I don’t consider defiance a great character trait. In fact, I’d probably remove it from the list of my character traits, given the chance. Not that I think that’s wise, but because I’m embarrassed this trait is part of my personality.
Let me tell you a story. As a woman who has had to relate to defiance as a visitor – well, even a squatter, on this occasion, it did very well by me.
My father was a brilliant surgeon. He was also an alcoholic, which cost him his medical practice and the ability to relate to his eight children. In the last couple of decades of his life, he would drink himself into a coma about every 18 months. He’d be whisked off to the hospital and – probably through some very odd mix of luck, medicine, divine intervention, and a will to live (I did say an ‘odd mix’) – he would pull through.
These occurrences were not something his way grown children were told about. It was done in secrecy – with the exception of one son who would be called to help get him to the hospital – no ambulance – what might the neighbors think? Sometime after Dad would come home from the hospital – whispers would begin to circulate through the family. By the time several months had passed, we might all know about it.
Then there was a change in the pattern. We were told shortly after he was admitted. But, we were not to go see him, to call him or to in any way acknowledge where he was.
This is where defiance came to visit me, again. Alcoholism may have robbed me of a father, but it didn’t rob me of my love for him. I was incensed we were being told we weren’t allowed to visit him. We ranged in age from 35 (me) to 45. Certainly, we were capable of making some mature decisions. And I am a firm believer in the healing power of love and honesty. It’s so often what we hide that puts us in harm’s way, while acknowledgement may very well free us.
Photo Credit: Alan Hudson Photography
I went to see my dad. I was shaking in my boots. I knew I was breaking family rules and though I was doing it to challenge the absurdity of this situation, not just for myself, but for all of my brothers and sisters, there might well be no one who would support me. I didn’t call ahead. I just showed up, late one morning hoping to find him resting in bed. But I found him sitting on a commode. [click to continue reading…]
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When I leave you food and whatnot, you always give the cooler or basket back. The wiring was never pillaged, and you have never taken what did not belong to you. You always throw your trash away. I notice you mark off the days until you can’t be there anymore on the calendar I left with the date circled. One time you even left me a note and a page ripped from Peter Pan. I kept it. I felt like, even though we have never met, we had a relationship, and understanding of sorts. We get it, the boss and I. We do. And in spite of the insurance liability, we have let it be. A good bit of effort went into the convincing of your okayness.
The budget on that project is not endless. I run a tight budget. Tight. As in, I refuse to go over, regardless. Under is preferable. For instance, if you had five bucks for socks, you would get the best socks you could for five bucks. And you would try to spend four bucks. That feels good, yes? Well, now I am going to be over budget in that area and behind schedule whilst waiting for a new one. This means we have to switch a bunch of things around to work around this messy mishap. And I have to start looking around at where I can save the lost funds.
PS. I’m bringing chicken, rice and beans for dinner. I’m bringing baby wipes. I know you love those things. This will be a new box. I’ll leave them if you care enough about what I need from you, too.
TheLastStation.com
Everywhere you look, all over this country, we are implementing “Zero tolerance” polices for bullying and/or intolerance. Yet the policies are being implemented and ignored. People advocate them and criticize them, demand them and reject them. But “Zero tolerance” can work and does work. Why, then, are there so many examples of it not working?
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