“But what?” he asked. The minute he heard the but, his expression fell a little.
“I don’t have any cash to give you for helping,” I said.
He hugged me. “I didn’t want anything, Mama, I just wanted to help.”
“You did great,” I said.
And I left the but out of it.