Most philosophies, values, mystical viewpoints or whatever one may call belief systems are based on universal truths — or, at least, what one perceives to be truths.

To be sure, there are truths; they do exist. Gravity is a universal truth. It works every time it’s tried and it was working long before Isaac Newton came along to tell us it exists. If good old Isaac had never stumbled over this gravity thing, it still would have been there, working diligently, holding us flat footed on the Earth’s surface.

Two hydrogen atoms hooking up with a solitary oxygen atom create water, every time. Mix in a little of that Earth’s surface and you get mud.

The sun will come up tomorrow and “Annie” was a great musical — debate it all you want, you are not going to change my mind.

In the 1890s, swimming in public required wearing almost as much clothing as not swimming in public. Time marches on — that’s another universal truth — and as time marched, morals evolved, and swimsuit volume regressed. It turns out the amount of clothing required to swim was not a universal truth, it was merely a suggestion. Some swimming attire, these days, suggests a lot. Please don’t get me wrong, I really like some of those skimpy fashions for beach blanket broiling. In some instances, I’m a true fan. It’s just that those fashions are not universally flattering.

Less and less swimsuit on more and more person is universally not a good look, and that is another universal truth.

My favorite universal truth is that “everyone is different.” No matter where you go or what you do, it is exactly the same, everywhere. Everyone is different. That’s the one thing we all have in common.

Some accepted truths came about only because two like-minded people agreed on one thing and a third person overheard the agreement, assuming it to be gospel. How else can you explain the popularity of bell-bottoms, speed dating, and Justin Bieber?

Some things being passed off as “real” are not truths, universally speaking. Reality TV is not about truth and that is slowly becoming a universally accepted reality.

I don’t need to be invited into the living rooms of David Hasselhoff, Ozzy Osbourne, or What’s-Her-Name (the one with the sisters and the dirigible derriere). I don’t need to watch some chef with a Type-A personality berate a kitchen full of cowering culinary artists. I don’t need to listen to a studio audience chanting “Jerrr-ry” as two bulbous women fight over one scrawny toothless guy.

If I had to pick between two untruths, I’d probably have to pick Ozzie and Harriet over Ozzy and Sharon. I didn’t always believe what Ozzie was saying, but at least I understood it.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.