More blogspiration...

So, I haven't posted in awhile, which is mostly due to participating in a 2-week music teacher training course at a local college that was VERY intensive in the time and homework department. But that's over now and I have some spare brain space to blog about things I've been wanting to blog about. Except I've had a hard time deciding which thing to write about first; there are so many topics running about in my brain that it's hard to choose. So I'll go to an idea that was inspired by Wendymom's post titled "The Apple Doesn't Fall Far..." If you haven't read it yet, it's a hoot! That got me to thinking about how I, a Bossy apple, haven't fallen very far from my Bossy family tree--specifically Papa Bossy. Which may not sound very surprising--of course we'd be similar, what with being his daughter and all--but to me it was pretty startling when I began to open my mouth and my father's words came out.

Because when I was younger, with whom did I butt heads? Not my mother--I have been close to her as long as I can remember. I knew when I was in my young twenties that if I were to get married, that my mom would be my matron of honor. And she was--she and Juliemom shared that role. Next to my husband, she is my best friend in the whole world; she knows me better than anyone (UB has a few years to go before he gets ahead of mom on this one) and loves me and encourages me and gently corrects me when I need it and rejoices with me when I succeed. She stayed home to raise all three of us and I cannot thank her enough for her sacrifice, time, energy, Godly example, and her many prayers on our behalf. I have no complaints about my mom now and rarely did as I was growing up. In fact, the only time I was upset with my mom was when I was upset with my dad and she sided with him.

Which brings me to the whole butting-heads thing. It's not that we never got along, or that my dad was a big meanie--he wasn't. Looking back now, I see how hard he worked to provide for our family, how much time he spent making sure our cars were safe to drive, how he loved my mom and led us spiritually and was a steady, consistent foundation for our family. He hugged on us kids, took us up in airplanes and "let" us fly them (he of course was right next to us with his hands on the controls), he told us stories when we were in the car going to Grandma & Grandpa Bossy's house, put his cold hands down our back to warm them up, and shared his desserts and chocolate bars with a house full of mooches. He loved us and we knew that.

But when I was a teenager, he did not get me at all. I didn't like to hunt and fish and I HATED HATED HATED HATED HATED HATED HATED going in the garage to help out, whereas these were his favorite ways to spend his free time. When I got home from school, I would often lie on my bed just thinking--it was my way of decompressing from a busy day and sorting through all of the teen angst that comes with high school. Well, to my dad that looked like pure laziness and he said so. He was also in the habit of speaking to me like I was a little kid/barking orders (he was military, after all), which I DID NOT care for since I was a pretty intelligent young person with a large vocabulary who was used to being spoken to like a real human by my mom, teachers, and other adults in my life. Oftentimes my piano practicing would interfere with his watching fishing shows or baseball on TV, so guess who had to stop their chosen activity? (Hint: not the guy who paid for the TV and the piano lessons.) Often when I wanted to do something that required effort to plan and coordinate, the answer was an immediate "No."

"Dad, can I..."
"No."
"But you didn't even let me finish--it would be..."
"No. Too many variables." (Actual quote)

And since I was not one to accept these perceived wrongs silently, we argued. On a pretty regular basis. Rarely heatedly; it was mostly bickering using lots of polysyllabic words. He didn't understand me and I didn't appreciate him and so it was NOT your "Butterfly Kisses" sort of father-daughter relationship.

But as I got older, things got better. It was clear I was useless in the garage, but when he wanted to write to a mortgage company and describe their less-than-satisfactory service, it was me who took his rants and wrote a well-written letter that resulted in an apologetic phone call and a monetary refund. As I became more independent, most of the situations that sparked an argument didn't happen anymore. And then one day it happened. I was babysitting a family of 4 wonderful girls and one of them started to ask "Aunt Bossy, can we..." And I responded, without letting her finish, "No."

AAHH! I caught myself and said "I'm sorry--go ahead and finish your question. We'll see if we can do that." But it had happened--I'd opened my mouth and out came Papa Bossy! I began to notice it more and more--when I helped out with our church's Christmas dramas, as I would talk with Juliemom about some situation that I found unacceptable, as I started to participate in various professional organizations. In the professional arena, I'd become a military-esque, no-nonsense, highly organized, do-it-the-right-way, poor-prior-planning-on-your-part-does-not-constitute-an-emergency-on-my-part kinda gal. And when I married Uncle Brainy and observed some of his driving habits, HELLO did I start to channel my father then. Not that UB is a bad driver, but he clearly was not trained by Papa Bossy. I found myself spouting such things as: "You need to drive ahead of the car; you can't just look at the road right in front of the car, you need to look ahead and behind, always scanning the road for possible problems." (I always wondered how Dad could tell I wasn't looking ahead of the car when I drove. Now I know!) "The speed limit is the maximum allowable speed under ideal driving conditions." "You need to leave the house with enough time to accommodate any emergency/detour you might encounter and still be on time for your appointment," etc. Oh, yes--it had become frighteningly clear now.

I am my dad in female form.

Of course Mom knew this all along & had tried to tell me that the reason we argued so much is because we were so much alike. I didn't believe her then, but she was right. This became obvious to other people as well. One of our pastors had met and worked with me long before he had the opportunity to get to know my parents. After he had worked with my father, he made the following statement: "You know, after getting to know your father, you make a lot more sense."

So when I refer to my family as the "Bossy family" here on the blog, it's not just so you know they're my family--it's a pretty accurate description of my behavioral heritage. Thankfully I have my mom's Jolly family influence to balance out the Bossy, but it's pretty clear which side I favor. I may have my husband's name, but I'm a Bossy through-and-through.

And I'm OK with that.