Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
Last night I went to my friend’s house for her family dinner. She has a family dinner every week – always on Sunday. The whole family turn up. She’s Catholic. It’s a Catholic thing apparently. I’ve been to a few of these Sunday night dinners in my time and have mixed feelings. Like being at a wedding in a Synagogue. Is it a religious event or a cultural event? Do I close my eyes for grace? Do I join in the prayer? Do I say ‘peace be with you?’ Do I keep my views about god quiet? I’m fascinated and happy to be part of it, but at the same time I don’t get it and I feel out of place.
Anyway, whilst sitting there feeling out of place I looked around the room. My eyes settled on some family photos. Photos of my friend’s kids. Mostly casual shots in the park or at the beach – standard happy snaps. Some framed, some stuck to the wall. She has four kids, a boy and three girls. There were about five pictures of each – about twenty in total (I’m good with maths), but here’s the thing – they were all spectacular pictures. I only have one child, and about a thousand pictures, but none were as good as the worst of these twenty snaps.
So, when there was a break in proceedings – after the entre (a fish terrine, actually in the shape of a fish), I casually asked about the pictures. I was suspicious. I was on the hunt for scandal. Come on? How could ALL these pictures look so good? Just the right light, smiling warmly, eye’s open, not a pimple in sight. No snot. Seriously, no snot.
It didn’t take long to find my hidden treasure. The photos were photo-shopped, they were airbrushed. My friend was a keen amateur photographer and she had airbrushed out any imperfections. Gold. I had a sense of outrage and simultaneous envy – I wanted to scream at the nerve of faking family photos, but if that didn’t work I wanted some fake photos myself.
Of course my next thought was: So if the photos are fake, is everything else fake too? Are all the ‘peace be with you’s’ fake? Was the terrine really home made? And what message does it send the kids – you’re not good enough the way you are?
Now my head was starting to spin – maybe I’m too precious? So what’s the big deal with a little polishing of the brass? Who cares? Professional family portraits are often airbrushed, why not the family happy snaps too? Isn’t it just harmless fun? She’s proud of her kids, she wants everyone else to admire them too. Part of me said get over it. But part kept nagging. If we let ourselves get carried away with faking goodness, do we lose sight of achieving goodness? If I can just airbrush my kid’s lives, can I cut back on some of my efforts at being a good parent?
It got me thinking about all the things I heard about my friend’s kids and said about my own kid. Obviously, and without doubt, all parents fake a little, exaggerate a little, create some glory and reflect in it. But shouldn’t there be a line in the sand. Shouldn’t there be a point at which you know you have gone too far – a point at which you have abandoned reality and stepped through the looking glass?
If the photos are fake, what about the glowing report from the ballet teacher? Did her son really make the state cricket team? What about her achievements at work that I’d heard so much about – and admired.
Where did the reality end and the airbrushing begin?
Worse still, I started to think about why I cared. I couldn’t escape the thought that I was too precious. I know in my heart I wanted those pictures to be fake. I knew they made me feel bad by comparison. Now I felt good by comparison because I knew they were fake.
I had to ask myself: am I fake? Well partly, yes. I exaggerate. I boost my own achievements. I boost my son’s. But do I cross a line? Is there a line? Is any faking crossing a line? Make-up, nice clothes, hair dye, botox? Faking is normal. It’s okay. So why did the airbrushed family photos bother me so much? Why was her faking bad and my faking good?
By this stage of the dinner I felt trapped. Trapped in uncertainty. Trapped in a sense of confusion. I had indigestion- and it wasn’t the fish shaped terrine. Am I anti-faking or not? A little is okay, too much is bad. My line in the sand is okay, but my friend’s is not? Am I a hypocrite?
Finally as the desert arrived I settled. I decided to sit on the fence. A little faking is okay, but too much and the emphasis in life might end up being on the airbrushed product rather than the real thing. Too little and you might feel just too shitty. It’s a strong person who doesn’t have to keep up with the Jones’s just a little.
But there is one ingredient that seems essential. Without it the faking becomes the goal, rather than just a little bit of fun. And that key ingredient is self-awareness. You have to know when you are faking. You have to have a tinge of embarrassment. You have to fight the urge to fake. I’ll know when I’ve gone too far if I’m vehemently defending my fake life when I get caught, rather than screaming “I’m so embarrassed, you got me!” and laughing.
So I walked away at the end of the night. Full. Satisfied. Crisis resolved. I figured it’s okay to fake, as long as you feel embarrassed and cop the shame when you’re caught. Oh, and if you’re going to airbrush a family photo, maybe leave just a little snot.
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