Silenced!

I used to tell a mighty fine story.  It's part of my heritage.  My earliest memories of story telling was my Grandpa Smart--Hezekiah Bayliss Smart, who has become the namesake of a number of recent births in our family.  My brother Ricker perfected the yarn.  He could tell a story better than anyone I ever met.  Telling stories is an important part of who we are as Smarts. In truth, we live life to its fullest.  We fear little and will try anything once.  We then gather and entertain each other with stories, which are mostly truthful.

The key to telling a good story is to include enough truth to make it believable, but exaggerate enough to make it interesting.  You know, kind of like a Hollywood blockbuster movie that is based upon a real life event.  Fact:  I was bitten by a lion cub while in Japan on my mission.  Over the years I have regaled many with this story in its exaggerated form of how I was attacked by a lion.  Unfortunately, this story will now probably never be repeated. I have been silenced!  Let me explain.

My nephew Rocky, whose chin is more square and jutting than mine, whose hair is ruggier and more full than mine, and who is, in every way more manlier than I could ever imagine being, recently blogged about an experience in Outer Mongolia that without exaggeration was so spectacular that all I am left with is lame anecdotes.  The simple version of the story is that Rocky traveled from Bangkok, Thailand to the steppes of Asia, somewhere in Mongolia, stalked and killed a wolf.  Then with a condescending wink to all of us wanna-bes, dispatched the wolf's still warm testicles.  After this story, I've got nothing to say.  Nope. Nara.

Imagine the embarrassment of me telling my marginally interesting story of being bitten by lion and in walks Rocky.  Immediately, everyone would interrupt and demand that Rocky tell his Hemmingwayesque tale of wolf hunting in the remote wilderness of Asia.  He would start with the remarkable trip from Bangkok to the steppes of Asia.  This in itself would involve a story reminiscent of the Ricker. He would describe the personalities of his insane and wildly interesting guides with such detail, that all in the room would feel as though we had been dropped right into the middle of an Alistair McLean novel.  He would then describe his interactions with these crazy characters in a manner that would allow him to weave other past experiences from his travels in Asia and South America and Europe such that his tale would become a series of stories within stories. Finally, this epic story would reach a crescendo with his telling of he how he, with alacrity and aplomb, ate the testicles of the wolf he had just stalked and killed.  If you have killed a wolf and eaten its testicles regardless of the location, the Dos Equis front man has got nothing on you.  No one in the room can compete at this moment. Yep. we've got nothing. At this point every man in the room is totally emasculated. 

In the aftermath of this story, I would be so afraid someone in room would recall,"Hey, Darrell weren't you telling us about being attacked by a lion?  Why don't you finish that story?"  Talk about anti-climatic! Even if I told my now obviously lame lion story, it would seem so small and insignificant by comparison. I would run the risk of having to admit that it was actually a very small lion and that I was not scarred in the encounter.  Trust me, a story about a simple bite from a lion cub that did not place you in jeopardy of injury or death is not a story worthy of telling when a manly man walks in the room and he has just killed a wolf and eaten its testicles.   So until I have lived some more, I am definitely silenced. 

The details of Rocky's amazing story can be found at http://looksmartbesmart.blogspot.com/.

Above is the picture of me being attacked by a lion circa 1976.