Getting It Wrong

Over the past few weeks I've been reading Being Wrong by Kathryn Schulz. She examines why we take such pleasure in being right and hate when we're wrong. She makes the case that we really shouldn't be so bothered when we make a mistake. As someone who loves being right, I highly recommend Being Wrong. It's helping me examine my own character.

Our world is filled with examples of people who screwed up in a big way. Americans, in particular, love to create heroes only to topple them when they blow it. We expect perfection in others without demanding it in ourselves. As Schulz argues, we toss off our own foibles as "being human," while we demand a higher code of conduct from others. In our 24 x 7 internet/cable TV culture, we're more than ready to pounce on the latest misdeed and dismiss any apology from the guilty party as window dressing.

This amuses me since apologizing to one person is hard enough. I can't imagine the humiliation in apologizing to the whole world for a slip of the tongue, an ill-chosen word, an inopportune moment. Maybe a little empathy is in order.

Getting a little older and slightly more mellow also helps you realize the folly in insisting on your own rightness, especially when it doesn't matter. (Let's face it 99% of the time, it doesn't matter.) The problem is that all too often when we absolutely insist that we're right, we are in fact wrong. If you've made a complete jerk of yourself while insisting that you're right, it's very hard when you're forced to admit your mistake. There's a lot less pain in the end if you're cordial when you disagree with someone. If you are right and the other person admits it, you can be the equally gracious recipient of their apology. But ultimately it's in being wrong where the congenial behavior wins out. Because taking a bite of humble pie is so much easier when you've laced the filling with sweetness rather than bitterness.

Why Do Men Like to Tease?

I used to think they pulled baby boys aside at birth and slid them a handbook on the flair and function of teasing their sisters with style. I had plenty of experience with teasing, practically from the time I was born. I have both an older and a younger brother and they practiced their skills on all four of their sisters.

My older brother elevated teasing to an art form – spending hours, even days, executing his particular brand of devilry. He’d speak to the middle of my forehead all day or call me any strange nickname he could think up or make fun of one physical attribute or another. In hindsight, pretty stupid stuff. But it’s enough to drive a seven- (or eight- or nine-) year-old to distraction.

My mother’s response was consistent: “Just ignore him!” I love my mother, but this advice was dreadful for obvious reasons. First is the essence of my brother’s nature. He is stubborn – even more stubborn than I am. Second, and more importantly, is the essence of my nature. I cannot hide my feelings. I am the world’s worst poker player. One high school English teacher said you could read my entire day on my face. Now imagine the combination of these two aspects in our respective personalities. If I had somehow managed to “ignore him” without for a moment imparting any emotion on my face – a feat that’s like climbing Everest for me – my brother’s response would be to try even harder to get a rise out of me. He would see it as an immense challenge worthy of conquering. Sadly, I never gave him such a challenge. Ignoring him is a practical impossibility.

My younger brother is also an expert tease, but he has his own unique style. Being a dozen years older, I avoided the brunt of his teasing, at least until he grew taller than me. When we could finally see eye-to-eye, he started pushing on the top of my head, to help me shrink enough so that I’d be shorter than him. Then he’d play word games, being deliberately obtuse and “misunderstanding” something I’d said to the point of ridiculousness. He still loves that game.

My brothers gave me a lot of practice dealing with the fine art of the tease. But I quickly learned the practice isn’t exclusive of sisters. Boys, in general, love to tease. They love getting a rise out of us and seeing us get all in a dither.

Most of the women I know don’t like this much. It’s irritating. It makes you uncomfortable. It brings out the worst in us. So why do it?

For my brothers, I can only guess that they couldn’t inflict any physical harm (no wrestling, no tackling, no hitting your sisters), so they resorted to a little mental torment. All siblings like to fight, and this is a good way to get your licks in without doing any physical damage.

But what about adult men? Is it a form of flirting? A way to get our attention? Going back to Mom, her response would be a resounding, “Yes. He’s only teasing you because he likes you!” That’s probably true, but aren’t there better ways of getting our attention?

Looking back, the tormenting from brothers probably prepared me for the strange teasing and games that happen in the adult world: in interpersonal relationships as well as the corporate world.

So why do men like to tease?

The only logical answer I can come up with is – because they find it so much fun.

It's the End of the World as We Know It

Forget partisan politics.
Forget the inability of politicians to put our country first or educate themselves on history.
Forget the doom and gloom spouted by religionists and economists.
Here's incontrovertible proof that the world is about to come to an end:
http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2009/02/12/in-ford’s-theater-obama-invokes-forbidden-word/

As every Shakespearean scholar and true theater buff knows, there are just some things you never, ever say. Invoking the name of the Scottish play – particularly in a theater – is absolutely verboten. Most of the actors, directors, crew members I’ve known or met won’t even speak that name outside a theater. But within the hallowed walls? Bite your tongue. It’s unthinkable. They can quote you numerous occasions where merely performing the Scottish play has brought disaster to a theater company.

Now the president has spoken that name in a theater, and a theater where another president was assassinated. Suffice it to say, nothing else matters. There’s no hope for us now. The world is coming to an end.