Courage

I am the eldest of six, raised in a family where a premium was placed on “being a Good Girl.” I learned that lesson well.

Fast forward to my twenties. To marriage. To three children. To visits with in-laws so different than my own parents. Small-town and small-minded.

So, here sits the Good Girl daughter-in-law at the dinner table in their small, overly decorated ranch house. Biting her tongue for the umpteenth time while the Father-in-Law spouts his hometown political views, views based almost completely on the particular situation of the guy down the street. Not global, not national–entirely local. And then he goes one step too far and begins to pontificate about health care–a topic with which the Good Girl’s mother, the nurse, is well acquainted, and about which they have had many conversations.

And he pontificates. And orates. And gesticulates dramatically. And she tries her best to insinuate an opinion or two, but to no avail. He bulldozes over the top of her small, tentative comments. Because he is The Man of the House. And she is only a woman.

The Mother-In-Law flits around on the periphery of the table, as is her wont, serving overdone meat and heavenly gravy to everyone, refilling the relish plate, and urging second helpings of more fruited jello salad. She tut tuts at her husband, urging him to eat, and probably hoping he’ll concentrate more on the food than on his oration. But he’s on a roll.

And the Good Girl tries again to make herself heard, but is bulldozed again, and given yet another local example to illustrate the Father-in-Law’s point. And her blood begins to boil.

And then, without thinking, she flings back her chair, stands up and declares in a loud voice, “A conversation is a two-way street. One person talks while the other person listens and then vice versa.”

The Mother-in-Law freezes, ladle suspended, dripping gravy on the starched white tablecloth. The husband smiles a little smile, nods, and keeps eating. The children sit frozen in their seats, knowing that something big has just happened, but not knowing exactly what. And the Good Girl, aghast at her temerity, remorseful for her disrespect, and embarrassed by her vehemence, flees to the bedroom and throws herself on the bed, hiding her head under the pillow.

What has she done? How can she ever go back? What will happen now? She wants to escape, to run far, far away.

And who comes to rescue her?

Surprise! The Mother-in-Law. The one who has said the Good Girl was not good enough for her son. The one who has despised her very existence until the grandchildren were born. Oh yes. That one. She came. And said, “It’s OK. You were right. He always does that. Come back to the table now.”

Which I did, beet red and trembling in my shoes. And my Father-in-Law apologized. And asked me my opinion. And listened. And I was amazed. At the change in him, but mostly at the change in myself. At my courage, albeit without plan or forethought. And what it had wrought.

It would be nice to say that my Father-in-law never pontificated on a political point again, but of course that’s a fairytale ending. But it is true that he listened to me occasionally after that. And that my Mother-in-Law discovered that I was more than her grandchildren’s mother, a necessary evil. I was a woman like her, and could be an ally. A kind of friendship was then born between us–strange and sometimes strained, but real.

But the biggest thing was personal. I overcame, for that one instant, the burden of Good Girldom, and I said my piece. And it felt really good.

Tagged as: Courage, Five for Ten Again