all figured out

We think we know everything there is to know about a person. We think we totally get them. Once we’ve seen them act a certain way, treat others a certain way, or especially speak a certain way, that’s the box we put them into… as if they act, treat others, and speak to all people, always the same. We then base our so-called “boxes” on our often, unknown-to-be-limited perspective.

I get it. Sometimes people act that way more than once — maybe three, four, even five or six times. So by then, of course, as for me, I’ve got them all figured out. I know what makes them tick.

Let’s not even start on this year’s election and those running for president. I confess: many days I would tell you, even in hopeful humility, that I feel like I have them all figured out. I know why they say what they say — so calculated, strategic, and all with some hidden motive in mind. And when they say something that doesn’t fit with my creatively crafted narrative, I can give you a reason why they were not as they seem — why reality is wrong — and my perception is most accurate.

I’ll confess: I’m no huge fan of any left who are running for president nor all the justified demonization — but much of that has to do with the fact that I — and they — think we’ve got them all figured out.

So I must ask myself — extending this pondering past any polarized, election choice — where else do we do this? I’ll ask just for me: how much of my own perception becomes my reality for everyone else? … how much do I assume I know what other people mean and exactly what motivates them?

How much do I feel like I have them and their motives all figured out — negatively or positively — when my response is based more on incomplete perception than on confirmed reality?

Perhaps that’s easy to do with those we only see on TV, read about on-line, or have zero in-depth relationship with. Yet the thought became more poignant to me over the weekend, since it came from one I know well…

As has been proudly referenced here multiple times, one of my greatest privileges in life is being blessed to be the parent of each of my boys — one being young master Joshua. Let’s be clear: Josh teaches me things I never would have known without him.

Josh is now 14, a freshman to be, and budding with the wisdom and zeal to always embrace what’s next. (“Livin’ the dream,” as he likes to say it. “It’s what I do.”) As known to most, Josh also has Down syndrome. That is not a negative; that is merely one part of the way Josh was remarkably and wonderfully made.

Sometimes, though, Josh and I struggle a bit to communicate effectively (which, I will add, seems relevant with most teenagers at some point in time). One example arose this past weekend.

Enjoying his newfound fluency on social media, Josh updated his Facebook status with a brief, simple statement. He wrote: “My don’t like my own face.”

I knew he meant “I don’t like” it, but I didn’t understand the motive for his statement. Like many, I assumed he was a little down on himself. Granted, he’s not one that stays down for long — one of the many things he does far better than me. But I would later go to him with the clear intent to console. Note: I assumed I had what he said all figured out.

My attempt was greeted with an immediate “you don’t understand.” But then very calmly and quietly, he meticulously pointed out to me in all seriousness, “Mom, too many people have figured out that I’m a superhero. I have to change that.”

Shhhh… don’t tell him I told you. It’s a bit of a secret between us. Besides, he’ll think you have him all figured out.

Respectfully…
AR