Checks and Taxes

 When my middle daughter was in high school, we were eating as a family at the pizza place where she worked part time. This daughter said that she and her friends were planning on going to a movie that weekend, and asked for movie and snack money. We said sure, and handed over some cash, probably a $20. While she was doing something else, her boss pulled us aside and said, "Do you have any idea how much she makes? She can pay for her own movie and snacks!" She was a delivery driver, getting significant tip money; he mentioned an average day's tips.

"I know," I said. "But she's still a kid, so we cover most stuff she wants to do. She only has to pay her own band fees, gas and insurance." He looked at us like we were crazy, and he was deeply unimpressed with our parenting.

"Oooookay," he said with raised eyebrows. "I just didn't know if you knew."

Yeah, we knew. We just figured that it's better for our kids to figure out how to handle money, and potentially make stupid choices, while they're kids and all their necessities are covered. Maybe that wasn't a great plan - I don't know. But even years later, it still seems like the best plan.

When the kids were little, and they got money for birthdays or Christmas, we helped them count out coins to pay tithing, encouraged them to put something in their college funds, and then pretty much let them decide what to do. By the time they were old enough to have their own jobs and paychecks, we were even more hands off. Don't want to save, or pay tithing? Want to spend it all on candy? Well, OK, but you may not like how that turns out, long term, but go for it. We have two who hate to spend any money, including for things that they really want, and two who would spend it before it was in their hands if they could. They all needed to figure out how to make money choices.

Having kept most of their choices in their own hands, I was really puzzled when my oldest, at roughly 11 or 12, said something about us "taking" money from the kids "to pay taxes." She said this with a considerable amount of anger, and narrowed eyes, but when I said, "What money?" she snapped, "Nothing. Never mind."

I wondered what kind of odd thing she was thinking of, but it was so far from reality that I just brushed it aside. In a few months, she brought it up again - "when you took our money to pay taxes." Again, when asked about what she meant, she responded, "Never mind."

As years went by, she'd bring it up not very often, but consistently once or twice a year. Sometimes, we'd be the only ones there, and sometimes other people would be with us, but we could not get her to explain what she meant.

We could not figure out what she was talking about. Did she mean a child credit on our income tax? We explained what that meant, and she looked blank. We tried very hard to explain all of our taxes - that income tax came out of paychecks before we got them, that our property taxes were paid with our mortgage payments, that sales tax was built into prices. We explained repeatedly over the years. She was probably 14 or 15 when I told her, again, "We have never, ever used money that belonged to you kids for taxes. Ever. We don't even use your money (meaning the savings accounts they'd had since birth, to which we contributed with every paycheck) for things like camp."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever you used it for then."

"Used WHAT for?"

But the only response I ever got when asking her what money she meant was, "Nothing," or, "Never mind." It was maddening.

As she became an adult, we heard about it less often, but she'd still bring it up, and still refuse to explain what she meant.

When she was in her 30s, she made a passing reference again, and I said, "OK, you are going to have to explain to me what you are talking about, because we have never had any earthly idea."

She looked a little bit sheepish, but actually answered. "When you made us sign over our state fair checks."

Starting when they were literally in diapers, the kids usually entered something in the county or state fair - coloring, photography, and when they were older, scrapbooks and baking. We adults entered photos, crafts, baked goods. The kids wanted to be like us and get ribbons. The state fair also gave kids cash awards. It was $1 for a third place, $2 for a second place, and $3 for a first place. In reality, it usually just paid back the entry fees, which I think were $5 per child, but it was really exciting for the kids to feel that they'd won money.

Their first time entering the state fair was when the older kids were 7 and 8. They expected to be given cash, and were deeply disappointed when they were told it would be a check, and they had to wait for it to come in the mail.

When the checks came, they wanted to know how to spend them. We explained that checks were the same as Daddy's paychecks. They were used to watching us take their dad's paycheck and get it cashed every two weeks, but he cashed it at a casino. You can only do that after you're 21, we explained. "You have to take it to the credit union and sign it," we explained. "Then they'll hand you cash, or you could put it in your bank account."

"That'll take forever! When can we even go to the credit union?" Much complaining ensued. They wanted cash RIGHT NOW, because they'd already had to wait for the mail. This was despite the fact that they couldn't spend it at home, and couldn't go shopping without us.

"Well, as soon as you sign it, anyone can cash it," I said. "If you sign it, Dad can give you cash right now. Then when we get to the credit union, we can cash or deposit it." That sounded MUCH preferable to waiting, so they signed the checks and we handed them cash, probably $6 or $7 each.

The next year, they wanted to do the same thing - we asked, not assumed. Waiting is not a strong suit for children. They did it for years. Until they had their own paychecks coming in, and they handled checks themselves, they'd sign the fair checks, we'd hand them cash, and then we'd deposit the checks into their savings accounts. We told them we were depositing them into our account, but we weren't going to miss a few dollars.

I told her, "You signed the checks in order to cash them. We handed you cash for your checks, every single time. Then we deposited them in your bank accounts, so you actually got paid double for every one of those."

She looked stunned. "How much?"

"An average of $7 or $8 each. The year you won Grand Champion, I think it was $12."

"Oh." She looked sheepish again. "I thought it was a huge amount, like hundreds of dollars, and since I never had that much, I figured you guys took it."

"It was between $1 and $3 per ribbon, depending on placement."

"Oh."

I am just stunned, myself, by so much of this. My daughter has spent almost her entire life angry about something that she refused to discuss, even after bringing it up herself. That in and of itself is baffling. People, if something upsets you, talk to the people involved! This should have been an easy, quick fix, back when she was 12. Instead, we faced decades of, "Never mind." My daughter will avoid conflict whenever possible, so I'm sure that was her aim, but her actions actually created conflict. (If you bring something up, be prepared to discuss it! For everyone's sake!)

I'm also just baffled as to how a child who could read even when she got that first check, and who was always the one who opened the envelope with her check in it, did not know how much the checks were for. She understood decimals; we'd taught the kids that when writing things to do with money, things like prices, anything before "the period" was dollars, and behind it was cents. Plus, checks have the line with it written out - "six dollars and no/100 cents." Plus, she entered things in the fair up until she turned 18; in high school, her usual entry was her meticulously kept scrapbooks. She read the fair's entry packet, every year, and it spelled out the money involved. She also would have deposited those later checks herself, so she definitely ought to know what they said. How would she think that the checks were bigger when she was younger? Or that there was a separate check that she didn't see, but we cashed without a signature? Even if she misunderstood at 8, there were many more years when the process itself should have cleared up this confusion.

I just could not imagine how she wasn't clear on this. I'm an overexplainer, and the fair sent out a booklet, every year.

I think I've now figured it out, based on the first appearance of the "you took our money" complaint. That happened the year after her photo of a walrus took Grand Champion for the children's photo division. She got a huge purple rosette, and a ton of praise. Her uncle, a professional scenic and wildlife photographer, hung it in his living room (the only photo he displayed that wasn't his).

She was always worried about being out of step with her peers, or being wrong about anything, so she often took the opinions of other children as gospel. Kids have a tendency to take the word of their peers over their parents, anyway. I'll bet that when she mentioned earning Grand Champion to kids at school or at church, some kid said, "Wow, did you get a ton of money?" Instead of saying, "No way, the state fair doesn't hand out a ton of money," she started to worry that this kid knew something that she didn't. (She frequently worried that other people had access to information that was hidden from her.) Surely a Grand Champion got a ton of money! Where was it? She would not have accepted her own experience as making her the expert on this matter, even though she'd won the prize, and she'd entered for years, whereas the other kids may not even have known that the fair came with competitions for kids.

So, she decided that we took it. At least she decided that we had a good reason; fixating on "taxes" shows that she was starting to figure out how modern society works. At least she didn't figure that we partied with it.

I just cannot fathom this, though - that something that obviously made her so miserable was such an easy to explain misunderstanding. Why in the world did she not discuss this with us? Then again, would she have believed me when she was a kid? Obviously, she suspected us of something shady, when our entire motivation was to stop the complaining about waiting, by getting money into their hands as soon as the checks arrived. Note to self - just send complaining kids out of the room, and make them learn patience.

I'm just glad it's finally resolved. Good grief.

(I mean, it is resolved, right?)

Understanding

Years ago, my husband and I went with some friends to see a stage show in a neighboring city. One friend was considering directing the show, and wanted to look at a production before making the final choice.

The show is called "Six Women With Brain Death," and it's very funny. In one scene, a character is onstage alone, cataloging her life's woes - failed marriages, sullen, uncooperative kids; just normal, everyday stresses, undoubtedly aggravated by her own responses. Addressing the audience directly, she laments, "Oh, I know that you could understand what I'm going through - but you probably don't."

I do not have a delicate giggle of a laugh - I have a belly laugh. I guffaw. At that point I simply howled with laughter. It was loud and unrestrained. It was also the only laugh in the theater. No one else so much as sniffed or smirked. I, on the other hand, was tickled to my core. There are few statements that I find to contain more truth than that one - and the truth is funny. So, in this crowded theater, I alone laughed without reservation, and the sound echoed through the quiet auditorium.

The actress onstage did something that actors are trained to not do; she turned, looked right at me, and broke "the fourth wall" (the imaginary, transparent "wall" separating the stage from the audience). Pointing straight at me, she said, "Except for you, ma'am." Then she went right back to the script.

To this day, I cannot imagine why no one else thought the line was as funny as I did. The human condition demonstrates, over and over, that while it is theoretically possible to understand others, in practice it's more miss than hit.

I never can wrap my head around people explaining how intolerable a situation was, and why they had to flee from it, by saying, "I just felt so alone." To me, that's just as much a given as saying, "I was breathing." I'm not entirely sure that it's possible to not feel alone. We're each alone inside of our heads. It just seems like biology to me.

What I think they might mean is "alienated." I totally do know how that feels - the feeling that you don't fit, you never will. On the other hand, that just seems expected, too. I have never met a human who said, "I always felt so connected and understood." Does anyone feel like that? Ever? If they do, it certainly isn't in school, or as the new hire on a job, or as a newlywed, a new parent, a new arrival to a new town/country, or, really, most other circumstances in life. It isn't as the artistic kid in a family full of ranchers, or the kid who hated school in a family full of PhDs, medical degrees and law degrees. It wasn't when you carefully chose an outfit, and everyone at the function looked horrified by it. It wasn't when you tried to explain your feelings to your parents, or to your children. It wasn't when you stood in a meeting or social activity or family gathering counting the minutes until you could leave. These experiences are universal. I am really not sure that their lack is.

Sometimes, someone will explain their divorce by saying, "I felt so alone, even when my spouse was there." Again, while I understand that they're sincerely in pain, it doesn't compute. While I adore my husband, he does not instinctively understand me (or anyone else), or I, him (or anyone else). He likes surprises; I like predictability. When I'm cold, he's hot. He likes loud; I like quiet. He's chatty; I'm not. We spend a lot of time wondering what in the world is up with the other person.

Often enough for it to be an expected occurance, not a deviation from the norm, in my memories of growing up, I'll forget that other people experienced something with me. I'll tell a story about my second grade teacher, and someone will say, "Oh, yeah - and remember the time that she..." Well, sure, I remember the time, but I'd forgotten that my friend was there. I've done this with my sister, too.  I'll be talking about a family vacation, and she'll chime in, and for a few seconds I'll think, "Was she there?" Of course she was, we're siblings, it was a family vacation, but when I look in my mind, I see me there, by myself. This will happen with my husband, too. I'll forget that he experienced something with me, until he starts talking about it.

Now, before you decide that I'm terribly lonely and depressed and need a party or something, alone does not equal sad and lonely. I like being alone. My mother, my brother, my son - we're pretty solitary beings. We enjoy solitude. Solitude is less lonely than being surrounded by people. So when I say "alone," it's likely to mean "tranquil, relaxing, calming." As I said, "alienated" is something else entirely. Being alone is not a cry for help, at least not to me.

My husband is also sure that his highest good as a husband is to read between the lines and ferret out what I "really mean." I think the highest good of a spouse is to listen to spoken words, exact words, and believe them. (I mean, why would anyone not want to be believed?) This means that we are constanly irritated. He'll try to figure out what I'm not saying, and act accordingly, and my reaction will be, "Did you not listen to me?"

The reverse is also true. He'll say something like, "I wonder if the Christmas lights still work," then be annoyed that I did not hear, "Tomorrow after I'm off work, I want to shop for lights."

"I told you that we needed to buy lights! You knew I wanted to do that this afternoon!"

"No, you wondered out loud if the old lights still work! That's not planning a shopping trip, much less planning an exact time for shopping!" He is just sure that "it was implied."  Why else would he bring it up?

Maddening.

A significant number of people who've known me for years are sure that they will know what I'm thinking, or doing, and why, but they're really bad at it.

I was once invited to an event that started with a tour of a local brewery, then ended with dinner. I showed up in time for dinner, and one friend said, "Oh, come on. You mean to tell me that your religion forbids you to even be in the same room as brewing beer?"

Wow; just so far off anything resembling accurate. I said, "No, it doesn't. I just have absolutely no interest in a brewery, so I'm not going to spend my time touring one." I cannot imagine that this was not obvious. My friend looked startled, and mumbled, "Oh. I guess."

(I think that, many times, when someone tells a story about how they knew this one person who was {fill in the blank}, and they saw their religious restrictions/weird behavior with their own eyes, it stems from an event like this where someone did not ask, but simply assumed.)

I'll tell a story, or write a Facebook post, and people who have known me for most of my life will say, "Oh, I know you! At that point, you (fill in the blank)" - and they will be so far off the mark, they're not even in the ballpark anymore.

I do the same thing. I'll assume that someone will be thinking or doing what I would do in their situation, and I will be so wrong. So very wrong.

This, folks, is why that line was so funny. Because you could understand what I'm going through, but you probably don't - and vice versa.

Kids Your Age

One of the things that I didn't understand about adults when I was a child was their assumption that all kids would, or should, get along.  I hated it when they'd pitch some event to me by saying, "There will be kids your age there!" Then they'd look either expectant or pleased, obviously thinking that they'd just provided me with instant friends. It was baffling.

I wondered how they had forgotten what it was like to be a kid. Did all kids their age automatically get along with them? I assumed that the answer had to be "no." Then why would they assume that all kids my age would like me?

I've never mixed easily or well with other people. It's a skill that eludes me. And, especially as a kid, I was the odd, badly dressed one with body odor who didn't laugh at the standard jokes; no one really gravitated toward me. If I was going to get along with other people, they were generally adults, who liked my rule following, studious nature.

Saying, "There will be kids your age" translated to me as, "It will be really uncomfortable, and kids will make fun of you."

When I'm an adult, I thought, I'll remember, and I won't assume that all kids will love each other, just because they're kids.

So, of course, my children frequently wanted to know, "Will there be kids my age there?"

Again, I was baffled. And my older kids especially were annoyed when I'd say, "There will be kids there," but couldn't specify that there would be kids their ages there. My homeschooled younger two were used to hanging out with kids who might be a mix of three or four years older to three or four years younger, but that's not what life is like in public schools. Two of my high school best friends are three months older than I am, but they were in the grade above me. Several of my other best friends were between 7 and 10 months younger than I was, but because they were in my grade, they counted as "my age," whereas the kids a grade above me were "older."  My older kids were frequently annoyed that there were no kids in their exact grade or their exact number - age 7, 10, 15, whatever - at any given function.

That's OK, I thought. They'll grow up and get over it, and realize that age is not really a big deal. (And to an extent, they did, because most people do.)

When I was in my late 20s or early 30s, I was talking to a friend from church who was probably in her 70s. She had been gone when the leaders announced an event - I think it was a dinner - for our congregation, so I and another friend, a few years older than I, were making sure that she knew about it. "That sounds fun," she said. "And I don't mean to be rude, but do you know - will there be people my age there?"

I probably looked stunned. She was afraid that she'd hurt my feelings, I think, because she was very quick to explain - "I mean, you young people are nice. I enjoy being around young people; it keeps me young. But sometimes, I just need to be around people my own age. They understand me. They've experienced the same things I've experienced, and they remember the same things I do."

"Oh, of course." I assured her that there would be people her age there, and sincerely hoped that there would be. Then I went home pondering the fact that here was obviously another instance where I'd interpreted the rest of humanity incorrectly. Or had I? What if other people her age didn't feel the same way?

I watched people. I asked people. People of different ages. And holy cow, there are a significant number of people who feel most comfortable with other people close to their own age. And the people I asked thought that this was obvious.

It just had never been my personal experience. Who knew it was everyone else's? I mean, what about all that talk about age being just a number?

It's just me, isn't it?

"How Would You Like That Cooked?"

By now, most people are at least aware of the concept of "Love Languages." It's the idea that each person values something as the most important component of a relationship, so they will try to provide it for their partner. People who value financial security and/or gift giving will work extra hours in order to give expensive gifts. But, if their partner values time spent together, they will be disappointed that their partner chooses to stay longer than necessary at work instead of come home to them, and they will view gifts as a failed attempt to "buy" their affection.

I was truly unaware that there are so many other instances in which the idea people think they're presenting is not what others see or hear - ordinary instances of everyday words or actions. I'm still often taken by surprise - when someone tells me that my definition of the word "evolution" is the "wrong" definition, for instance. (I mean, I always figured that the dictionary had the final say on what words mean. Now, people tell me that "popular usage" is the most important thing, but that changes extremely frequently, by location, etc. That's almost like having no definition at all.)

It makes living with other humans, even in a community, much less in a shared home, difficult.

Allow me to demonstrate with an argument about: steak. Sincerely; bear with me.

I've mentioned before that when I was a newlywed, my husband had a really hard time with the way I prepared food.

"I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!

(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")" "The Right Way," July 2013)
I found it bizarre and unfathomable. If I'd insisted on making his food the way I liked it, I'd understand, but this was my own food.

My husband loves steak. If he could have only one meal, for the rest of his life, it would be steak and eggs, medium rare, over easy, with wheat toast.

Quite often, the way he cooks his steak looks, to me, like there's nothing "medium" about it, and it's straight up rare. I do not like rare meat, even medium rare meat. I don't need it to be all the way to "well done," but I can't stand it raw looking or tasting. This really disturbed my husband. Not puzzled, but sincerely upset him.

He kept trying to get me to "just try it" his way, and I kept repeating that I had tried it, and that's how I know that I don't like it. Then one day he said, "You just haven't ever had a really good cut of meat, properly prepared." Well, OK, maybe there was something to that. Money was tight when I was growing up; expensive cuts of meat were not on the menu. So, my husband went shopping, bought (ridiculously expensive) steaks, and cooked them, and proudly served me dinner. "You'll see," he said.

He was so delighted with his dinner. "Isn't this great?" he kept saying. "So tender! Doesn't it just melt in your mouth?"

NO. It did not "melt" in my mouth. It was not "tender." It was like chewing rubber bands - the chewing did not actually change the size, shape, or texture of the meat. My teeth just kind of bounced off of it. And the longer I chewed, the more it seemed that the meat actually absorbed my saliva, and got larger and larger. This might be OK if I just loved the taste, but I didn't. It tasted bloody, like when you've just had dental work, or accidentally bite yourself. It was barely edible. I knew this from previous experience, but this was particularly bad, as he'd left it so rare that I expected it to still moo.

I tried to respond without hurting his feelings, but finally said, "I just can't eat this. It's barely even cooked." I got up and tossed it back on the pan. When it was done, I happily ate the whole thing, and complimented his seasoning and choice of steak. "That was really good."

"Yes, it was good - and then you ruined it."

Well, I expected a bit of a huff, since he felt that I'd criticized his cooking.

I also expected that to be the final word. We were done now, I was sure. We'd tested every hypothesis, and I just do not like rare meat. Now we could quit discussing it.

But we, apparently, could not. If anything, he wanted more discussion, and he got more and more agitated.

I'd order my meat medium well at restaurants, and he'd say, "You're offending the chef. They don't like it when people want the meat well done."

I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, now you're psychic?" but said, "He's getting paid the same, no matter how I want it. He doesn't care. Besides, I didn't ask for well done. I asked for medium well."

"The chefs hate that. And they don't give you the good cuts then. They give you the old stuff or the tough stuff that other people won't eat."

"So, they'll be happy I'm using up their surplus, and paying the same as you are. And I'll be happy, too." I could not imagine that there could be a down side to this.

He did not see it this way. He was sure that I was being "rude" by ordering my food the way that I liked it; I could not imagine how that was possible.

I took to ordering chicken; I was informed that this, too, was "offensive." "You should always order the specialty of the house. The chef hates it when people come to a steakhouse and order chicken."

Me: "So, the chef will be angry if you order literally half of what's on the menu? Why does he work here? And how do you psychically know what he's thinking?"

Him: "Because that's what most people think."

Me: "WHAT?" Now he can read the mind of not only the chef, but "most" of the population? And I still didn't know, even if he could, why they got to choose my meals. I wasn't choosing theirs!

At home, I took care to cook his steak the way he liked it. Mine, of course, I cooked the way I like it. I was sure that my husband would be happy that I was being considerate enough to remember what he liked, and make it for him. I felt like a very attentive wife. I was therefore very puzzled when he was not happy, and did not consider this behavior to be considerate, but instead insisted that I was being self centered. "How can giving you what you like possibly self centered?" I wanted to know.

"Because you know how to do it right, and insist on doing it wrong."

"'Right' is however a person likes it!"

"Most people like their beef on the rare side."

"I am not cooking for 'most people!' I am cooking for specific individuals, not random passers by! And I am making sure that each person gets what they like, not what strangers might want!"

It made no sense at all to me.

I also could not understand why this was a big deal. Statistically, we were supposed to be arguing about money, sex, in-laws, chores, child rearing - and we're stuck on food. FOOD.

After literally years of this, I finally discovered a few things that finally shed some light.

One, my husband did not see this as a disagreement or a misunderstanding. He was positive that I knew exactly what he meant, and why, and my insistence on making my own food outside of what he considered to be the norm was a posturing attempt to dominate, control, and assert that I was the Alpha in the relationship. Holy cow. I never would have gotten that interpretation, not in a million years. I did, however, think that his behavior was controlling. (I mean, who tells people how they should like their food? Also, I think that if you have an Alpha in the relationship, it's unhealthy.)

Two, he was sure that if you disagreed with someone (about anything, really), you thought, and were saying, that they were stupid. ("If you thought they were smart, you'd agree with them.") He therefore felt criticized and judged - ironically, exactly how I felt.

Three, he was sure that there was only one best way to do anything, and that people should be concerned with doing anything "right," so individual tastes were irrelevant. Saying, "Bob likes it this way, but Susie likes it that way" was the same as saying, "We're doing a really mediocre job, and encouraging chaos and selfishness." It didn't matter how you liked it, it mattered what was right. And if you liked things the wrong way, you should be embarrassed, and should stop doing it wrong, no matter how you felt. Who wants to be wrong? And if you point out to someone that they're wrong, you're being helpful.

Wow. This was not how I was raised:

"I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal... The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality." ("The Right Way")

This was not a matter of morals or physics, and therefore, to my mind, there was no possible way to be "wrong."

Four, the fact that I kept using the word "I" confirmed to him that I thought my opinion was the only thing that mattered, and I was therefore, by definition, being selfish and self centered. When I said, "I like it this way," he heard, "I do not ever need to consider anyone but myself."

On the other hand, I had studied communication in school. Plus, I'd approached marriage the same way I approached anything, by reading voluminous amounts. I knew that making "I" statements is what psychologists and relationship experts advise. It tells your partner what you're thinking and what you need, and avoids inflammatory, blame placing statements like, "You make me so mad."

Five, he thought that he was being a considerate partner by looking beyond what I was saying to try to figure out what I "really meant." He also thought that being vague avoided putting people on the spot, or hurting feelings. I thought that I was being a considerate partner, and avoiding misunderstanding, by being clear and literal, and taking what he said at face value. I thought that he'd appreciate my lack of game playing, and avoiding infuriating behaviors like, "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." I find vagueness infuriating and unhelpful.

And you can be sure, all of this affected far more than our discussions about steak.

Holy. Cow.

So, now knowing these things, are we living in perfect harmony? HA HA! You're so cute! No. But understanding is indeed the first step.

What we try to do is consider our partner's style. It's not a case of, "I'm right, you're wrong." Intent is important.

He has to try to remember take what I say at face value, without looking for ulterior motives. I have to try to remember that he may not actually be saying everything that he wants me to know.

Of course, he still thinks that the way I like my steak is weird. I think it's weird that the way I like my steak concerns him. But we've learned how to avoid arguing about it.

You know when you hear that someone's getting a divorce, and one partner says, "I was completely blindsided. I had no idea my spouse was unhappy," and the other says, "My spouse knows perfectly well why we're divorcing! S/he knows that I'm unhappy, and that I've been this way for a long time! This cannot be a surprise!" I understand now how that happens.

What you think you're saying may not be what other people are hearing.

Lady in Black

I was recently telling my son about the outfit I wore for my kindergarten school photos, and how I loved it, and the silver caps on my front teeth. "I thought those were so cool."

My son replied, "So, what I'm hearing here is that you've never had any fashion sense." Nope. Never. None.

I've finally figured out how not to be completely inappropriately dressed, I think. Not inappropriate as in revealing - I'm not an exhibitionist - but just a deep, inborn inability to figure out what goes with what, what looks good, and why.

Someone once asked me if I owned so much black because I thought it was slenderizing. (I am nobody's idea of goth, and never have been, so that option is out.) I thought that was very funny. First, it's hard to "slenderize" someone of my bulk. Second, I don't think that anyone needs to be slender in order to look good.

Third, and most important, I just can't summon much interest in looking fashionable, or shock value unfashionable; really, in wondering too terribly much what anyone thinks. I try not to be offensive or otherwise sabotage any chance of functioning smoothly in everyday life, but that's it. I had a baby at 20 and another at 21. When you're responsible for keeping another human being alive and safe, nothing else seems very important at all. All I had room for in my head and my day were things that directly affected my children's health or safety. I couldn't possibly spend that time wondering if my shoes "went" with my pants. I barely summoned up interest in whether something was flattering or not; comfort is king.

That's where black comes in. You can't mess it up. Everything matches it - darks, brights, pastels, patterns, florals, winter wear, summer wear; black is universal. It also doesn't show messes very readily - something that is important when you have small children in your life.

I also needed a lot of black, including maternity clothes, to work backstage on the theater productions on which I spent a great deal of time.

It's just not possible to go wrong with black.

Then, I discovered that there is a downside to black clothes.

I tend to assume that people mean what they say and say what they mean, so I don't spend a lot of time looking for subtext. (I know. Stop laughing.) When I'd be in all black in the dead of a Nevada summer and someone would ask, "Aren't you hot?" I would assume that they actually wanted to know if I was comfortable, and that being assured that I was was enough.

We have relatives, though, who are sure that any direct question, and any direct answer, are rude. I had no experience with this kind of thinking, and still find it difficult to navigate a landscape of hints. I spend my time giving literal answers, and they spend their time wondering why I'm clueless.

Years ago, my little family of four was at an extended family picnic in July, and I was oblivious to the fact that I looked out of place. I hate changing my clothes, and try to avoid it unless I'm very dirty or having to wear something uncomfortable. Otherwise, I put on what I'll need to wear at night first thing in the morning, and wear it all day. This was especially true when my kids were very young, and a lot of what I did, including any theater, meant a 45 minute one way drive. I was not about to pack basically an overnight bag just to go into town shopping or visiting relatives, then change for the show if I was tech crew. (Costumes, obviously, are in a different category; you don't want to take a chance ruining or staining them.) So, at this picnic, I wore a black top, black pants, black socks and black lace up canvas shoes. In July, in Nevada. It made sense to me, my husband and my kids, and I didn't really think about anyone else.

Most of the other women were dressed one of two ways - denim shorts and expensive athletic shoes, or floaty floral dresses and sandals. I knew that I didn't look like that, but I honestly didn't think anything of it. Then, after an hour or two, my five year old niece approached.

"What, are you going to a funeral?" she demanded, hands on hips, looking me up and down. I could sense her mother being horrified, but I was totally charmed by this. If you want to know, ask.

"No, I'm working backstage on a play later. We have to be in all black so the audience doesn't notice us moving things on and off stage."

She looked slightly puzzled - the concept of "play" may not have made sense to her - but she said, "Oh. OK." She waltzed away, and I became aware of a ripple going out through the rest of the relatives, starting with the ones at the table next to me. There were exclamations of, "Oh! "OH." "Oh!" rippling across the yard. Apparently, the fact that I was "inappropriately" dressed had been the subject of much speculation, but they all considered it more polite to discuss and theorize amongst themselves than to ask me outright. There was a great deal of relief that "there's a reason."

I was left thinking, thank heaven for my niece. Who knows what bizarre theories were being floated? Come on, folks, just ask!

I still didn't fully comprehend that I may occasionally look out of place.

A few years later, I was head of stage crew for a musical. I loved the show; it's still one of my favorites. I frequently wore the button with the name and logo of the show, with the dates and theater information in small print.

I was 26; you know how 20-somethings are frequently fashionistas? Yeah - not me.

My oldest daughter, in kindergarten at the time, had a Girl Scout activity in town, an hour away from home. I had a show that night, so, of course, I was in head to toe black. I had also put on a string of small multicolored beads, since my husband was always encouraging me to accessorize in colors to spice up the unrelenting blackness. They were small enough that I could keep them on during the show without them being distracting. I also wore the publicity button for the show, "Assassins."

Yeah; you probably already see where this was going. I didn't.

I stood there in my sunglasses - it would be another few years before I had prescription lenses that darkened outdoors - my black clothes and shoes, and my big red button that had the crosshairs of a gun sight and the word "Assassins" in bold letters, waiting for my daughter to be done. The room was full of adorable little cherubs in Scout uniforms, including mine in a bright blue Daisy smock. The other mothers formed those groups that everyone else seems to form so effortlessly, and chatted. No one chatted with me, which was fine, but a few of them kept throwing me wary, sidelong glances. I had no idea what that was about, but little inclination to figure out why. Humans are a mystery.

Finally, a woman I knew from church left her little group and walked over to me, I assumed to say hello. Instead, she said, "Assassins, Sharon?" in a tone of outrage.

Whoops. Yeah. Not sounding very child friendly, is it? And here I am in my sniper clothes.

"It's a show. At the university. I'm head of stage crew." She continued to look at me uncomprehendingly. I felt compelled to keep talking. "It's about people who have killed, or tried to kill, presidents of the United States." Still no real response. I kept talking. "It's really funny. It's a musical."

Finally, a reaction: "A musical?"

"Yeah. It's great. You should come see it."

I was not successfully selling the concept.

"We have a show tonight. These are my stagehand clothes."

"Oh. I wondered."

She went back to her little group, where I saw her mouth moving, and the O formed by the mouth of the woman next to her, as she received the explanation.

Yeah; not selling any tickets here. Whoops. Unsuccessful attempt at publicizing my show.

When the event got over, and my little cherub ran up to hug me and started to chatter about all the things she'd done, I saw some of the other moms look even more amazed. Come on, ladies; would you have liked it better if I and my "Assassins" button were hanging around this event without my having a child there?

They probably still feel bad for my daughter and her tragic upbringing.

And I still wear a lot of black clothes. But not because they're slenderizing.

House Hunting

Watching television the other night, I was puzzled. I was watching people behave in ways that make no sense to me.

That shouldn't be surprising, really. I shouldn't expect everyone to be like me, and I like to think that I don't. I'm baffled, though, more often than I like to admit.

I was watching one of those real estate shows - people go shopping for a home in a certain city, and we, the audience, get to watch. We watched a couple with small children, relocating overseas, and a teacher buying her first home.

The relocating wife said, over and over, that it was important to her to "experience (the country's) lifestyle;" it seems to me that it's impossible to avoid it. You'll be living in another country. It's inevitable that you'll experience their lifestyle, even if you try to avoid it. Still, they'd look at properties, and she'd complain, "I can't experience (the country's) lifestyle here."

She'd look at bedrooms and say, "This is tiny! It's smaller than our closet back home," and be astonished that, "There's only one bathroom?"

"That's very typical of (our) houses," the agent would say. Apparently, that was not the "authentic lifestyle" that the client was hoping to experience.

One home, that I thought was darling, was below their budget. It was on a riverbank in a beautiful area that was described as being 15 minutes outside of town. It had a big yard (important to me, and fun for the kids), was across from a park, and near walking trails. The wife hated the downstairs decorating, which seems to me to be a small thing - it's relatively easy to paint and hang new art. She was very unhappy, though, that there were no stores or restaurants in easy walking distance. "I don't want to get in the car every time I want to go somewhere," she said. That, too, apparently kept her from "experiencing the lifestyle."

One home was quite a bit outside of their budget. Both husband and wife said, "Ooh," and grimaced when the agent told them the price. "That'll be quite a stretch," the husband said doubtfully. Still, the wife lit up as soon as they walked in.

"Look at the chandelier! It's gorgeous!" she said. I was thinking, "For that kind of money, the chandelier had better come to life and clean the house," but they didn't seem to be thinking the same thing. "It's so elegant!" the wife said. "And historic!"

As much as she loved the house, she loved what was outside the house even more. It was easy walking distance to the market and restaurants. The wife glowed. "Now this is the lifestyle that we came to experience!" she said.

They chose the expensive house. "We'll just travel less than we originally planned," the husband said. They were moving to a European nation, and had originally planned to use the time there to see more of Europe.

"Well, the kids are little. Maybe this just isn't the time of our lives to travel," the wife said.

I was left thinking, seriously? She'd rather have a really expensive house so that she can walk to the flower vendor and bring bouquets home to enjoy them under the elegant chandeliers than travel through Europe? I just can't imagine.

Obviously, to her, the country's lifestyle was synonymous with "urban" and "elegant." I have no problem with urban or elegant, but it irritated me immensely that she kept insisting that she wanted "authentic" when what she wanted was urban. They're not the same thing. Just be clear with the agent, and yourself, that you don't like suburban or rural areas. It'll waste less of your - and their - time.

As a newlywed, I lived in a rural area, outside of a small town. We bought a home about ten minutes from town. The only business that might have been in walking distance (and that was a stretch) was a gas station. My kids would have had to ride the bus if they'd been school age.

Many of my friends and relatives found my living circumstances to be varying degrees of undesirable, and used words like "tacky," "provincial" and "middle of nowhere" to describe it, but no one would have said, "You're not living an authentic American lifestyle." When they sang the praises of where they lived, or tried to convince me to relocate, they never said that it was more American or more authentic than where I lived.

If someone had moved there from overseas, I would not have expected them to say, "It's too bad that I won't be living an authentic American lifestyle." I would not expect them to move back home saying, "Gee, I wish I could have seen what America is like."

The single woman wasn't worried about being authentic; she said that her biggest concern was safety. She said that the scariest thing that had ever happened to her was having a man stand outside her home screaming, and then throw a chair through her window.

To that end, she'd specified the part of town she wanted, a part she assumed to be safe. She wanted to adopt a dog, so in addition to safety she wanted outdoor access.

She was shown an 8th floor condo in a lovely building that she deemed very safe, but it was a bit pricey, and she thought that "coming down 8 floors in the middle of the night so the dog can go potty seems a bit much." A less expensive ground floor condo impressed her because it was gated and necessitated a security code, but the fact that the bedroom window faced the alley - basically, the complex's driveway, giving access to the garage units and dumpsters - caused her a great deal of concern.

"You can always get security screens," the agent said. (She also sniffed to the camera later that, "In her price range in that neighborhood, she's going to be on the ground floor. She's going to have to deal with that.")

The agent also took her to a small, two bedroom house. "This neighborhood makes me nervous. I notice that there's businesses mixed in with the houses," the client said. I found it very amusing that the last client had been delighted by having businesses in walking distance, but it made this client nervous. (They weren't questionable businesses - no porn shops or the like.) "And this street seems very busy."

The house had a back yard that the client loved. "It's very private. Your neighbors can't see in, and there's plenty of room for a dog." She liked the house, until she opened the blinds on the master bedroom window. She visibly recoiled and turned on the agent as if she'd just discovered machine gun toting assassins.

"I told you how important safety was to me, and look at this! It looks right out front! The street is right there!"

At that point, I'm thinking several things. Was she unclear that the room was in front of the house until she physically opened the blinds? Was she unclear about how far away the street was? She just seemed so surprised, and I don't know why. I mean, it is TV, they probably ask people to amp up their reactions, but it still seemed odd.

Then, too, I'm unclear on how this made it unsafe. There's a light on the porch, there's a street light in front of the house, and yes, it's a fairly busy street; this means that it's the least likely spot for anyone to break in. Criminals try to avoid being seen. The backyard that she, and the cousin she brought along to help her decide, swooned over was a far more likely spot for a break-in. Out of sight of the neighbors or passers by, someone could take their time jimmying a locked door or window. Going into the unused guest room is also far safer and more likely for a house breaker than going into an occupied room in plain sight of the street, the neighbors, God and everybody.

Then I thought about a conversation with my middle daughter recently. I spent a month and a half sleeping in my living room, recovering from surgery and unable to climb the stairs to my bedroom. "Doesn't that creep you out?" she wanted to know.

"No." I wondered what about my living room was creepy. I mean, my decorating isn't everyone's taste, but it's certainly mine.

"You're about three steps away from the door."

"Is anybody going to be coming and going while I'm in bed?" I can handle people seeing me in my jammies (but they'd better not wake me up if I'm sleeping).

"Probably not. But you're right there if someone breaks in."

"The front door is the least likely place for anyone to break in." Maybe we've all been watching too much TV; criminals will likely not stand on my front porch fiddling with lockpicks. We also have a porch light, a streetlight in front of our house, and clear visibility up and down the street from the front.

Seeing a person in evidence is usually a deterrent, as well. Brian Mitchell, who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart, worried that he'd come across an adult in the house. He once tried to take another girl, but abandoned the plan because someone was sleeping on the sofa in the chosen home. He couldn't risk being seen or heard.

If my house is empty, it would be worse if someone broke in, because they'll have ample, unobserved time to wreak havoc and take my stuff.

Maybe most people worry about being near the front door. Maybe I'm unaware of how most people think.

Maybe the home buyer worried that people would see or hear what was happening in her house, and that made her feel exposed, which she equated with unsafe. Close the blinds at night, and you've fixed 90% of that. No one is going to stand in your front yard, in clear view of the neighborhood, peeking in through your closed blinds. They'd be arrested. Very few people will stand on the sidewalk and listen to you. (And if you're loud enough for people driving by to hear you, well, you have other issues.)

For that matter, in that private back yard, put security screens, motion sensor lights and maybe an alarm on the windows and door. Those and the dog she was hoping to get will deter probably 95% of criminals.

Was being on the ground floor really part of what made her nervous? I've never lived in a large city, where, in the words of the old TV show "Mad About You," homeowners generally "own square footage hundreds of feet in the air, like normal people." Safetywise, it seems to me that in a high rise, you'd have bigger worries about fire, earthquakes, plumbing leaks, power outages and dozens of other issues that seem to more than balance out any "danger" of being on the ground.

She bought the gated condo, in case you're wondering, and put in security screens.

Both times, the camera crew went back to see how they liked their choices; both times, the clients were very happy. That's good; one choice is not best for everyone. That's why there are choices.

I just didn't understand their thought processes.

Or maybe it's the way they expressed themselves that I didn't understand. If the first woman would have said that she valued urban living, and the second had said that she valued privacy, what they said and did would have made sense to me. Instead, I was baffled.

Human interaction is difficult.

Also, I don't think I'll ever want a career in real estate.

The Right Way

Before I got married, I had heard a great deal about how difficult it is to merge two very different people from different backgrounds into a harmonious team. I thought I was pretty ready for it; we discussed money, kids, where and how we'd spend our holidays, all the basic stuff, and I thought we had pretty well reached agreement.

Then, I got married, and I got used to living with another human and making joint decisions. I felt accomplished. I read (fairly obsessively) everything I could find on marriage, divorce, gender differences and the like, and I felt even more accomplished. I got this!

Of course, real life is messy, and you end up encountering things that you never imagined existed.

After we'd been married for years, had kids, bought a home, negotiated all kinds of marriage stuff together, we were having a familiar argument. It was one of those "you or me" situations - you know, "Either you have to do this or I have to." Those things are things like who'll deal with a misbehaving child, take out the trash, cook a meal, make reservations - a job that must be done by one of the two parents in the house. The same principle applies in situations like when you'll have sex, or where you'll go for the holidays - in general, one person will get their way, and one won't, because chances are, you'll never feel exactly the same about it.

(Before you split hairs, and say things like, "You could hire someone to do that for you," or tell me that one partner could seek out someone else to have sex with, let's establish that the parameters of what's acceptable or possible in our marriage have already been set, by us. There's no money for professional cooks, housekeepers, nannies etc., and adultery is bad.)

My husband said, in irritation, "It's not all about you, you know."

I just couldn't believe that he'd chosen an argument that I thought was guaranteed to make him look bad. "Every once in a blue moon, it should be about me. Choose any method of measurement that you want, and any time frame at all - hours in a day, days in a week or in a month, months in a year - and tell me how often we do things your way and how often we do them my way. I have completely given up on ever having anything that resembles 50/50, but every once in a while, in order to keep things from being ridiculously, unhealthily lopsided, it needs to be about me."

He stared at me astonished, as if this thought had never occurred to him. He's a bright guy, my husband, so I was in turn amazed that he apparently had never considered this.

It was obviously still bothering him two or three days later, because he said, apropos of nothing, "I don't know where you get this whole 50/50 thing."

I thought, "Really?" Again, he's a bright guy. How was this new information? I said, slowly and carefully, "Because there's two of us. That means that things should be divided roughly in half. 50% of the time we should do it your way, and 50% of the time we should do it my way." How was it possible that this was not completely obvious?

I don't advocate a complete tit-for-tat exact accounting of every dollar spent ("OK, you spent $10, so I get to spend $10"), or having each partner take out the trash an equal number of times. That sort of system is an unworkable exercise in insanity in my book. It makes complete sense to have one partner do some things more often than the other. I do 99% of the laundry in our house, 100% of the bill paying and gardening, and about 75% of the cooking. My husband does 100% of the auto repair and maintenance, as well as the computer and appliance repair and trouble shooting. (Trust me, you do not want to hand either of those jobs to me, ever.) But in some very important areas, there needs to be something resembling equality, or things head south in a handbasket very quickly. If only one partner can make decisions in the bedroom, for example, that's deeply unhealthy. And don't even get me started on the fury I feel when men refer to taking care of their own children as "babysitting." It's not babysitting when their mother looks after them; it's most assuredly not babysitting when their father looks after them.

This was not the way my husband saw the world. "His" way, he explained, had "nothing to do" with him, personally, or his opinions on any subject. It was just "the right way" to do things.

Holy cow. Major lightbulb over the head moment. This explained SO MUCH! Suddenly, virtually every argument we'd ever had made sense. Good gravy!

Why hadn't he explained to me that this was his world view, I wanted to know. He was puzzled as to why I had asked. It had not occurred to him that there was another way to view things. He hadn't explained for the same reason he'd never told me that socks go on before shoes. Wasn't this something that everyone knew?

I, on the other hand, had never considered this way of thinking. There are so many right ways to do things, and so few wrong ones. Any judgement of "wrong" should be saved for matters of grave importance and moral judgement, or simple physics. Even then, realize that others may not agree. I know people for whom the Biblical injunction "Thou shalt not kill" necessitates catching insects, spiders, mice, scorpions and anything else that might invade your home and releasing them back into the wild somewhere safe. It means eating no meat and wearing no leather. For me, it means "Thou shalt not commit murder;" in other words, never decide that your wishes and aims are more important than someone else's life. There are times, however, in which it is perfectly acceptable to kill for food, clothing, shelter or self defense - and self defense includes having intruders invade my home. I will squash a bug or shoot a burglar and feel fine about it. I think that people in both camps (and everywhere inbetween) need to back off and allow each other clear exercise of their own conscience.

I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal. I also heard "Consider the source," meaning that you needed to take people's motivation and/or abilities into consideration when making a judgement on someone's actions or words. If they meant well, or were just dim, you had to cut them some slack. The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality.

I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!

(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")

Other times had made even less sense to me. For instance, I cannot stand it when he wakes me by grabbing my feet. The foot of our bed, of course, has always faced the door of our room, no matter where we've lived. It makes me insane when he wakes me by grabbing my feet. I wake up in a blind panic; I cannot imagine any legitimate reason for that behavior. I would rather have someone clamp a hand over my mouth than grab my feet (or ankles or calves). When I would tell him that, he'd say, "It doesn't bother me."

"Then I'll feel free to wake you that way. But I hate it, so please don't do it. Walk the few extra steps to the side of the bed."

This was usually met with some comment about my being "controlling." And, the next time he was in too much of a hurry to take three extra steps, he'd grab my feet. Every time, I got angrier, because I'd told him, very clearly, that I hated it. Every time, he'd be more surprised, because he had been clear that it didn't bother him. So, it's controlling to allow for individual likes and dislikes, but not controlling to insist that everyone has to be the same? Really? How can that be?

To me, it seemed obvious - I should treat him the way he wanted to be treated, and he should treat me the way I wanted to be treated. To him, it looked entirely different, but just as obvious; there was one right way to handle this, and we should both conform to that right way.

Other people suddenly made more sense, as well. I remembered going round and round with certain relatives about the planning of my wedding. They'd ask me something about our colors or flowers or some such, and I'd tell them what we'd chosen. I expected, "Oh, that'll be nice," or just "OK," but most of the time, I'd get, "Have you considered X?" When I would say yes, we'd considered it but decided against it, or no, we hadn't considered it because we didn't like X, I thought that the discussion was over. Instead, these individuals would bring the same things up, over and over, and I'd end up saying "no" over and over until tempers frayed. Then I'd get more of those comments about being "controlling" and "selfish."

"So, it's controlling of me to want to plan my own wedding, but it's not controlling of you to want to plan someone else's wedding?" I'd ask, and get no response that made any sense. Usually it was some variation of, "I just want to help," or, "I just want it to be nice." Please note, people: if you want to help, you ask what the bride wants, and then do that thing. You don't try to take over, especially if you say things that translate to, "It will be awful if we do it your way." Someone else's wedding is not about you and what you want.

Again, I was functioning under the assumption that every person needed to make and act on their own decisions, and other people were thinking that things had to be done "the right way," and if I was doing it "wrong," I needed corrected. I'd never really understood why people got frustrated when I didn't change my mind to mirror their opinions. I wasn't losing my mind because they hadn't ditched their opinions in favor of mine.

Mommy Wars - stay at home vs. employed elsewhere, breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding - and various other public battles made more sense now, too. Everyone thought there was only one right way, and it was their duty to enlighten others. Oh, my goodness. No wonder I didn't understand a great deal of common social interactions!

I now understood ridiculous, repetitive, circular conversations, as well. I've always made certain assumptions about conversation in general; I tend to assume that they're an exchange of information. You tell me how you feel, I tell you how I feel, and then we'll understand each other. I never understood, then, why conversations tended to go over the same ground again and again.

I'd say, for instance, "I like A." The other person would say, "I've always liked B better." The way I saw things, we now had enough information to understand each other's behavior and choices, and that was the point. I'd go on my merry way, wondering why the other person would belabor the point. "There are just so many advantages to B," they'd say. "B is just terrific. You really should try B."

"I have. I like A better," I'd say, wondering why we were going over this again. I would get totally baffled when they'd bring it up again and again. It also made no sense to me when they said, and they often did, "Most people prefer B." I could not understand the relevance. It was like injecting, "The capitol of California is Sacramento," into the conversation. It may be true, but I couldn't imagine what it had to do with anything. If they liked B, more power to them. I liked A. That's why there are choices. It turns out, though, that a great many people's idea of "right" is tied to consensus. Whatever the majority thinks becomes "right." Pointing out the majority opinion was their "subtle" way of trying to get me to see the error of my ways, and change my mind.

This is a bad idea on so many levels. One, I do not generally understand subtlety. It passes me right by. Two, the concepts of "right" and "wrong" are, for me, morality and religion based. Therefore, there really is no "wrong" way to serve food, or wear your clothes, or plan a vacation, or choose a paint color. This is why I have no interest in fashion. Don't tell me I'm wearing the "wrong" shoes or pants or colors or whatever. It's hardly possible for it to be "wrong." (My only clothing rules for my kids were that their clothes had to meet health and morality standards.) Also, in 5 or 10 or 20 years, everyone will have changed their minds about it. (Do you see anyone in MC Hammer pants and a mullet walking down the street any more?) Three, let's think about all of the things that have been accepted by a majority in the past (or present). Are all of them scientifically correct or morally acceptable? No. Therefore, pointing out to me what the majority thinks has very little effect.

This could be why these same people viewed me as "stubborn," "self centered," and, yet again, "controlling." (I'll cop to "stubborn." ;D) I still have a hard time understanding how these terms are applicable to someone who figured that everyone should go their own way, and not applicable to someone who was trying to badger others into changing their minds.

Sometimes, someone will accuse me of promoting chaos, or of being too wishy washy to take a stand. I think they're missing the point. While I may have a high tolerance for chaos, as a religious person I'm usually accused of being too rigid, with too many rules. I do, in fact, have very firm ideas about what is morally right and wrong, and I believe that one day, each of us will stand before God to account for our actions. The thing is, I am not God, and neither is anyone else on Earth, so we don't account to each other. Since we don't have to justify our actions to each other in big stuff, stuff of moral significance, how could it possibly be that we need to stand in judgement over each other for petty things, like our food and clothing choices?

There are so many right ways to do anything, and so few wrong ones. Give everybody a break.

After so many years, my husband and I have figured each other out, to a large extent. We will still occasionally look at each other and think, or say, "Huh?" That's because we're human. Still, we do pretty well, I think.

And now I'm going to exercise come of that controlling personality to tell you what I think you should do. You should make your own choices without needing a majority rule to tell you that you're right. You should let everyone else make their choices.

After all, there's more than one way to skin a cat.

More Misunderstandings

"It's women like you who make it very difficult for the rest of us," the woman said, fixing me with a hard glare. I had just explained that I do not care if my husband, my kids or even, if need be, my friends, get things out of my purse. My husband especially has my permission to get anything he needs out of it, including cash. I just need a note or a heads-up so I know it's gone before I try to spend it. He can rifle it looking for receipts or pens or whatever he needs.

Just so we're clear, this isn't one sided. I have similar permission to go through his lunch pail, the "man purse" he carries on vacation, his wallet or his pants pocket. He usually goes to bed hours before I do, so I occasionally take cash from his pants pocket while he sleeps, and leave a note: "Hey, I took $X."

Her husband had gotten something simple like gum out of her purse, the woman had told me, in a tone of horror that made it clear that I was expected to gasp, put my hand to my mouth and exclaim, "NO!" She told me, "It's more of an invasion of privacy than a gynecological exam."

I tried to be suitably sympathetic, but I just don't "get it."

I don't understand most gift giving presumptions, either.

On a message board for mothers, I recently read a very angry letter about a gift from a child's dad. Dad had been out of the picture for years and had recently resumed contact. Daughter was 5; he hadn't seen her since she was 2. For her birthday (or maybe it was Christmas), he bought her a sweater. Mom was outraged. "A SWEATER! Nothing for 3 years, then a sweater! I'm so angry I'm thinking of telling him he can't come over when he calls next!"

I'm aware that, since this involves custody issues and hard feelings, it's probably not about the actual sweater. It's probably about unpaid child support and court hearings. Still, the reaction seemed over the top.

I wrote back: "Men are notoriously bad at figuring out gift giving issues, especially when the gift is for a female." That "female" thing isn't exclusive, though. My father in law once gave his 15 year old son a Daniel Boone style fake coonskin cap. It would have been a great gift for a kid half that age. We have photos of my son delightedly wearing his through Frontierland at Disney World when he was 7. For a 15 year old, though, it was worse than no gift.

I offered my opinion that Sweater Dad was probably patting himself on the back. He was probably thinking, "It's practical, it's in her favorite color, she'll wear it every day." Unless told, I said, he would be unaware that anyone would look at that gift and think, "What is wrong with him?"

The mom who wrote the question didn't take issue with my answer, but others did. One woman wrote back that I (names are available on the site, and yes, she called me by name) was " a b***h." "Just because your husband is a loser doesn't mean that the rest of us have to put up with that s**t," she said.

Wow. I thought we were talking about a little girl's sweater.

I polled my friends. "Am I wrong about this?" Most responses were like this one, from a friend since high school - "If my wife didn't buy them, no one would get gifts from me."

It's not the first time I've felt that a stranger was unnecessarily penalizing my husband in matters unrelated to him.

Years ago, while reading a book chronicling the crimes of a serial killer, I noticed that the author seemed to be betraying a bit of bias. The killer's wife, unaware of what her husband did away from home, thought that he was "perfect." She waxed eloquent about how thoughtful and gentle he was.

The author felt it necessary to note, in some detail, though, that he was not the kind of husband who brought flowers home or surprised his wife with jewelry. "If he wanted to get me a gift, we went shopping for it together," the wife said. That made total sense to her. It makes total sense to me - that way, he won't buy the wrong size, brand, color or item.

The author said, in a veiled way, that the woman should have known that something was not right with her husband if he never sent flowers or brought home an unexpected gift. Surely, the (female) author thought, this was a sign that he was insensitive in general and devalued women in particular.

I think that's a huge leap.

In almost 30 years, my husband has sent me flowers twice. This is because I have been very clear on the subject - I don't much care for flower arrangements (or corsages). If he wants to buy me flowers, it should be the kind that I can plant in my garden. Then, they last for years. They're also cheaper.

I'm also not a big fan of jewelry. Almost always, the only thing I wear is my wedding ring. I have made it perfectly, abundantly clear that, if my husband wants to spend a lot of money on me, there had better be plane tickets involved. I do not want a shiny bit of something when I could be on a beach, or a boat, or climbing a pyramid, or seeing a waterfall. I want to go places.

I would almost always value experiences over things. For my birthday and my anniversary, I want taken out on a date.

Friends have tried to explain to me why I'm wrong. "Dates last for a few hours. Vacations last for a week or two. Jewelry lasts forever! You can hand it down to your children."

My kids are out of luck. I own costume jewelry; they're welcome to it. My mom left one piece of "real" jewelry, her wedding ring. (She has three daughters, seven granddaughters, a granddaughter in law and a great granddaughter.)

Another friend tried to explain that, "Jewelry is an investment! It will only go up in value." Uh huh. I know people who've lost jobs and homes lately, and tried to sell their jewelry to come up with a bit of much needed cash. They're usually offered far less than what they paid. That, again, makes sense to me. I can't eat a jewel, wear it, use it to keep warm, live in it - if times are hard, its value is next to nothing. I can't even trade it for much in the case of societal collapse, because no one else can do any of those things with it, either. An apple tree - now that's a commodity with value.

Last Christmas, a friend said, "My wife asked for a vacuum. I got her a sapphire ring instead." As far as I know, his wife was thrilled and he was trying very hard to be considerate. Still, if I asked my husband for a vacuum and he bought me a sapphire ring, I'd be furious. I'd say things like, "Do you ever LISTEN to me? Did you just meet me yesterday?"

For graduations and weddings, my kids know that they will get a trip. They've been to Hawaii, Florida, Mexico and Australia. I suppose we could have given them stuff, or cash, but when we celebrate we go places, we do things. We make memories. Life is all about experiences and memories.

My husband values surprise; I do not. He will not make wish lists or give hints, because he doesn't want to know what he's getting. I truly do not value surprise all that much.

At least we listen to what the other wants.  Many, many times, my husband and I misunderstand each other, but not about gifts.

It's hard for me to talk to other people, though. I'm not going to be overwrought about a sweater. I will not be impressed by a diamond tennis bracelet. (Why are they "tennis" bracelets, anyway? Does anyone play tennis while wearing them?) When people ask what I got for my anniversary and I say, "Dinner out," I won't understand why they say, "And?"

And for crying out loud, I'm not going to suspect that my husband's a serial killer because he doesn't send flowers.

Higher Ed

A friend recently wrote, poignantly, about her desire for a college degree and her regret at not getting one. Both of us can hold intelligent conversations with college grads on many subjects and neither has any reason to feel inferior. I wrote this years ago. I think the big difference between our attitudes is that I made a conscious choice not to seek a degree. I've taken community college and university classes. I may get that piece of paper one day. Looking through my daughter's course catalog, or the ones from the local U, has me saying, "OOOH, that sounds like fun!" frequently. I still can't justify spending too much money (and time) on personal fun at this stage of my life. So, I dabble. I pay for my kids' colleges - 2 down, 2 to go! And I am forever and always annoyed by people who think I'm living my life by default. I'm here because I wanted to be here when I made choices in the past. I want to be here in the future, which affects my present choices. Make no mistake, they are choices and I consciously make them.

One size NEVER fits all.

**********************************

I was always sure I'd go to college, from the time I was a small child. It was just a given fact. My parents, neither of whom had attended college, assumed all four of us kids would. They even had a plan to sell some of their property to pay for our educations.

Somehow, only one of us ever graduated from college, and it wasn't me. The land never did get sold, much to my relief. I know they were being good parents and planning ahead, but I hated the thought of whittling their gorgeous acreage down to a standard suburban lot.

All of us were bright. When you're bright, your teachers all simply expect you to do well in school and go on to college, and our teachers expected that of all of us.

I was a sophomore in high school before I ever questioned my path straight to the local university. I think it may have started with my rebellion against having my courses laid out for me. I'd always been in the accelerated classes in junior high, where kids were automatically divided by ability. That was fine with me; it struck me as the way things should be. I started to chafe when I entered high school, when theoretically I should have more doors open to me.

Part of getting older was getting to choose your courses. In junior high, they'd let us choose electives, but in high school we even got to choose our required courses. As long as we had the correct number of credits in each area, we could choose which courses we wanted to take. Did you want earth science or life science? Poetry or American literature? It was great. What bothered me was the automatic assumption that I would have the same taste as all the other smart kids; or worse, that my taste didn't matter.

It seemed that everyone, from my peers to my teachers to my guidance counselor, had already decided which classes I would take. My peers were the worst. Even in our freshman year, I'd get comments like, "You're taking Algebra 1 instead of Geometry?" in an incredulous tone. Well, yes, I was. It was accepted that The Smart Kids took a combined Algebra 1-2 class if they had to take anything "lower level;" otherwise they went straight into Geometry. Even Algebra 1-2 was too much for me to want to handle. Math was not my strong suit, and I didn't much enjoy it. My choices in other areas were equally suspect. "You are going to take (fill in the blank), aren't you?" When I didn't take Spanish – my elective slot was filled by a theater class, something that was nonnegotiable with me – people were aghast. "But you have to have four years of a foreign language if you want to get into a good university!"

By my second year of high school, I was tired of the flak. I was tired of hearing, "But you're so smart!" as though I had signed up for special ed classes or some such thing. I was sick of hearing that I'd "never get into 'a good school.'" I wasn't applying to Harvard, thank you very much.

In my junior year, I quietly decided that I wasn't going to college. I couldn't imagine my parents being able to afford it, sold property or no. I didn't think I'd get enough scholarship money to make a sizeable enough dent. Student loans rubbed me the wrong way - I hate debt. A full time student existence was not in my immediate future. The other Smart Kids kept expecting me to Get With the Program. They were continually astonished, or disgusted, that I wasn't taking trigonometry. Although I expected to hold a job for most of my life, I didn't really want a career, and I couldn't see knocking myself out to pay for something I wasn't going to use. I didn't say as much, to my peers, teachers or parents.

By my senior year, I was sure. When the other kids would ask me what scholarships I'd applied for, or remind me of filing deadlines that were approaching, I'd tell them, "I'm not going to college." If I thought I'd heard it before, I was now listening to a veritable, never ending chorus of, "But you're so smart!" People were horrified. One of my closest friends stopped speaking to me for over a week, he was so upset. He was far more upset than my parents were.

In both my junior and senior years, I took only one Advanced Placement course each year, and that was English. I could walk through that in my sleep, and on occasion practically did. Although it goes against my nature to do sloppy work, I was no longer vigilant about deadlines. The standard treatment for late papers was to shave off half a grade or a full grade (depending on your teacher) for every day it was late. Knowing I'd done an "A" assignment, I knew what grade I'd get for turning it in a day or two late. I was no longer worried about my grade point average. Occasionally I'd feel guilty about that. Once, my teacher wrote, "Why, oh why can't these be in on time?" on an assignment I'd turned in late enough that the "A" work had earned a "C." I liked her and felt I'd let her down.

I had no way of knowing ahead of time that my last two years of high school would be extraordinarily traumatic for me, for matters unrelated to academics. I've always loved learning for its own sake, but I left high school embittered toward teachers, administrators and school government in general. When I finally signed up for some community college courses a year and a half later, I was still so traumatized that I was literally sick to my stomach at the thought of walking back into another classroom. I cried for days. The courses were the fluffiest stuff I could imagine, too – art, local history and fiction writing.

I was annoyed, before classes even started, by the attitude of the student helping me register. They had a list of standard questions they were supposed to ask you, to help the school track its enrollment. "What are these for?" the student behind the desk asked as I handed him my schedule.

I was puzzled. "For?"

He looked mildly annoyed. I was supposed to know the script, apparently. "Yes. For. You know – going towards a degree? Personal enjoyment?"

Now I got it. "Personal enjoyment," I said.

He looked up from the desk, absolutely shocked. "All these?" he wanted to know.

It was my turn to be annoyed. "Yes. All these," I told him in a steely voice. It was three lousy classes, for crying out loud. I was tempted to snap, "Have you no personal interest in art, history and fiction?" but I didn't. I figured the answer to that was pretty obvious.

I enjoyed the classes. The worst problem I had was that my art instructor had a habit of doing things for me when I asked a question, rather than explaining it. I was having fun; I'd signed up in order to have fun. Success!

I disliked the tendency most people had to categorize. I did not like it when someone tried to console me about the school, telling me that, "Plenty smart students go to the community college first," or "You can always transfer later." I was not feeling insecure about the college or my place there. Why were others? I also disliked meeting students who hastened to let you know that they were only there temporarily, that soon they would be on to bigger and better things. I wasn't impressed, and I didn't care.

I was scheduled to get married toward the end of the semester. Just before the wedding, my soon to be husband was transferred to a facility three and a half hours away. We'd be moving to a new town as soon as we were back from our three day honeymoon. I dropped out of my classes, knowing that I would never make the commute to attend them, and too tied up in the wedding and moving to see if other arrangements could be made.

The next time I signed up for higher education, it was correspondence classes. By then, I had a husband, a mortgage and two small children. I was perfectly happy with the correspondence requirements. I had up to a year to complete any class. The work wasn't hard, and they actually liked it when I thought for myself. A lot of my high school experience had been spent regurgitating whatever the teacher said. The teachers seemed to like it that way. Quote the teacher's own opinion, and they were likely to feel that you were paying attention. Use your own ideas, and they thought you'd been ignoring them.

Maybe I'm just touchy, but I also disliked a great deal of the reaction to my education by mail. One friend tried very hard to convince me that I needed actual classes with a physically present teacher. "You really need the support, and the exchange of ideas! Nothing compares to the discussions you can have with a good professor." Well intentioned advice, of course. Really, though, I think the issue is that she needs to be surrounded by other people who share similar ideas, and she needs to be around a professor who validates her work and opinions. I really don't need that much outside validation. She always seemed to assume that I needed whatever she needed. After all, we were both Smart People.

I also hated it when someone thought I'd finally seen the light. "Now you can start using your brain!" they'd say. What did people think I did in my everyday life, drool on myself? Did they imagine that raising two toddlers could be done on auto pilot? Besides, even if I had a degree in my hand, I'd be doing the same things every day as I currently was. I wasn't trying to make a pre med program or design cities of the future. I just wanted to raise children and a garden.

I found that my best bet, really, was to not discuss it at all.

I also found that, in the absence of any statement to the contrary, people who met me as an adult assumed I'd graduated from college. I corrected them when they said something about it. I never thought I ought to be embarrassed by my lack of credentials. Of course, this brought on its own trials.

After we moved back within commuting distance of the city I grew up in, I went back to doing community theater. I'd spent two years working with the local university's repertory company before I got married, and it felt comfortable to go back to work there. The students got university credit for their participation, but the company was open to everyone in the community.

While doing repertory theater, I made friends with a funny, talented man named Mike. He was a few years older than I was. We had great conversations. I got along famously with him. We would talk for hours. During the course of several plays, we got to know each other fairly well. I saw him outside of the theater, even having him join my husband, my kids and me for holiday meals.

One summer, he went back to the state he'd grown up in. When he came back, we talked about the trip. It had been awkward being around old friends and classmates, Mike said. "Their world just seems so small. None of them went to college, and most of them are still living in the same town. We just had nothing in common anymore."

"You know what it's like, " he said, "when you've grown up and moved on and other people haven't. We couldn't even hold a reasonable conversation. Without the experience of college, they just don't have much to say or any way to relate to you any more."

I was actually very amused. "Mike! I never went to college!" All I had under my belt then were three dropped courses.

He looked like I'd kicked him. "You didn't?"

"No! And it doesn't bother my friends a bit. My best friend from high school is a lawyer, and we still have plenty to talk about." Silly me, I actually thought that he'd realize that he'd been judgmental. "Dan never went to college, either."

After that night, Mike all but stopped speaking to me. I found that I suddenly made him very uncomfortable. There were no more long conversations, no more visits outside the theater, no phone calls. He barely smiled at me anymore. It was aggravating, but what was there to do? I eventually just wrote off the friendship.

By the time we worked together again years later, he seemed to have mellowed. We saw each other only at the theater, but I was again included in his general conversation. I was treated the same way the other members of the company were, including the ones with performing arts degrees. That was nice.

I'll still correct erroneous assumptions most of the time, especially if it's someone I'll be spending a great deal of time with. Sometimes, though, it's just not worth the effort.

Recently, Dan and I were hired to photograph a high school reunion. One of the reunion committee members was talking to me after the big reunion dinner, explaining that he hardly ever saw any of his high school classmates any more. "I'm just not as close to them as I am to the people I went to college with. You know how that works." It was a statement, not a question. Now, I thought, was a time to spit out some of the pat answers I knew he expected.

"Sure. In college, they're there because they want to be, not because it's the law or because mommy and daddy make them go. They're spending good money to be there, too, so they're a lot more invested in what's going on. And, you're less likely to end up sitting next to some waste case."

His face lit up as he accepted me as a kindred spirit. "Exactly!" he responded.

There are a couple of people I grew up with who simply wrote me off as a traitor to the cause years ago. Some, I'm sure, are puzzled still. Most probably don't even think about me any more, much less assess my choices. And, there are at least a couple who, despite their constant talk about how smart I am, are sure that I took the course in life I did simply because I didn't know there were other options.

That kind of sentiment really irks me. I've known people to think that my self esteem was just too low; they're sure that I just didn't grasp the fact that I could go to college. One well meaning friend used to be very vocal, constantly saying things to me like, "You just don't realize how remarkable you are!" It was tedious. Here I thought the entire point of being smart was to chart your own course.

Luckily, most people with these opinions have stopped saying such things to me. I used to hear, "But you could have been (or done) anything!" as if I myself did not have that information. I know that I could have. I weighed the options, I chose, I channeled my energy into my choice. Isn't that what being smart is all about?

It was irksome, too, to deal with people who thought that I was somehow supposed to feel hindered, positively chained, by having been born into a financially strapped family, and I was supposed to see higher education as a way to rise above my station, so to speak. Unfortunately, I've never particularly seen the term "ambitious" as being complimentary. Most ambitious people seem to me to be miserable; they're always scratching, biting and clawing their way to their goals. I have a much more mellow personality. I also never feared being "stuck" in suburbia. Suburbia is a pretty nice place. My long range goals were never in conflict with a picket fence in the 'burbs.

I'm still good at the things I've always been good at (and lousy at the things I've always been lousy at.) I was never one to feel that my brain was atrophying or that I was being stifled by taking care of children and a house. What I do every day is far more challenging than anything I ever did as a paid occupation.

I also can see no sense in leaving my children in the care of other people while I went out to change the world. Why would someone tell me I was overqualified to spend my day with children? Do we want our kids to be in the care of people who are not bright, well read and capable? When my oldest children were small, I was quite aware that I needed to make a concerted effort to occasionally speak to adults, preferably about topics unrelated to parenting, but most of that was due to the realization that I could very quickly and easily lapse into an isolated lifestyle. Now, years later, I worry less about it than ever. If I end up in my own little universe, well, at least it will be one I created.

When I used to complain to one friend about feeling stereotyped, I'd end up feeling even more frustrated. Why couldn't people assume I was smart unless I proved otherwise, I wanted to know. Her answers tended to make me angrier than I already was. "Well, you have to understand that you're the exception," she would say. "Most people in your situation aren't."

"How would you know?" I'd end up snapping. She probably wasn't on speaking terms with half a dozen non college grads. How would she know what "most" of them are like?

I often read letters from highly educated friends whose grammar and punctuation make me cringe. I've had teachers send home notes with my kids that contain glaring errors of the same sort. I may be guilty of using too much slang in my speech and writing, saying things like "gonna" and "hafta," but by golly I know what the rules of the language are. Yes, I occasionally choose to ignore them. I'm sure speeders know the speed limit, too.

I enjoy education for its own sake. With luck and more than a little money, one day I may end up having taken enough classes to qualify for a degree. I won't feel any better about myself, and my career goals won't be any different.

I stopped years ago trying to convince this small, vocal faction that my self esteem is fine. I truly try not to worry about the people who fear that I've somehow been swallowed whole by mediocrity. It is not my job to worry about or change perceptions. If there is joy in being smart, it ought to come from knowing that you are doing with your brain exactly what you want to do with it.