The Bright Side: Joe Bushue

I was really looking forward to watching the late news. In the “teaser” to get you to watch the newscast, the anchor excitedly urged viewers to be sure and watch later for some great news. Had the economy suddenly gotten great? Was a cure for cancer found? What could it be?

In great anticipation, I tuned in. While the whole crew looked almost giddy, the great news was ceremoniously revealed. It was going to be in the mid-80s tomorrow!

That's it? I stayed up to hear the great news for this?

Right then I finally realized (or at least admitted) that I was in a very small and much maligned minority, one that covered all races, religions, political beliefs, sexual preferences, age and generations. Apparently in the opinion of the majority, I should have believed this was fantastic news. Well, I didn't.

My idea of a “perfect” day is a still, clear blue day that’s no hotter than 75. I admit it. I don’t like summer, sun or hot weather. When I make that known, people treat me like I have leprosy or an extreme mental deficiency. But since I must have big shoulders and can handle the taunts and discrimination, I can also admit that I also function best when it’s pitch black by 5 p.m.

I can’t understand why people automatically assume that everyone likes ranch dressing, yogurt or sour cream, or pretty much anything white. Mankind worked for centuries to find ways to keep and preserve food and its safety and freshness. Because of this, it has helped man to survive. Why, then, is it assumed that now with a choice, everyone must like sour, spoiled tasting stuff? (I wonder: If the expiration date on sour cream passes, does it turn fresh?)

I could go on about things I don’t like. Like all minorities, I too can’t understand why others just don’t accept these peccadillos. Even though I can’t understand why anyone would by choice eat something that tastes spoiled, sour and even rotten, I don’t pre-judge them for it.

As for those who say, “How do you know if you like it if you don’t try it?” having lived for 60 years, if I died tomorrow not knowing if I might develop a taste for sour or spoiled tasting things, I could certainly be happy with that.

Sorry, I just heard the timer on the oven go off, which means my meatloaf is done. I have to go enjoy an adventuresome, exotic meal complete with white bread, plenty of ketchup, mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables, all topped off with a vintage vanilla ice cream. Anyone else who belongs in this same minority, let me know. Maybe we can start a support group, or have barbecue or something.

Joe Bushue is a travel agent and lifelong Gresham resident who has been tolerating multiple sclerosis for 30-plus years. His column recounts some of the humorous sides of his disability and his slants on life in general. Reach him by email at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

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