Conformist

Not long ago, my wife and I had a dinner in a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't a particularly big one, but it served great dishes. But when I caught my wife's eye, I could see she was feeling tired. Then I started to notice that we were sitting beneath a noisy television, and right next to a busy corridor. You can't think of better way to make people throw a fit. Plus an epileptic fit - if you happen to be sensitive to the flicker of the television.

I wondered what prevented me from protesting when I was led to the table. Was it courtesy? An absent-minded faux pas?

I don't think either answer quite fits.

Looking back, it seems now that I have been shaped by my childhood history of making peace. If everyone has a narrative, mine is a tale to conform. Ever since my childhood, I've found it more disturbing to say "no" than to face the real threats to my well-being. Or as Robert Fulghum puts it, "All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten." And I have learned to say yes since I was a little boy. Which means being an easy-going buddy, an amicable student, a peacemaking brother, and on and on and on.

Being a profound believer in the I-do-so-because-I-had-been-taught-so myth, I have occasionally ruminated on whether I am clinging to a romanticized version of the past.