On Being Right. All the Time.

Deep within a side pocket of my purse, zipped up and completely forgotten (but carried with me nonetheless) is an old, weathered but indestructible I.D. card that assures me of my lifetime membership in the "I'm Always Right Club". This membership offers all the advantages usually associated with an exclusive club and has peripheral benefits and entitlements as well. It gives me free access to the "I Get the Last Word Club", the "Shut Up and Do As I Say Club", the "I'm Not Interested in Discussing It Club", the "If You Don't Like My Rules You Can Always Get Your Own Place Club", and occasionally, when provoked to defend my membership, the ace-in-the-hole "Don't Eff With Me Club".

It is an interesting fact that no other person in my family has a legitimate membership in this club, although they might try to convince me otherwise. The evidence of their lack of proper credentials is the fact that they regularly disagree with me. It is another interesting fact that none of the members of my family acknowledge the legitimacy of my membership. But no matter. I have, throughout my life, at least for as long as I can remember, exercised the rights and entitlements my card allows me.

I should also mention that my benevolent nature keeps me from over-exercising the use of my privileges. I more often than not yield to the outside world - that being friends and colleagues. I exercise my rights, almost exclusively, in my home.

From the time I was a teenager still living , of course, in my parents home I have always had the uncanny ability to know what was right. I would watch as my sisters got into scrape after scrape, made bad decision after bad decision and thought, often out loud, what idiots they were. I was, you might have guessed by now, "the good girl". Relatively, of course. From a very early age, I had an extremely acute awareness that responsible, risk free behavior led to peace in our household. And because there was rarely peace in our household, watching my sisters, and often times even my mother and father do or say what I considered to be stupid things could be unbearably frustrating for me. Interestingly, this lack of peace was something that everyone else seemed to adjust to and my efforts to make everyone behave were either ignored or ridiculed. I had some acceptance of this attitude because I was not, after all, the head of my parent's household.

But lo and behold, one day I was the head of my own household. Knowing what was right and following rules had managed to take me to a lot of places I never knew I could go, so I had great confidence in "sharing" my infallible knowledge with my own family. I would have a peaceful and harmonious home. Oddly, it hasn't worked out so well.

Not so funny, actually. When Amanda was in high school, I saw very clearly where her choices and behaviors were headed. As such, I forbade her many, many things - friends, activities, internet access. In all honesty, I was right in doing so because there was a lot of bad, dangerous stuff going on. But it didn't keep her from regularly sneaking out in the middle of the night. And I could not come to any reasonable terms with that. For all my desire for peace, our home was a complete war zone. Similarly, while my twins were less involved in "the party girl scene", their lack of interest in their grades set me completely on edge. Bob's capacity for "understanding" I saw as a monumental weakness. And I'll bet there isn't a neighbor in a one mile radius of our house who hasn't heard me on a rampage.

Let me tell you what is really at the core here. I truthfully cannot comprehend that the people I love don't want the same thing I want. And if I have to think about the one thing I want over all others, it is to be safe in all things. Even above being happy.

Seeing that in print has put me at a complete loss for words and I think I have to walk away from this for a while.