#34. For fear of what it might do to me, you never paid a compliment, when other people did, you beat it away from me with a stick.
"He certainly is looking nice and grown up." He'd look a lot nicer if he did something about his skin.
"That's wonderful that he got that job." Yeah, well, we'll see how long it lasts.
You trained me so well, I know perform this service for myself. I deflect every kind word directed to me, and my denials are much more extravagent than the praise.
"Good speech." Oh it was way too long, I didn't know what I was talking about, I was just blathering on and on, I was glad when it was over.
I do this under the impression that it is humility, a becoming quality in a person. Actually, I am starved for a good word, but after the long drought of my youth, no word is quite good enough. "Good" isn't enough. Under this thin veneer of modesty lies a monster of greed. I drive away faint praise, beating my little chest, waiting to be named Sun-God, King of America, Idol of Millions, Bringer of Fire, The Great Haji, Thun-Dar the Boy Giant. I don't want to say, "Thanks, glad you liked it." I want to say, "Rise, my people. Remove your faces from the carpet, stand, look me in the face."
- Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon Days
(Some formatting changes for readability.)
