In 1993 when I was little girl
growing up in Florida I remember sitting on the couch in trouble. My dad sat
next to me while I traced patterns in the couch fabric avoiding his gaze, he was
concerned that I had not listened to him and that I would not admit it. This
was an unusual occurrence because I was good at listening and did not like
being in trouble. I cannot recall what I did twenty-one years ago to land
myself in hot water but I will always remember the speech he gave to me. He
looked at me and told me, “You are so stubborn… just like your mother… and your
grandmother.” This got my attention because that was almost like fighting words
in my mind. My mother had passed away the year before and my father loved her
deeply. She had a way of never doing anything she was suppose to, especially
when someone told her it was good for before she made up her own mind about it.
In the end I think that was how her cancer had progressed so much before it was
found, she would not go to the doctor and find out what was wrong because my
father suggested it. I suppose this should not be of any surprise because she
did not cook beyond heating stuff up for me to eat because she did not like how
the Home Economics teacher told her how cook. She wanted to do it her way or no
way. My grandmother, on the other hand, was the type of family member that cast
a dark shadow wherever she went. Being compared to her obviously could not be a
compliment. He continued on by saying that I am so stubborn and hardheaded like
them and that he did not want to watch me defeat myself in everything that I
do. My dad caught me doing what I was told not to and I continued to deny it
and would not give in. This got me into more trouble, but I was not going to
concede. Give in? Never! He told me that
his hope for me was that one day I would learn to be stubborn toward my own
benefit. I remember going to my room trying to figure out what could that
possibly even mean. I did not even think I was stubborn.
It took years for me to realize
what he meant by me being stubborn. Once my mind was made up there was no
chance of my opinion being swayed. This actually did turn out to be moderately
beneficial. I remember in 2000 I had turned sixteen and got my first car. My
best friend who was younger than me would ask me every day without fail right
before lunch period if we could skip school and go to the beach. She would try
every tactic possible by reminding me what a gorgeous day it was or how awful
my sixth period test was going to be. Unfortunately for her, I knew that my car
would get taken away and would not be given back. Each time she asked me I gave
her a firmly unwavering no. I didn’t feel bad, no guilt plagued me. The answer
was no and that was the end of that; I could go back to my school day business as
usual and no amount of pouting and whining interfered. She would get so
irritated that all she would ever hear was no that she would tell me that I was
so stubborn, to which I would just shrug my shoulders and agree.
Being stubborn started showing up
in the little everyday details. I would try to open a pickle jar and if someone
wanted to take it away from me to try, I would only try to open it even harder.
I was not going to quit trying. Now that my struggle was evident, I had to
prove I could open the pickle jar. I spent years in gymnastics so I incorporated
this into things that people do not normally do. For instance, I enjoyed
backward flip rolling off the bed as my dismount. All I would ever hear about this
little artistic flair of mine was that I was going to crack my head open. Naturally
my response to this would be to expertly execute my flip roll and smirk about
it, beaming an ‘I told you so’ grin. Even being told that I need to write down
the section in the parking garage is a battle of my will. That little voice
reminds me that you think I cannot; so I decide that I can and then I do. It became obvious that being told the phrases ‘you can’t’ and ‘no’ are
really an invitation to a great challenge. Instead, I hear: Yes let’s do this,
this is exactly what I should be doing, I’ll show you and/or why not? I am
afraid to do virtually everything until I hear that something cannot be done.
Suddenly my brain hears: challenge accepted! I just try my best or try harder
until I am right.
Reflecting on my adult life, I
think that this has become advantageous the way that my dad had hoped. When
others are ready to throw in the towel and give up, I perk up and keep plugging
along. In an organizational or team setting I think that I bring perseverance
to the table with my stubborn streak. Sometimes it takes someone not willing to
give up which helps others keep forging on and to try, try again. This sets the
tone that things can be accomplished and figured out. I am usually stubborn
enough to make sure I find a way, even if it is not always the traditional way;
I am willing to make it work. My lack of giving up is really a gift from what
could be a negative trait. I suppose I have some good parenting advice to
thank.
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