Hell is in ‘hello’
I never had much of a problem with ‘hello.’ My word of
warning was always ‘welcome.’
‘Welcome’ is a word for nice people. It’s a word that seems
to have been largely hijacked by the squidgier underbelly of those who wear ‘liberal’
as a label. It belongs in the world of group counselling, and I don’t do
groups. It sits well with Alcoholics Anonymous and Christian youth clubs.
As soon as I hear the word ‘welcome’ – or even feel a sense
that it’s being implied – my guard goes up and I take a step back. I feel as
though I’m entering the lair of a benevolent spider which doesn’t want to do me
any harm, but does assume I’ll be
whatever it wants and expects me to be. I feel as though I’m about to be
consumed, one way or another. The taste of impeding conflict hangs on both its
syllables.
There have been, and are, exceptions. A company of actors I
knew once gave their welcome for the price of nothing more than that I be
moderately interesting and straight with them. I could manage that. And then
there’s the rare special person who welcomes whatever I am, warts and all. Apart
from them, ‘welcome’ is the word that winds the wheel that lifts the
drawbridge.
Which reminds me: I must get out and see what the Shire
looks like in daylight these days. It’s so long since I’ve done that, what with
one thing and another. I wonder how Miss Inca is, and whether she ever had
puppies. This post doesn’t apply to dogs. A dog’s welcome is always welcome.
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