A plea for forgiveness.

Wacky. I like that word. Better than crazy.  Because wacky implies that I'm odd. Not necessarily crazy. In the mental health sense.  I claim to be a good crazy. In other words, downright wacky. Most wacky people I know are funny.  And harmless. For those deemed crazy, it's too easy to conclude that they may be harmful. To themselves or others. Wacky people often qualify as eccentrics. More acceptable in society than crazies. Yes, I know. The same term can have 10 different meanings with 10 different people.  Little wonder. That communicating can be very difficult. Even though we speak English. We don't speak the same language.  Of course. When I'm in Italy, communication is even more of a challenge. I'm grateful. That my amore mio speaks English. But that allows me to put no urgency on learning Italian. A matter of priorities. Too often. I just get by. By limping. Instead of walking.  Face it. I'm very, very good at some things. But not others. I'm disappointed. In myself. When I do just enough to get by.  I plead for forgiveness. For not only failing to master Italian. But for being wacky. --Jim Broede