Chickens...or Dogs?

I started reading this book on the way home from New Mexico on Saturday afternoon. I'm quite addicted, and almost finished. It's written from the perspective of a 15-year old autistic narrator, Christopher. Christopher is incredibly gifted mathematically, has a photographic memory, and has a knack for murder mystery stories. When a murder happens in his own neighborhood, he sets out to solve the crime on his own. In the process, he discovers the ugly truths about neighbors and family members. [You should probably stop reading here if you don't want me to ruin the rest of the novel for you.] Along with being completly taken by Christopher's talents and personality, his character has also made me wonder how honest we are with one another in every day life. It's easy to assume that his mother and father were dishonest about extra-marrital affairs and the consequences becuase Christopher is autistic. But I feel like his character is sharing deeper truths with us. In efforts to be polite and politically correct, I often feel like we're doing a deeper disservice to one another by not sharing the whole truth. Yet, are our actions any more innocent than that of Christopher's parents who are seemingly attempting to protect their son?

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with a friend a few months ago where I was called out for making polite platitudes for the sake of saving her feelings. At the time I had thought I was doing the right thing. But I do wonder if it wouldn't have been better to speak the truth in full. I think my hesitancy to share the full truth was for fear of how that person would react in the moment. What is this fear that has seemingly taken a hold of us to remain polite and courteous even to those with whom we are close? What is it that has become so unacceptable about disagreeing with one another? After all, isn't it through difference that we are strengthened by those around us? Maybe I'm the only one that has turned into a chicken...