Just Do What I Say

It’s 1998. I’m a newlywed, and I’m hiding in the ladies’ room of the fancy Indian restaurant.  I’m hiding because I just yelled at my father in the middle of the restaurant, burst into tears, and spilled one of those frothy yogurt drinks all over the place.   Wetting my pants wouldn’t embarrass me more than my loss of composure.

You lied to me!  You lied!  You said that you would try this time!

I can’t remember what my father said back to me.  It didn’t matter.  It was the same old thing: oh, I only eat this stuff when I’m with you – it’s special! Yeah. Right.   You’ve already had three heart attacks, do you think you can lay off the fried stuff now?  And I’ve already cried a river of tears over all the different hospital beds you’ve been in, so if you’re going to do it, can you please not do it in front of me?

So many people I loved were so, so, so self-destructive.

I can’t tell you how many times I looked at them and thought:  Just do what I say.  Do what I say and you’ll stay out of trouble.  Do what I say and your life won’t be such a miserable mess.

Do what I say and you won’t die.

But that was just a wish.  I never said it, and it never happened.  I knew they wouldn’t listen.  How many times had they not listened to me?

And then they got in trouble.  They got sick.  They suffered.  And then they died.

And I had to watch all of it.

The problem is that you can’t tell grown-ups what to do.  Well, you can if you’re in the military, or if you’re their boss.   Sure, we can order them around, but does it really matter?  Does it matter when can’t say to the people we love the most:  “Don’t you dare do that.  It’s stupid and destructive and I FORBID IT.”

We’re not supposed to boss adults around.  And they’re not supposed to give up that kind of control over their life: in our society, making choices is what makes you an adult, and letting other people make choices for you – even if they’d make better choices than you would – is embarrassing: weak and childlike.

I completely disagree with that.  It’s not weak and childlike to follow someone if doing that will improve your life: it’s modest, humble, and brave.  I know that it’s scary for Holly to trust me enough to be truly obedient: to do what I say.   To anybody who thinks giving up that kind of control is mindless or easy, I invite them to try it: they will find it takes both thought and courage.

Holly isn’t self-destructive.  If she was, I wouldn’t be with her: I’m done with all that, forever.

But nobody’s perfect, and everyone has one or two bad habits.

“That’s a clear broth soup.  It’s probably healthy.”  Holly says, looking at the menu in the pub.  It’s not exactly a place that specializes in healthy food – burgers and fish and chips dominate the menu.  “I’d never get fish and chips at home,” Holly says.  Her husband is very diet-conscious, and I suppose she feels it isn’t worth the lecture or the disapproving looks to order such a thing when she’s out with him.  “Do you want me to choose for you?” I say. “I can’t tell which is better: to tell you to get the soup because it’s healthy, or to tell you to get the fish because you wouldn’t get to have it otherwise.”

“It’s kind of a win-win,” you say, laughing.

In the end I order a plate of fish and chips for you.  It’s not the healthy choice, but the simple fact is that you let me choose.

You invite me into your life in this way – you invite me not just to entertain you, or to spend time with you, but for something much deeper and more pleasurable than that.
You invite me to be a good influence on you.  God, I love that.  I love, love, love it.   It feels so good.  You have no idea how good it feels.