R&R Partners: Build the Brand, Protect the Brand

What would life be like if everyone told nothing but the truth every time they opened their mouth? Hard to say, though a few films starring the likes of Jim Carrey and Ricky Gervais have tried. In those films, the whole “all the truth all the time” thing was played for laughs – with varied results.

I think the reality of it might be a little bit different. Truth can be tough. Truth can be cruel. Truth doesn’t care about your feelings or your weaknesses or your beliefs. Truth simply is. And the truth, as they say, can hurt. So we fudge it, change it or leave it out entirely. Sometimes it’s to deceive or cheat, which isn’t good. More often, however, our motives are less malicious. We prevaricate to be nice, to spare others’ feelings, to avoid conflict or simply to have people like us. There’s really nothing inherently wrong with it, within reason. It keeps us from being permanently sad, or angry. Or both. It’s part of the human condition. We all do it. Always have. Always will.

But make no mistake, the ability to play fast and loose with the truth is not something we are born with. It’s a learned skill – like reading, writing or eating food with utensils. Speaking the truth is instinct. Bending it takes practice.

Which brings me to my point. There are people out there who have learned to communicate (to a point) who haven’t yet learned how to lie. They love to talk, and everything they say is completely honest and sincere. And conversations with them can be among the best, the most refreshing and most enjoyable you’ll ever have.

I am speaking, of course, of three-year-olds. Much younger than three, and their language skills aren’t really refined enough to carry on more than the most rudimentary dialogues. And though I am sure there are millions of brutally honest four-year-olds out there, the sweet spot seems to be three.

How do I know this? Well, I happen to have a friend who happens to be three. Her name is Alexia, but everyone calls her Lexi. She is the granddaughter of a friend, and any time I get to spend with her renews my faith in the human race. Lexi basically has two states of consciousness: talking and sleeping. Ever since she discovered that she possesses this marvelous gift called language, she has become completely determined not to let it go to waste. Something else you all need to know about Lexi. She is unquestionably the happiest human being I have ever met. So there you go – a little girl who can’t stop talking, who never speaks anything but the truth and who is never anything short of ecstatic to be alive. To say we could all learn a little from someone like Lexi is a vast understatement.

Of course, when Lexi and I get together to discuss the issues of the day, the conversation tends not to go to places like healthcare reform or the future endorsement value of Tiger Woods. Thank goodness for that. I get enough of that all day in the adult world, where the truth is merely a starting point to be positioned, parsed or spun into something virtually unrecognizable. Instead, we hold forth on subjects including whether we will read Curious George or My Little Pony later on or the relative merits of dipping our chicken fingers into ketchup or barbeque sauce (Lexi likes ketchup – on everything).

I won’t claim that she doesn’t have an agenda. She does. But it’s very simple. It goes like this: “Let’s have fun. What are we going to do next? Will it be fun?”

I can live with that. In fact, I respect it. Totally.

If you’re already lucky enough to have a three-year-old in your life, you know what I’m talking about and I’m sure you enjoy your time with them as much as I do my time with Lexi. If you don’t, you’re missing out on the joy of total honesty, delivered without pretense or ulterior motive. That’s too bad. It’s a luxury everyone should have.

It’s a luxury because it doesn’t last forever. Pretty soon Lexi will be four and soon after that, five. And so on. She’ll always be my pal, but she won’t always be three. And so she will change. And the day will come when she decides not to tell me that my haircut looks funny or my shirt doesn’t really match my pants. She’ll leave those details out because she wants to be nice and won’t want to hurt my feelings. Which is great, but also a little sad. Because it will mean she’s on her way to being an adult. The world has plenty of those already.
But that’s a still a little ways off. And until those days get here, I’m going to get my truth from the best source I can imagine – a three-year-old named Lexi.