All of our life we learn things. From the moment we are born we begin learning what it takes to survive and maybe even get our own way. We learn there are decent people in the world and people who are exceptionally cruel. We learn who to avoid, what to avoid, and where not to go. At the same time we learn who is nice, what is nice, and where is nice.
Most often, people are going out of their way to teach us things. Some of what they're trying to teach us isn't true, but they don't care. They either believe themselves, or they just want to have control over you (and me). For those latter folks there is a lesson they never want to see anybody learn. I call it the, "I can take that," lesson.
Basically, it goes something like this.
Back when I was young one of the things teachers would have students do when they were being offensive somehow was write sentences. "I will not call the teacher names anymore." Forget how many times and variations I wrote that one. Since an early age I have had the same problem with authority figures. Often, these people are not worthy of the position they hold and very quickly lose my respect. At such time, I find various ways to let them know it. It always costs me something, but sometimes I don't care.
I think it was in third grade when Mrs. St.J. assigned me a sentence to write 100 times. There were two others names up on the chalkboard ahead of me. When she left the room for something I got up and added something like one hundred more check marks (each check mark represented one set of one hundred sentences). When Mrs.St.J. came back she was furious. Cindy told on me, and as a consequence Mrs.St.J. erased everyone's sentences - except mine. For me, she left two check marks. My prank had just doubled my sentence. (No pun intended. Well, maybe just a little.)
While I felt she was justified in adding to my punishment, I didn't see where letting everyone else off just to spite me was appropriate. So I resolved in my heart at that moment that if they were not going to write, I wasn't going to write. And, being an honest sort, I told Mrs.St.J. I didn't care about the extra check mark. So she added another.
She misjudged me. She figured she could intimidate me by required more and more sets of one hundred, so she would add a check. I would announce I didn't care and she would add another. I suppose she figured there would come a point when I would collapse under the pressure. But as I had already resolved not to write any sentences what did the check marks mean to me?
When she finally realized her strategy had no hope of working she tried a new threat. Fine. She wouldn't add any more check marks. However, I would write the 1,500 sentences by the end of school or I would not be allowed to move on to the fourth grade. I responded with, "I don't give a d*mn. Do what you want. I'm not writing anything."
Ultimately, I never did. And I was moved on to fourth grade. But I didn't find that out until August.
Mrs.St.J. shifted her entire approach to me after that and amazingly became one of my favorite teachers of all time. I went from being a perpetual pain in her backside to one of her best students. The following year, she changed from third grade to fourth and made sure I was in her class. That set the stage for me jumping way ahead of my classmates in matters of reading and math. Fourth grade was a good year.
I guess I have a lot more pride than is good for me. A few years later I was confronted by a group of older boys who felt like pushing underclassmen around. I was ordered to open the door for them. I told them what they could do with themselves. When they threatened me with violence I sized things up. Just how far would this violence go? Figuring I was not likely to die, or be blinded or permanently injured, I refused to comply. Got my a*s handed to me that day. But they didn't get what they wanted. (They thought they did because they picked me up and pushed me through the door. But it took all of them to do it. And they never bothered me again afterward.)
At the last job I had I was called on the carpet for something someone else had done. I interrupted my manager and explained in no uncertain terms that there was no way in h*ll I was going to suffer for someone else's error. I didn't take credit when it belonged to others, and neither would I take blame. "Fire me if you want. But don't go b*tching at me about things I didn't do. I won't have it."
Of course, I don't work there anymore, but the manager actually liked me better - for awhile. When she realized I had no interest whatsoever in "climbing the company ladder" she became disheartened with me. It was her belief that good employees should strive to be managers, directors, and executive vice-presidents. I just wanted my paycheck, and I was willing to do whatever my job required to get it. But I wasn't going to strive for more in an industry which I cared nothing about. It was a job and nothing more. Emphasis on was.
A long time ago, when I worked at a pizza restaurant (sit down eating in those days), some us on the staff got to talking about what word best described each of us. We all had laughs about the words offered for each, until it was my turn. No one could think of anything. (Anything they wanted to say out loud anyway.) One of the waitresses, Betty, struggled hard with it and told me she would give it serious thought. I forgot about it, until two hours later when she walked up to the cook's counter and called to me.
Perseverance!
I remember I thanked her, but I didn't feel complimented. Seemed like kind of a dull word. I'd been hoping for something better. Something glamorous, or magical, or adventurous. She made me sound like the turtle in the Tortoise and Hare story. Besides, if I think the deck is stacked against me I will quit. P*sses people off to no end, but what's the point of trying when you know you can't win?
And yet, I wonder. Maybe Betty was right. How many times have I stood, knowing the consequence of holding my ground, and refused to walk away? Sometimes quitting can be a form of defiance. There are some games I just will not play. Not for any money. But I'm not sure if that's perseverance, or if I'm just self-destructive.
Doesn't matter. Not really.
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