Sunday, January 06, 2019

Riding shotgun

Have you ever been the subject of a family conversation that proves to be uncomfortable and unnerving?  These are the sorts of talks when you want to scream "I'm right here, people!"  You don't.  You sit quietly looking skeptically at the critics, hoping that you soon forget their message, but instead - it nags at you for your entire adult life.

This assault for me occurred over 40 years ago.  My mother, in a manner normally only attempted and delivered by a mother, gave her best back-handed compliment of "You are just so adaptable - you can easily shift and bend on your position." I didn't even have a chance to respond with "say, what?" before the youngest of the family, 15 years old, answered with "Is it that or is she too dumb to think about what she is doing?"  Granted this was from my mother and a teenager, but - ouch! Walk away and forget it, right?   That would have been a good idea - 40 years ago. 

My mom is gone, and the brother has just hit the initial threshold for senior discounts, and probably has no recollection of the exchange, nor does he care.  BUT, as I have navigated adulthood, I want to think that the truth is some combination of the two statements.  No one's doormat, loves to listen, values most opinions in the room, no need to be the smartest in the room.  That's me.  I think the important point of this is we all must understand who we are and how we work with our strengths while minimizing them as our weaknesses.

How do you develop adaptability and a just slightly greater than average IQ?  You start out as a legally blind second-child, girl born to an Irish family in the 50's, left-handed kid in a Catholic school. How do you survive that?  You adapt. 

Don't hear complaining here.  I had a good childhood and family.  Our needs were met and our wants were sometimes entertained as money or time would allow.  It wasn't a warm, fuzzy household, but a loving home driven by values, academics, expectations, and work.  When you are having a hard time delivering on these expectations, you figure out a way to fake it.  I faked it by trying my hand at right-handed writing under the watchful eye of the nuns, only to finally adapt with a contorted, left-handed method that complied with the perfectly formed letters slanting to the right. I faked it for years by peeking from behind a patched eye, fearing four inpatient eye surgeries when adults could  visit for only an hour twice a day.    As the almost blind kid I learned to develop really fine-tuned listening and observation skills.  Finally, and I believe - most importantly - I watched as the first born male was held to a standard of perfection that I was able to avoid as a girl growing up in an old Irish household.  I often breathed a sigh of relief, but was also able to silently build a strong core that aspired to the same standards to which he was held.  More lessons in listening and observation. 

So, did I adapt?  Hell, yes.  Do I still adapt to this day?  Of course.  It is part of who I am.  For the most part it has served me well, maybe occasionally made me appear weaker to some.  I have fine-tuned the skills of riding shotgun well, only to worry if I could have driven.  But, believe me - shotgun is still in the front seat.

Celebrate the origins of your strengths, love who you are and somehow find a way to silence the doubting 15 year olds in your life.  Perhaps this journal entry will help me do just that.

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