How many times must I tell you?

I have always be a brutally honest person. If you don't want to hear the un-varnished truth, then don't ask me. I won't sugar coat it and you might get your feelings hurt. Oh sure! I can lie. But to what avail? You'll either find out the truth later and resent me. Or you just wanted your ego stroked in the first place. And you'll keep coming back for more, and the vicious cycle continues. Even though all lies are not equal (in the bible; two examples of lies rewarded are the Hebrew mid-wives in exodus. And Rahab the harlot of Jericho). Why start out a friendship, with me trying to recover my inner peace? All of my best friends in life, either appreciate my candor, and/or, share the same type of truthful attitude. I take no joy from telling people what they don't want to hear. So later in my life I began asking people if they were sure they wanted my opinion. Some would lie and then regret it later. But people who really want to know, actively seek me out to get my opinion. From drinking buddies to deacons. From lonely seaman to Rear-Admirals. From the newbie in the IT deparment to the CEO.
I have also been a very curious person. All the way back to my earliest childhood.
For example; Scientists believe things with black and yellow, or black and orange stripes are universally recognized as dangerous. Tigers for example, and banded sea-snakes. Both are very dangerous and brightly contrasted by stripes. And until recently they were considered to have no natural predators. The Tiger is endangered, by man. the ultimate predator. And banded sea-snakes are a culinary delight for south pacific sea eagles.
I think Tigers are beautiful, and Banded sea-snakes are graceful and hypnotic in motion. What about the lowly honey bee?
How did you find out they were ill tempered little stingers? Did you always know? Was there a primordial warning bell in your head when you first saw one? To my young eyes they appeared like little flying candies. And when I gently plucked one from my mother's Gardenias. I got stung. I didn't know any sailor words back then. So I just yelled. A big red whelt, my mother's love and my father's chide are my vivid memories. "If you leave the Bees alone they'll leave you alone." It's like I heard it just yesterday. Did I leave the Bees alone? Certainly not. I had to get even. So a few days latter I returned to the scene of the crime. But this time I brought a weapon. When my victim lit on the aromatic flora, I smacked it as hard as I could with a stick. The blossom exploded in a shower of fragmented white petals. With a smashed bee in their midst. But some how I had been found out, and another little bugger stung me. Another whelt and another dose of "If you leave the bees alone. They'll leave you alone." My mom was sympathetic. But I had devestated her bush. There must have been more stings. But the next one I remember was by a yellow-jacket.
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A colonony of these brilliant bees had taken up residence under the eaves of our house. I had learned a lesson. But my education was incomplete. So instead of ignoring them. I choose a new weapon. A stand-off weapon. A daisy bb gun. It was perfect. It would certainly kill bees. It was a Bee Bee gun. Get it? I had bigger guns to choose from. But I didn't want to damage my home. So I backed off about twenty paces, and began my assault. The marine shooting lesson was: Aim little. Miss little. Meaning don't aim at the nest. Aim at a bee. If you miss the bee, the nest is a sure hit. Three direct hits and the nest was a bee-hive of activity. The forth salvo had a new consequence. Did you ever hear of something making a Bee-line towards an object. Well I had not. But I witnessed the event. A lone hornet, followed the path of my last projectile. Right back to my face. And stung me repeatedly on my upper lip. To stop the assault I grabbed the jacket and smashed it in my hand. When I opened my hand the bee lay in my palm, dead. But still stinging me. These bugs were way more persistent than I was. And once more I heard the "Leave the bees alone..." lecture. All the world IS a stage. And I have been "ON" since day one. It's not Turrets, or any mentally diagnosed problem. I just have a smart mind and what I think comes out of my mouth.
When my father would ask me "How many times must I tell you?" I would say "Three." It was the truth. He had told me about the bees three times. It was much later in life when I learned the concept of a "Rhetorical question." But all my encounters with my father did not all start in the form of a question. Take the line "I'll teach you to smart off to me." If a six foot two hundred pound career marine said that to you, how would you respond? As a skinny toe-headed 10 year old I responded with such witticisms as "Oops, someone beat you to it." or "get inline." I took way less punishment than was deserved because I was a very fast runner. I loved to run. I was also a very quick starter, and was seldom in second place behind the fittest adult. The only thing faster than my hands and feet was my mouth. I wasn't disrespectful. I started and ended every sentence to my elders with "Yes Sir or Mam." And I never uttered the disrespectful, "With all due respect."
I wasn't a class-clown either. I was way too smart to ever be considered a clown, by my peers or my teachers. It was not a need for attention. I know that bad attention is better than no attention. I just love to laugh. And even when I'm not smiling on the outside. There is usually a riot going on in my head. I'm not a comedian. I just play one in life. I am still a very smart mouthed guy. But my hands and foot aren't nearly as quick as they used to be. I no longer have a generalized dislike of people either. So in closing I would like to say that you are all very dear friends, and I love you all, unashamedly. But if zombies start chasing us. I'm gonna trip you.