Manipulation

I absolutely abhor manipulation.  I think it is disrespectful and arrogant, and I have a very broad definition of it.

I have sometimes been criticized for being too “honest.”  I tend to tell people the truth…whether or not they want to hear it.  I also tend to be animated when I speak, and I am sometimes misinterpreted as being adversarial when that is not my intent.  This is coming to mind now, because yesterday while discussing a topic about which I feel strongly, the person to whom I was speaking said, “I am not the enemy here.”  I didn’t think that she was.  I had no intent to be accusatory. The topic was one about which I felt strongly and thought she did too.  I suspect, however, that because of the type of work she does, she often finds herself in an adversarial position.

The same person was later explaining her approach in some situations where she purposely does not say what she is really thinking and puts on a tone of voice other than her normal one.  I understand doing that to be less threatening, but I wonder at what point does that cross over into manipulation?  I wonder if the people with whom she “makes nice” know that she is playing a game with them.  When people do that to me, I find myself laughing inside.

When I was in nursing school back in the dark ages, we were taught how to speak to doctors in situations where we thought they were missing something.  How do you make a suggestion to this person whose place in the hierarchy is above your own?  What we were taught smacks of manipulation to me.  It means, “I see something you don’t see, but I can’t offend you by telling you that, so instead I am going to play this silly game where I pretend to be dumb and just asking an innocent question.”

I like to come at people head on and put all my cards on the table.  I think that shows that I respect them as equals.  If I have an agenda and I am being sly in the way I present it, that seems to me to be arrogant.  I think it says that I don’t respect them, so I am leading them without them recognizing that they are about to do what I want, rather than having an open discussion that leads to a mutual understanding and plan of action.

When I was a young woman, I decided that flirting was manipulative.  This did not get me many dates, but dating wasn’t my objective.  I wanted a life-long relationship based on respect and honesty.  If I can make a man do what I want by flirtation, am I not showing that I am superior to him?  That is no basis for working through a life-time of challenges.

I have worked with men in some settings without any difficulty and in others where I apparently was supposed to defer to them and not express my opinions too vigorously.  I know some men like flirtation.  Do some also like manipulation?

I suppose there is a balance between being so deferential that it is manipulative and being so open that it is offensive.  I tip toward the latter. 

I am also a very poor liar and would be a terrible poker player.

Nasty Women

A lot has been said recently about “Nasty Women,” and there seem to be many women proud of being labeled with that term.

I really hate it when the meaning of a perfectly good word is hijacked and made to mean something else!  I wish women would fight against being labeled with “nasty” rather than accepting it as a badge of honor.

A couple of years ago, it became popular to quote Sheryl Sandberg who had expressed the idea that the same characteristic which in boys is called leadership is called bossiness in girls.  I like the idea of refusing to be labeled bossy, just because one is assertive and full of ideas.

One of my granddaughters once called me and asked me what it means to be Type-A.  Her mother had told her that she and I were both Type-A people.  I said, “Well, some people might accuse us of being bossy.”  I heard her giggle, so I’m sure that has happened to her.  “But,” I continued, “I think it means we are people with lots of ideas who are willing to work hard to make our ideas come about.”

Yes….I admit to being Type A, and I am sure that as a child I was accused of being bossy.  As an adult, I have been accused of being assertive, too quick to give my ideas, opinionated, etc.  I will admit to all of that, but I refuse to call myself “nasty.”  There need to be some people like us in the world, and some of them are bound to be female.  I recognize this is sometimes uncomfortable for males, but I think they need to get used to it.

I am a nurse, and if we are not by nature assertive, we need to learn to be.  If you are a nurse, you do not stand back and wait for someone else to act when you see someone in distress.  I was once in an auditorium with hundreds of people when a woman stood up and shouted, “Somebody do something.”  An elderly woman sitting near her had stopped breathing.  I did not wait for anyone else to respond.  I dove over several people in the row, dropped her dentures in the lap of the nearest person and resuscitated her.

On another occasion in an auditorium, a friend tapped me on the shoulder and said that something was wrong with his elderly mother.  It was a similar scenario.  Interesting to me was the fact that this same man later made accusations against me regarding my tendency to express opinions too quickly.  Well, you know, you can’t have it both ways.  You can’t expect me to jump in and save your mother’s life in one setting and then sit mutely and let the men have their say first in another.  I refuse to believe that makes me “nasty.”

I realize there are women in the world who think it is their role to always defer to men.  I am not one of them.  I am fortunate to have a husband who enjoys the challenge of being married to me.  This was, of course, no accident.  I had some specific criteria for a husband and would have stayed single if I hadn’t met someone who met the criteria.  I was looking for someone strong enough to meet me as an equal.  Being able to steamroll my husband and always get my way would have been no fun at all.  Being married to someone who thought he was supposed to constantly dominate me and get his way would have been a blood bath.  It is much more interesting to be able to discuss and debate and compromise.

I recognize that as a follower of Christ, I have an obligation to be gracious in what I say and the way I say it.  That has always been a challenge for me.  My mind works rapidly in assessing and coming up with solutions.  It is hard for me to watch a group stumble bumble around when the answer is so obvious to me.  I have always wished people would take advantage of me rather than feeling threatened by me.

Now about the word “bitch” which has also been hijacked to mean pretty much the same as “nasty woman.”  That is a perfectly good word for a female dog.

Let’s stop the name calling and appreciate people for their abilities.

My Early Life of Crime

Last night at church, the pastor made the comment that if you have ever told a lie, you are a liar; and if you have even stolen anything, you are a thief.  His point was that we are all guilty before God.  I certainly agree with that premise.  I know I have lied in my lifetime, although it is always my intent never even to tell what someone might call “a little white lie.”  I thought to myself, that I was unaware of ever stealing anything….then I remember that my career as a thief began very early in life.

When I was less than six, there were multiple times when we temporarily moved in with my mother’s parents.  Sometimes the reason was that we were between houses.  Sometimes my grandmother was ill, and we moved in so that my mother could care for her.  In any event, I was well acquainted with my grandparents’ neighborhood, and I am sure most of the neighbors knew me.

I was very little…may about 3 when I visited a neighbor regularly who had grandchildren of her own.  This meant she had a supply of toys which I enjoyed.  My favorite item at her house was a dirty, ratty, beat-up old doll, which for reasons no one quite understood, I fell in love with and called Becky.

One day after visiting there, I returned home to Grandma’s house in possession of Becky.  I hadn’t exactly stolen her, as I had left my beautiful new doll in her place.  My mother was horrified that I had stolen Becky and marched me back to the neighbor’s house to return her.  The neighbor lady told my mother that if I loved that doll enough to leave my lovely new doll in her place, then I certainly could keep it.  I think the new doll went back home with me too.  But, nothing compared to Becky.

Becky was so loved and played with so vigorously that she eventually became what my mother considered to be a health hazard, so she put her in the garbage.  I dug her out of the garbage.  I don’t remember all of this, but apparently, a cycle of in the garbage and retrieved from the garbage went on for some time.  When I was much older, my mother admitted that she had finally dismembered Becky, to get rid of the filthy thing.  I’m sure if I had known this at the time, my heart would have been broken.  My mother was not in the least a hard-hearted person, so I guess she must have been desperate. 

Fortunately, this did not set me on a path of crime in general and thievery in particular!

A Veteran's Day Story for My Grandchildren

During the Revolutionary War, when the American Colonies were trying to establish their independence from England, the American soldiers were not career soldiers.  They were farmers who had guns and who answered the call to protect this land.

Your great, great, great, great, great, great, great Grandfather was Sergeant Nathan Chapin.  He was born in Springfield, Massachusetts in 1735, so during the Revolutionary War he was in his forties.  On July 5, 1777, he was captured by the British while fighting in the Battle of Ticonderoga.  He and other prisoners were ordered to go to Crown Point (about 10 miles away) to cut hay.  They were given provisions which included scythes for cutting the hay, and for whatever reason, they were also supplied with rum.

They were only accompanied on this work detail by one guard, who apparently liked rum, and they were very generous with him.  He had so much rum that he fell asleep, and they were able to escape.

A group of nine men, guided by Sgt. Nathan Chapin and using only the moss on the trees as a compass, found their way back to Springfield (a distance of about 200 miles) to the great joy of their family and friends.  Sgt. Nathan Chapin lived to be 95 years old.

Sgt. Nathan Chapin was the son of Japhet Chapin and his wife Thankful Dickinson.

The genealogy is:

Sgt. Nathan Chapin (1735-1830)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1762-1833)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1796-1888)

Lawson Chapin (1833-1864)

William Chapin (1860-?)

Willard Chapin (1895-1983)

Richard Chapin (1917-2014)

William Chapin (1943-still living)

Your mother/father

You

The information for this story comes from The Chapin Book published in 1924.  It lists the descendants of Deacon Samuel Chapin who arrived in the Massachusetts Colony in approximately 1632.