The scene is classic. It’s almost 7:00 p.m. and we’re just finishing dinner. My sister and I can’t wait to clear the table. Mom’s promised to teach us how to make a carrot cake.
The phone rings.
On the other side of the line is my 1st grade teacher. She’s distraught. We gather that much by the long-winded apology: “I’m so sorry to call this late. Really, I would not have called if I had other options…”
We can hear the conversation because Mom’s tilted the phone off her ear for everyone at the table to hear.
Her brow is furled and her eyes are rolling back, as the voice on the other side starts again, “If you can’t do it, I’ll completely understand, but you are always so accommodating…” Mom sighs.
Oh, no. I fear the worse.
I was right. Mom #1 on Teacher’s list, the one who signed up to bring the tray of 50 ham and cheese sandwiches for tomorrow’s fundraising event, is suddenly sick. Mom #3 has nothing to worry about—not now, not ever. Why? Mom #2 (mine) is a “yes girl.”
Confession: I, too, am a “yes girl.” I can’t say no, or so the myth goes (more on that later).
But it started when I was a kid, even before Teacher called with her sandwich order, hurling our carrot cake night into the trash and leaving mom sulking, dad grumbling, and two girls pouting. By then I had already learned that behavior in our house filtered through a very specific grid, which contained two simple questions: “What are people going to think?” or “What are people going to say?
Really! What would people say? What would people think? And who, please tell me, are these people?
This grid, I’m convinced, is the legacy of my Mexican-Chinese heritage, that is, unless you can relate to this dynamic. If you do, I’d love to hear about it!
