What Color Is Your Truth?

The following essay was written in response to a writing prompt for the LGBTQ Narratives Activist Writers group. I didn’t understand the prompt. I was being too dense and/or too literal, so the result is both whimsical and nonsensical.

First, let me begin by saying I’m taking this writing prompt too literally. I don’t understand the question; it makes no sense to me. Given that disclaimer, and while I do I acknowledge that disclaimers in our writing group are verboten, here goes.

My truth is blue, true blue, blue as the sky and the ocean. It’s as blue as my father’s eyes. Mom always thought he resembled Paul Newman, like the larger than life-size black and white poster of Newman hanging in the basement by the washer and dryer with only his eyes in color, aquamarine blue. When she took the stairs to the basement with a basket of laundry, she’d say,” I’m going to visit Paul now.” That was her truth, the story she told to make her household chore easier, and yes, this is a true story.

I hail from the working class, so my truth is blue collar, it’s not academic. Its integrity and veracity comes from the simple acts of working with one’s hands, putting in a day’s work and sleeping well at night. The truth is learned by doing, by being true blue. When talking politics, I’m grateful I live in a blue state.

Yes, my truth is true blue, I’m loyal and my words and actions match. I’m not your friend for a moment when I need something, but for life.  My humor is blue too, as in off-color, slightly racy, with hints of sexual innuendo and language peppered with curse words.

Some days I’m blue, so my truth is blue too. It has an edge of sadness, and I’m more melodramatic than usual.  Music or poems, movies or books, are chosen for the blueness that matches my blue mood.

Yes, my truth is blue and I’m true blue. I like its rhyme and reasons. True. Blue. Me. How about you? What color is your truth?

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