Have you any idea of how often one person gains control over another person’s mind by way of facial expressions and body language so subtle as to silently and stealthily put that person down, shaming his/her spirit into complicit submission without so much as one word passing between them, suggesting our brains are more mystical in nature than most of us know … Perhaps, if this phenomenon is associated with the herding instinct, we may choose to engage in a discussion concerning the fact that within each herd is found one bull that has the balls to strong arm the herd as a whole until a second bull appears on the scene at which time horns will lock and holy hell will break loose while the rest of the herd stampedes toward the high ground, mooing loudly, back and forth, until one bull is declared victorious, and once again, all is calm … the moral of this short story is to reflect over who in your herd is most likely to grow ever so bullish as to horn in on your territory, bellowing so loudly as to alarm the herd, which had been peacefully grazing before the nervy interloper decided to start a stampede followed by rounding up the cattle at will so as to play Red Rover and then King of The Mountain at which time we come to see whom amongst us has developed the inner strength to stand up and reply, diplomatically—thanks for the invite but games people play in their struggle for power by pushing people down or being divisive in nature are not for me. That person has worked to develop into an existentialist—and though this member of the herd, tribe or whatever may start out as an idealist, with time, if intelligence takes center stage, this person will be fortunate to evolve into an existential realist, having paid a visit to Disillusionville, more than once, after which insight opened his/her mind to embracing an ideology of realistic optimism as his/her go-to attitude.
BTW—when the herding instinct relates to friends, family, colleagues and neighbors, tis helpful to know that bullish brains are not necessarily male.
As to why write of this phenomenon during this week of Thanksgiving? Because I feel so thankful to see my extended family united so lovingly as to ease each other’s grief struck hearts through yet another of life’s most distressing, stress inducing times.
👩🏼❤️👩🏻👩🏼❤️👨🏼👨👩👧👦👨🏼❤️👨🏻Annie
PS Steven’s decided not to spend this Thanksgiving at the cabin, suggesting our celebrating, together, as has been true, every year, except for once during his college days, at which time his presence, as our family gathered round the table to enjoy yet another mouthwatering feast, was deeply missed by one and all.
At that time, the person in charge of this decision, unbeknownst to our young son, had been his current girlfriend’s strong willed mother, whose mind had wielded control over her daughter in ways that Steven had never experienced at home.
As we’d sent Steven and his current sweetheart plane tickets to fly from Emory University to our home in the southwest, we were surprised as to why our generosity was being rebuffed until we’d listened to our son describe the nature of his girlfriend’s mother’s thought processing center, which had shown itself to be much more self serving than caring to consider any heart other than her own.
You see, it had previously been arranged that ‘our kids’ would enjoy Thanksgiving with us and Christmas in NJ with them. Then, when their son made a last minute decision to spend Thanksgiving with his girlfriend’s family in yet another state, our plan went up in smoke, because Steven’s girlfriend’s parents would have been alone. At that point, the matriarch of Steven’s girlfriend’s family decided that her daughter would spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas at home, being that we would have had additional children with us—and being Jewish—we didn’t celebrate Christmas, anyway
We were also informed that this arrangement would be perpetuated as the future continued to unfold (my take on the matter—this woman (who just might have become Steven’s mother-in-law) sensed a personal need to enforce a greater hold over controlling her daughter than her son.
I was determined not to engage in a struggle for power, which would have placed my son between a rock and a hard place, so when I cautioned his brothers to refrain from giving Steven a hard time, their frustration turned toward me. My response to their angst? Trust me. If we don’t engage in this battle for power, there may not be a war. As to Will, whenever diplomacy was called for, he gave me center stage. As to me, having had no clue at that earlier stage of my life that I’d begun to trust my intuitive powers to serve as my guide whenever I’d sensed that diplomacy was the best way to go (I’d chosen to gamble my way toward conflict resolution each time one of our sons, experiencing a natural growth spurt toward existential independence, felt need to buck up against the protective guidance of his parents).
As countless times my trust in diplomacy had offered both generations a mutually respectful outcome, I chose to embrace a diplomatic attitude, yet again.
First, I called Steven at school to give him my blessing, following which we both relished his sigh of relief.
Next I ordered a bouquet of fall flowers to adorn his girlfriend’s mother’s holiday table, sent with our wishes for a happy Thanksgiving.
Finally, I’d placed several homemade potato knishes aside to send to Eric via his girlfriend’s address, overnight, in readiness to surprise my son with our love upon his arrival in NJ.
And ultimately, following that particular holiday weekend, I began to ask Steven questions in hopes of planting seeds of self awareness into his youthful thought processing center.
How often do you go out with your buddies?
How often do you play hoops with your friends?
How at ease do you feel when we talk (weekly) on the phone?
You see, by now, my son had moved out of his frat house (where he’d been voted president) and into a small apartment with his sweetheart (Though we’d clearly pointed out that he was too young to act the part of husband at twenty).
Over time, I’d felt intuitive need to see whether daughter might have become as controlling as mother proved to be.
Had my concern been clearly stated, my son may have grown defensive rather than considering each question I’d asked with an open-minded attitude. And as attitude is everything when we’re seriously considering anything, I acknowledged the importance of my primary goal, which was to encourage my son to think for himself concerning where his life might be heading without his having had so much as one conscious clue—and as I’d witnessed this control freak thing take place between so many couples in my generation, I knew it was highly probable that Steven’s mind could become enmeshed within whatever satisfied his girlfriend, because my son, in addition to being a loving care taker, had been our family’s peacemaker.
Bottom line, while raising our trio of sons, I’d subconsciously encouraged one to grow ever more aware of the roles they might have unknowingly adopted, over their lifetimes, than had been true of me, during my youth.
Long story short, several months passed before a very surprising day dawned in which David disappeared with my car for a couple of hours, and upon his return, guess who followed his younger brother into our house, smiling widely from ear to ear!
Hi Mom! Hi Dad! I’m home!
And as Steven laughed at having pulled off his big surprise, we, feeling utterly dumbfounded, laughed, too!
Hi Eric! Where’s Maggie?
She’s at Emory! We broke up!
What? We asked, astounded! Why?
Mom, she went from being the sweetest person I’d ever met to becoming the most controlling girlfriend I’d ever had! She wanted to be with me 24/7. After we moved into the apartment, I realized that I wasn’t shooting hoops with my friends. We weren’t doubling with other couples. She’d stopped meeting up with her friends. And if I wanted to talk to all of you, I’d have to find a pay phone where I could talk sports for as long as we’d liked without the eagle eye suggesting it was way past time for me to hang up. Her mom dictated which law schools I should apply to, all on the east coast. If I expressed any opinion that was not in complete agreement with her own, her temper would flare, and I just got tired of fighting about everything and nothing! After today’s fight, I just couldn’t take it anymore! So we broke up, and suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get home! My finals were over, so I threw some stuff into a duffle, jumped on a stand-by flight, and here I am!
Though there’s lots more to write in order to flesh out this story (after all, I was living in an apartment, by myself, questioning my family value system when Steven and Maggie broke up), here is the primary insight that I hope to clarify by offering you this slice of the whole story, today: A mind empowered with diplomacy, based in a person’s insight-driven, power of intuition, knows when it’s best to plant food for thought in young minds in hopes of patiently steering the whole family away from becoming embroiled in divisive power struggles that accomplish nothing other than demolishing heartfelt relationships, which had started out as sweet and loving as Steven’s with Maggie until a deepening sense of discontent with each other’s personal needs bounced from wall to wall to wall until, ultimately, the last wall won, love shattered and as happens all too often, both sides are left feeling confounded, frustrated, speechless. resentful and personally wounded by the other.
Oh wait! I do have one additional detail to add before ending this post.
Once Steven was certain that his relationship with Maggie had reached a point of no return, I handed him the letter, written to me by Maggie’s mother following that formidable Thanksgiving experience. In this letter, Maggie’s mother offered up three memorable points of view:
Firstly, she said every mother would rather have a crippled chid at her holiday table than an empty chair.
Secondly, she said, wait until we’re fighting over who sees the grand children most often.
Thirdly, she declared our family ‘keepers’.
On the other hand, Steven, who did not see eye to eye with any of her assessments (other than the last), took one look at that letter and exclaimed—Thank God, I’m free!
Then we conversed over the fact that even if this letter had been written with tongue in cheek, every joke offers up a kernel of truth, and having read it, together, neither of us felt like laughing in the least. What we were doing, instead, was smiling at each other as widely as was humanly possible while an intuitive sense of mutually respectful relief flowed freely, back and forth.
More details of this coming of age story will surely be offered when our family saga reveals the fact that while Steven was flying home feeling free as a bird, his mother was living in an apartment in hopes of saving what little was left of her sanity, being that she’d hit a wall, which, upon shattering the family value system that had structured her entire life, we’ll witness, our friend Annie, questioning how, after twenty five years of marriage, her buoyant, idealistic spirit had suddenly spiraled into such a darkly disillusioned black hole …
And so, as we approach Thanksgiving, all these years later, I give thanks for having thought to open the youthful minds of my sons by touching their hearts with the gentle glove of diplomacy rather than an iron hand …
👩🏻❤️👨🏼 Annie 🧍🏻🧍♂️🧍🏻
