The Man Who Knew Too Much
I know too much for my own good. This includes my newfound knowledge of haloacetic acid, which, according to the Environmental Protection Agency, has caused many laboratory animals to earn the nickname “Lumpy.”
The subject came up when my water supplier thought they should mention that our drinking water had four times the maximum level of contaminant allowed by law. Of course that was last April, they pointed out, and the situation has improved since then.
“Please don’t worry about a thing,” they said, “and accept with our compliments a free fridge magnet with the seven warning signs of cancer.”
I appreciate the water department’s openness, but I wish they’d kept their information to themselves. It’s a tragedy. It’s in the past. Let’s forget about it. I feel the same way about my high school haircut.
too close for comfort
I also get too much information from the Internet. One web site says that dentists recommend you keep your toothbrush at least two metres from the toilet because of the invisible mist caused by flushing. Well, immediately I had to go and get a tape measure. My worst fears were confirmed. For the past 10 years my toothbrush has been 30 cm too close to the toilet.
If only the sweet veil of ignorance had kept this information from me. For one thing, I wouldn’t have to gargle through an entire bottle of Listerine. And, for another, I wouldn’t feel compelled to keep my toothbrush in a Tupperware container in the attic.
On second thoughts, what kind of toilet throws a spray two metres? Are we talking the porcelain equivalent of Old Faithful the geyser? If these dentists have really seen such a fixture, they should put some coloured lights on it and charge admission.
Perhaps I should return to my point, which is—let me check my notes—oh, yes, that sometimes we get too much information. I refer you to the case of Mr Jordheim, a music teacher who recently spent several weeks in China. One morning he was making pleasant conversation with his host when he mentioned that he particularly enjoyed the hash browns at breakfast.
“Ah,” replied the host and moved on to other subjects.
A couple of days later Mr Jordheim felt compelled to speak again of those wonderful hash browns. This was a great temptation for his host, who then revealed that, no, those were not hash browns; those were shredded intestines.
This is one case in which the mysteries of the Orient would best have been kept that way.
blissful ignorance
The truth is, there are many pieces of information we are happy to do without. We don’t want to know how much we could have saved with those coupons. We don’t want to know how many people were offered the job ahead of us. And we don’t really want to know all the shades of meaning in our teenage daughter’s poetry.
To take it one step further, there are things we know about ourselves that we’d just as soon forget. Social faux pas, or the time you sensitively suggested to your wife that she was reminding you of her mother.
n And let’s not even talk about our sins—those spiteful words and shameful deeds that our conscience keeps on file. Of course, there are ways to cope with guilt. One is to ignore it until it goes away (if ever). The other is to “draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience” (Hebrews 10:22).
When you know too much about yourself, there is nothing more comforting than to know forgiveness.
Adapted, with permission, from Women of Spirit.
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