Pollyanna - noun - A person regarded as being foolishly or blindly optimistic. [After the heroine of the novel Pollyanna, by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (1868-1920), American writer.]
I'd never read Pollyanna, but I was thinking today that I might be teetering on the edge of becoming one. It started with a conversation with somebody at work about cycling and doping. This guy asked me if Armstrong really is clean. (This guy, incidentally, doesn't follow sports, but he always wants to strike up conversations with me when there's some scandal involving a sport or team I like. He doesn't care about hockey, but he was sure to bring up Todd Bertuzzi, that kind of thing.)
Anyway, I said sure, Armstrong is clean. And when he asked why Greg LeMond is accusing him, then, I didn't have an answer. And frankly, I'm enjoying the race (more or less...I'm worried about Ullrich and I'm terribly sad that Tyler Hamilton had to put his dog to sleep) and I don't want to think about the doping. Oddly, the 1998 Festina affair...specifically the sit-down strike in the middle of a stage...was one of the things that got me really interested in pro cycling. But now I'm really into the cycling and not the politics and scandal.
There have been several things this week that have bummed me out. We had to put one of the rats to sleep, and at work I had an incident where a customer called my boss to report that I was rude and obnoxious (first time for everything, I guess). I've gotten a lot of second-hand dramas...things that don't involve me, but my sympathy for my friends who are involved makes me feel like I am, too.
So this morning I decided to ignore things that were going to upset me. I do that sometimes and I wonder if it's irresponsible or stupid...if I'm being a pollyanna.
How lame is it to be a pollyanna? I decided to read the book and see if it really is a bad thing.
Quick book report: Published in 1913, Pollyanna is the story of a little orphaned girl sent to live with her uptight spinster aunt. Pollyanna is disarmingly cheerful and finds the best in every situation, playing the "glad game" taught by her late father, a poor minister. As she explains to the housekeeper she befriends
"Oh, yes; the game was to just find something about everything to be glad about -- no matter what 'twas," rejoined Pollyanna, earnestly. "And we began right then -- on the crutches.""Well, goodness me! I can't see anythin' ter be glad about -- gettin' a pair of crutches when you wanted a doll!"
Pollyanna clapped her hands.
"There is -- there is," she crowed. "But I couldn't see it, either, Nancy, at first," she added, with quick honesty. "Father had to tell it to me."
"Well, then, suppose you tell me," almost snapped Nancy.
"Goosey! Why, just be glad because you don't -- need -- 'em!" exulted Pollyanna, triumphantly. "You see it's just as easy -- when you know how!"
"Well, of all the queer doin's!" breathed Nancy, regarding Pollyanna with almost fearful eyes.
"Oh, but it isn't queer -- it's lovely," maintained Pollyanna enthusiastically. "And we've played it ever since. And the harder 'tis, the more fun 'tis to get 'em out; only -- only -- sometimes it's almost too hard -- like when your father goes to Heaven, and there isn't anybody but a Ladies' Aid left."
The ending of the book is a little too pat...she melts the most bitter hearts in town, decades-old stifled romances are rekindled, and medical miracles prevail. But as for foolish and blind optimism, Pollyanna isn't foolish, she's got a heck of a coping mechanism.
I don't know if I was becoming a pollyanna, but I'm thinking it might not be a bad idea.
Posted by Nic at July 16, 2004 10:08 PM