Written 10/24/1999 I Have a real big problem accepting advice. Criticism in general gets on my nerves, but it especially bugs me when it’s supposed to be for my own good, given to me by the people who supposedly love be, and only because they would rather jeopardize the friendship than bear the hurt of seeing me continuing to live in my current horrible state. Of the people who give advice I can’t decide who gets on my nerves more – the random people on the street with their random, out of the blue comments, who think they have a right to tell me what to do even if they don’t know me, or people who know me, and think that they have a right to tell me what to do just because they know me.
People on the street, for instance, have made it really hard for me to do something that I really like doing – rollerblading. I guess it’s pretty rare in Tel-Aviv to see someone rollerblading, especially a girl, and not a tall sporty girl either. Old people are always screaming “be careful” when I AM carefull, fathers with kids say “where’s your helmet?”, teenage boys telling me to go that way or that way or change my brands of pads – I kind of cringe when I think of getting up at 7:00 to go to the university and have to listen to all these people on the way. These are not kind, heartfelt comments – these people look at me like I’m some curiosity. And even if they were kind comments, why can‘t a person just roll down the street lost in thought? Why do I have to deal with PEOPLE before I even get to work?
My rule is – it’s okay to say something to me if I’m going to crash right into you. Otherwise I’ll get mad. Not that these people will ever know it…
(As I was writing this in the computer laboratory, the guy sitting next to me asked me why I was typing so fast. Excuse me? Maybe because I’m letting out rage at PEOPLE LIKE YOU!!!! Of course I just smiled at him and helped him find the printer. Argh)
And then there are people like my grandmother. Her whole relationship with people is based on her giving them advice, and them listening. Of course if they refuse to do what she says they’ll be sorry. She’ll be dead by then and they won’t have a chance to tell her how sorry they are they didn’t do what she said. The thought that she may be WRONG does not cross her mind. The thought that there are two ways to look at a situation? The idea that she may be right but my independence is more important? No way in hell.
So every time I go visit her I wonder – what will it be this time? Will she make me promise to take a certain poster off my wall because she hates it? Will she innocently give me her hairdresser’s number because, no, of course she doesn’t hate my hair but wouldn’t I feel way better if it had some style? (like Poland ‘39 style) Will she run after me with Pond’s cream and once she catches me (yes, she’s 80) squish piles of it in my face? Last time she tried to give me, as a special present, her appointment at the dermatologist. “You may hate me for doing this now, but when you get out of the dermatologist you’ll feel MUCH better” Of course I will – first you make me feel like crap and then you’ll tell me how to fix it. There was nothing wrong with my skin that day. Nothing. I told her for the hundredth time to please keep out of my business. We had another very polish fight, with her saying things like “a grandmother is something you have, and then it’s gone. You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” What does that have to do with anything? Does she want me to miss her when she’s gone? Then why doesn’t she ever do anything with me except give me unsolicited advise?
By the way – Odie does this too. He “helps” me cross the street, tells me politely in front of other people, when I’ve been acting impolitely (“Dew, honey, why didn’t you pour a cup of Cola for him too?”) etc. etc. “I’m not mad, I’m just being didactic” is his favorite sentence. As if he was my parents. But my parent would never ever say something like that.
Of course he says it’s because he loves me and is overprotective of me, but I have the feelig he’s doing it out of insecurity, to show he’s better than me at some things. To show me I’m not so great as I think I am (Me? Think I’m great?).
I have much more “Advice-dirt” about him – unemployment, smoking, arrogance in public, I could go way on. But I would never say anything. I would never tell him what to do. Except when it hurts me, the same logic as with the rollerblades. You can say something insulting only if not saying it would really hurt YOU (To be Continued)
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