I enjoy being right. I tend to have strong opinions that I often don’t back down on. Even though I feel I excel at knowing everything, my husband may disagree. In fact, he gets downright giddy when I slip up, and becomes ecstatic when I admit it. Every once in a while I give him the pleasure of admitting I’m wrong, but secretly I usually think I’m still right. Maybe I am being a little sarcastic, but who doesn’t like being right whenever they can?
This trait I have, good or bad, seems to have been passed down to my oldest daughter, Molly. She argues with almost everything we say, and we have to provide real proof if we want her to take our side. For example, when I was pregnant with our third child, Molly knew without any doubt that we were having another girl. Lucky for us, she was right.
However, in case she had turned out to be a boy, we took Molly with us to the ultrasound. We knew that if the doctor himself didn’t tell Molly it was a boy, she would most certainly not believe us. When the announcement was made that we were having a girl, she turned to us and said, “See, I told you.”
Just the other day, Molly had the nerve to outsmart me in a car full of other kids. We were moving down the highway, and Molly’s cousin leaned forward to ask me if Eddie would ever drive a car. I said, “No, he probably won’t do that.” I told her that cars weren’t set up for people who were blind to drive them. Molly then asked about the car that is made for blind people. I had been telling her about a car that has been developed, and can be operated by a person without any sight. This car does exist, and men who are blind have driven it, but research is still being done to perfect it.
When Molly brought up this new technology, her cousin said, “Yeah, why can’t he drive that car?” I told them that yes, he might be able to someday, but that I imagined such a car would be very expensive. I said that even if people who are blind could drive it, we wouldn’t be able to afford it. I sat there thinking that the conversation had ended. I had advocated for Eddie by explaining that he could drive a car, but that it probably would cost too much. In my mind, I hadn’t lowered my expectations, or their own.
Molly leaned forward in her seat a couple minutes later and said, “Mom, what if Eddie ends up being a rich blind person?” Huh. It appeared I was outsmarted. I hadn’t limited Eddie’s abilities, but I had limited his future income, and therefore lowered my expectations. I felt like an idiot. I always talk about “setting the bar high,” and I myself lowered it. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud and announce that Molly had a very good point, and that I hadn’t thought of that. Not only did she surprise me by her insight, but she also made me extremely proud.