• Fibs are for fun but lies are for hurting

    I have written hundreds upon hundreds of columns, some heavy, some light. I write about things I am familiar with, the things of my life and those people I hold closest to my heart. There have been fibs in the columns but never, ever lies. Fibs are for fun and lies are for hurting.

    Sometimes it’s hard to write about my life and those things that are most important to me, things that are private for most. I am an open person, I always have been. I can remember my brothers complaining about things I’d shared with other people because they thought it too much information.

    I am open about my life but I’ve been open about the lives of others as well. It seems that when I have an adventure and want to write about it and share it with others, I’m writing about someone else’s adventure too if they happen to be with. After all, a shared adventure is only interesting if both sides of a story are told.

    I wrote a column about my childhood and the days when I was alone in the middle of 400 children in a Catholic Orphanage. It was a column about how a bad experience can become a good adventure if you change things around in your mind. Even today, my wife and I can have a mutual experience and my memory of the adventure will be completely different from her memory of the same adventure. She thinks it’s funny.

    I have a column about sorrow and the things that are real. I do not whitewash sorrow and I illustrate the face of such things in stark contrast to the illustration others would provide about the same sorrow we’d shared. They felt sorrow and I felt anger. I spit words of anger when I should have been crying.

    A column about the death of my brother was called harsh by someone very dear to me. I wrote about the anger I had within me because he didn’t fight just a little harder to live. I wanted him to stay with me until I was ready to go with him, but there are others that I want to go with as well.

    I have a column that seems lost in the forest of tall green trees that is confusing to others. There are things that they won’t understand until the end of their days, but it’s all there, revealed in the words on the page. There are things I said I would do and didn’t, and I’m sorry for that. My word is all that I have and if I tell you I will do something, I will try very hard to do it.

    There is a column of Armies and wars nobody could win. Columns of old wars and wars that are new, wars that can suck the youth, the wonder, and the joy of life right out of you. When it’s over the rest of your life is outside of you and try as you may, you can’t get it back where it belongs.

    There’s a column about ghosts that visit me in my sleep. It’s a column about things like killing and death. It’s about the things I did and the decisions I made that brought bitterness and regret between pride and service to my country

    There’s a column of my father that didn’t know who I was when we met for the first time (in my memory) as he lay in a Veteran’s Administration hospice, close to death. How hard love comes for a father you’ve never known nor has he known you. It was a column of no fishing, no games, and no fatherly love. It’s like losing everything you ever had or ever will have.

    I have columns of drug abuse and things that waste all of your time. It’s a column of bars and locks with keys you don’t have and they stand between you and those you love the most. It’s funny how much jails are like orphanages. Everything is the same except the kids are bigger and meaner.

    There is a column of Burtons that came into my life and how it took me 10 years to find out how genuine and loving a family is supposed to be. It’s a column of love and mistakes I made out of ignorance. I couldn’t see them and how pure they are for I believed they were like me. They make me so happy that it makes me cry when I think of them and the peace they put in my heart.

    There’s a column of happiness and the love of life. It’s a column in praise of those innocent brings bent on saving the Earth. Those that will do it themselves if they have to with or without our help. They teach others to be teachers so it’s like a pyramid scheme of teachers planting trees and grass, and flowers so you can walk amongst the things of nature.

    I have a column about how very hard these people work every day to show us the beauty of nature. Without such people all that we hold dear will surely disappear and will be found nowhere upon this Earth. They try to show us the work we must do and how to do it, but everybody knows better so they argue and complain instead of helping.

    There are other columns in my mind, some are heavy and some are light. I will write about things I am familiar with, the things of my life and those people I hold closest to my heart. There will be fibs in these columns but never, ever a lie. Fibs are for fun and lies are for hurting.



    • Oh my gosh…. this column is just superb. I remember all of these columns, and how you so bravely put the truth of your experience into them. As a fellow columnist, I found this column so touching, and meaningful. Excellent.



    • I, too, remember a lot of those columns, Keep writing and sharing. Love you Donald Sanders. You can write about me anytime and you have!!! Love your spirit.


      • Brant R. Brumbeloe, A cousin to a column of Burtons

      • February 27, 2013 at 10:10 am
      • Reply

      hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
      How about a column on columns.
      Love “…a column of Burtons…”
      Thank you for thinking and thinking to print.


      • Ralph

      • February 27, 2013 at 11:00 am
      • Reply

      Donald,
      You are not alone. There are others who have sharesd your adventures, only not with you. Your writing brings to mind the things that I also have faced, wars, death, family, love…..We dig deep within ourselves to understand. You have a talent to transform your memories into a shared picture of life……



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