Mary Shannon quotes from In Plain Sight

Mary

[voiceover] Everybody fakes it... pretending they like the friend's spouse, feigning interest in the ozone or christmas carols at the door. Just it seems somehow smarter or nicer. Kinder... funnier. It's like we ought to be Canadians or something.

Mary

[voiceover] There comes a time when every kid peeks behind a curtain and sees she's not the only one putting on a show. Fathers, mothers, cops and robbers, every member of the PTA: all playing dress up, all wearing their masks; a constant Halloween. That first peek behind the curtain, the lifting of the mask, it's a disorienting moment. The solid ground beneath you slips away to quicksand, along with all you thought you knew. But you realize, as days and nights go by, that there's a kind of truth in the lie. That the mask is often more revealing than the face that lies beneath, because the person you pretended to be, the mother, the father, the sister, the cop, became, somehow, the person that you are.

Mary

[voiceover] Evolution is a funny thing, developing defense mechanisms that work solely on the element of surprise. Case study: When I was seven, Scott Halley and I caught a lizard in his backyard. The lizard was so shocked, it shed its tail in Scott's hand, at which point Scott started bawling. His dad said the tail would grow back. But before we could witness the reptilian resurrection, his parents split up and his mom moved him to Sarasota. Point is, to survive is to let go... of old habits, new friends, and to shed your tail every now and again. It leaves scars, and it isn't pretty, but if you look close enough, what is?

Mary

[voiceover] Forward progress is impeded by several menial laws: inertia, friction, fear of the unknown, and the impeccable timing of charming ex-husbands. But somehow, improbable as it may be, we find ourselves not quite free of the past, but lurching toward the future, inch by bittersweet inch.

Mary

[voiceover] To raise a child, says an African proverb, and one first lady of note, it takes a village, a community. Families splashing at a car wash to support the local school. Seeding a little league field in advance of opening day. That's not how it went in our house. We never made it to the car wash or the bake sales. Our communal experiences meant ducking debt collectors and the FBI, which wasn't without its lessons. Shutting all the lights off, a sudden makeshift hide and seek, or moving every month or two teaches you quick to count on a community of one.

Mary

[voiceover] Community is not exactly one size fits all. One man's slice of heaven is another man's hellhole. The lucky few fit in from the start, like a glove; always with the wind at their backs and a place to call home, surrounded by parents, kids and the green of the grass. For some, though, all the community you'll ever need can be found on the other side of the room.

Mary

[voiceover] A week before my father left, we were in the kitchen as the sun came up. Just the two of us. I was six. Mom was passed out in the bedroom in a tangle of sweaty sheets while I scavenged cupboards in a nearly-empty fridge for anything to eat. Dad called me over to the table, told me to bring the milk. We sat there, the last meal we ever shared, eating oreos that he'd left out overnight. Over soft, stale oreos, my father told me we were special because we knew a secret that other people don't. Like many things, an oreo, over time, becomes the very best version of itself. That was his last bit of wisdom. The final gospel of James Wiley Shannon. Five days later, he was gone.

Mary

[voiceover] Growing up sucks. The days of cookies, dreams and the ice cream man do their flickering fade to black, like some wounded firefly or a nightlight on the fritz. Children become parents, parents become helpless, and dreams you thought you'd always dream slip silent out the door. But ultimately, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, when you look at your life with a hard, unflinching eye, there's only one real certainty: the growing never stops. That and the death and taxes thing.

Mary

[voiceover] There are times in your life where all you can do at the end of the day is turn out the lights, flop on the bed, and throw in the towel. Raise the white flag. For some that kind of surrender is hard to even contemplate and harder to accept, and there's a dignity in that, in fighting to the finish, to the red-faced bitter end. But in those moments, in bed, right before the lights go out, solace can be found. The very act of giving up becomes a starting point. You clear your head. You still your beating heart. You navigate the rocky shoals, setting out again. Call it surrender or serenity, it doesn't matter which, because the thing you never thought you'd do or say or ever have to face, becomes more than what you have to do. It becomes the way it is.

Mary

Hey, Brandi. It's Mary. But you know that 'cause the caller id would say it on the thing. Plus my voice. Anyway, I'm having a baby. So... Mom will get this message too, right? That was officially a pregnant pause. Okay. Talk to you later.

Mary

[voiceover] Back at our Lady of Immaculata, the nuns taught us that getting into college and/or heaven was a matter of sitting up straight, shutting your mouth, and keeping your eyes in the front of the class. But the sisters' best intentions didn't always pave the way to the Ivy League, let alone the afterlife. The fallacy is believing that being good means doing well. That walking the straight and narrow, minding your P's and Q's, and following the golden rule will, in the long run, reap rewards.

Mary

[voiceover] Scientists and scholars and poets and priests can argue the particulars, but who's to say, really, how children raised in the exact same house can turn out to be so drastically different? Forget nature or nurture. My guess is it's the luck of the draw. And that's the scary part. How smart they are, if they can read a map, or carry a tune, it's mostly out of your hands. Just add water and hope for the best. Because in the end, as it is in the beginning, a child is going to be who a child is going to be. All it'll be for sure is a reminder, a constant reminder of who you are, and where you've been, and how far you have to go.

Mary

[voiceover] The getaway, I guess, is in my blood. Away from the screaming chaos of my childhood home, I would fly out the door and hop on my bike, white knuckling the handlebars with nowhere to go, I'd pedal as fast as it took to feel my hair in the wind and the sting on my face. Whether I wanted to be found or just missed, I'm not sure. But no one ever sent out a search party. Those frantic, furious bike rides never took me more than a few miles from my house. But it was far enough for me to learn that I could get back on my own. And that sometimes the best way to find yourself is to get yourself lost.

Mary

[to witness] Look, of course you're right, she had her shot, and there's nothing more soul sucking than forgiveness, but sometimes you just have to take a deep breath, and close your eyes and fall on your sword. Look, family's never perfect. All it is, really, is yours.

Mary

[voiceover] Those things we love in childhood, whether it's taking off on your own or playing the oboe, they're planted deep in the ground with you. Which is why true transformation takes more than hot rocks and drum circles, wandering the woods for a sign or a path. But I'll say this: Robert Frost had it right about the road less traveled, because not knowing where you're headed leads you sometimes to right where you belong.