I had an interesting conversation in the car with my husband yesterday on our way to the doctor’s office.
We were in his ’65 Dodge Coronet. We really were underslept and overworked, especially it being the first week back to work after our vacation time off. We were dealing with a behavior problem in our neighborhood that we’ve had to repeatedly inquire, attempt (poorly) to ignore, and fire off multiple alarming phone call between 3 and 4 a.m. – each one becoming angrier and more accusatory of blame sharing.
“You know, when I was growing up, I was always told to be an adult about things,” he said, staring at the red stoplight from his steering wheel.
I looked down in a slight shade of defeat.
“So now we’re adults, and no one gives a shit,” he went on. “They have an excuse for everything. Here they are in their 60’s or 70’s, and they have the mentality of a 12-year-old when it comes to being responsible [for this recurring problem]”.
I knew exactly what he meant. I stopped being an overly kind and empathetic and accommodating person to those outside my personal circle of caring the day my coworker at Texas State University called in bipolar (yes, she really said that) (I guess she’d run out of sick excuses) after her 600th missed day (or something) on the job. The audacity of her blatant lie to my supervisor, whom was THE BEST supervisor I’d ever worked for, shocked and enraged me. The behavior was killing us all and our department. My supervisor’s hands were tied. He couldn’t do anything to make her come in. I decided that day that if no one else had to be an adult about things, I didn’t have to either.
I often thought back and rooted my actions on a lecture I was given by my father when I was really young – like, “can’t think beyond yourself in terms of psychological development” age. From what I recall, I was up early one morning watching Saturday morning cartoons. I think I had the volume too loud.
My father came out, barefoot and huffing, and grabbed the remote. He got in my face. He told me (repeatedly) that I have to be CONSIDERATE of other people. I know he went on for awhile, but I do remember that this was the first time I had been knocked around to this idea. This idea that I was not the most important or center of – well, anything.
Granted: He was the lightest sleeper in the house.
I think it was still an important teachable moment, and I am glad that he took the time to correct me. That was one of the most meaningful conversations into shaping my personality.
This doesn’t mean I won’t go out of my way to be considerate.
Obviously the lesson still resonates strongly with me.
It just means that I’ve learned that firing the alarm once is a warning, calling someone on their behavior twice is when you run interference; and any subsequent behavior afterwards is 100% and completely on purpose.
I’ve decided that ‘always be nice’ is not a lesson I want to pass on to my kids. Considerate yes; nice – no. It’s important to know the difference.
Consideration from you and consideration from another mean that you both have appropriate boundaries; which is incredibly important in a coworker-to-coworker relationship, and a neighbor-to-neighbor relationship. It does not mean that you get to quietly suffer while trying to ignore something that interrupts your day, your production, your mental stream.
As smart as I’ve always been told I am – I still feel incredibly stupid for how long it took me to realize that.
Anyway, I’m done being nice and accommodating and trying to reason with them about something are being blatantly inconsiderate about. Next time, we’ll just call the cops. Let them deal with it.
