THE DEMANDER [R, 8-14-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Memories of An Old Man—THE DEMANDER [R, 8-14-25]

 

When I was twelve years old, I was once relegated to spending the day at the home of an older relative. I’ll call her Aunt Rhodie. One of my cousins was also parked there for the day.  I’ll call her Paula.

Aunt Rhodie’s care was only a matter of convenience. She was not the type to entertain children. She was willing to give us a simple lunch, but certainly not help us bake cookies or play table games. She didn’t even have things like table games in her house. She wanted to sit and listen to the radio and leave Paula and me to entertain ourselves.

That was okay with me. I could entertain myself just fine. I had a new comic book that I was eager to read. A new comic book was a luxury. Rarely did I have a nickel--or a dime for the really good comic books, like Captain Marvel or Classic Comics. And if my parents saw me reading, it reminded them of all the chores I could be doing instead. Aunt Rhodie’s was a good place to read a new comic book.

Except for Paula. I was a mature and sophisticated twelve-year-old. She was a bratty and entitled seven-year-old. The age and gender gaps were enough, of course, in themselves, to make it a bad day for me, but in addition, Paula was a demander.

She didn’t just demand that I play with her. She wanted to direct every step of the play. “You stand over there, and hold this just so…”

I knew how to play with younger kids. I had a little sister and brother. But they were really little kids then, four and three. I had lived with them, helped to take care of them, even changed their diapers, from the time they were born. If they wanted me to play with them, they begged, not demanded. And I was willing to play with them. Taking them off Mother’s hands was the one thing that did not remind her of chores she wanted me to do.

I sympathized with Paula. She was bored, too. But I was not used to dealing with demanding people, folks who felt they could order you around when they had no right to. Yes, my parents ordered me around, all the time, but they had a right to.

I never figured out how to deal with the demands of the arrogant. [Arrogance is not haughtiness, the way it’s often used, but the assumption you have a right to be in charge.]

The obvious way, of course, to deal with demanders is to say No. You “…draw your own boundaries,” or some other psychological phrase like that.

But if your whole life has been devoted to staying out of trouble, as my twelve-year-old life had been, you really don’t know how to say No. So, with Paula, and so many others through the years, I was passively resistant. I tried to make excuses why I could not meet demands, or act like I had not heard them, or didn’t understand them.

It's a poor approach. It’s dishonest, and so it takes a lot of psychic energy.

I did not ever want to say No because I am a people-pleaser. I want everyone to like me, or at least not cause me trouble. Not surprising, I suppose, that I spent my life in a career where pleasing people [and failing to do so] is part of the job.

But you’re old enough that you know this already. And if you’re a people-pleaser, and you haven’t learned how to say No by now, this is probably irrelevant to you.

About twenty-five years after that day at Aunt Rhodie’s, I officiated at Paula’s wedding. She was a highly accomplished professional woman by that time. I was reluctant. I didn’t think the marriage would last. But, I wanted to please everybody, including Paula’s mother, one of my favorite relatives.

So I stood before them and gave then their vows. I’m sure they were sincere in their answers. But the marriage did not last. It’s hard for demanders to change their ways, be they Paulas or presidents. Especially if no one ever says No.

John Robert McFarland