Father's Little Dividend, Part VI: Fear and Assumptions

"Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them."
Antoine de Saint-Exupery,
author, "The Little Prince", 1943 
(1900 - 1944),

"A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five."
   (and)
"My mother loved children -- she would have given anything if I had been one."
Groucho Marx
(1890 - 1977)

My godmother who is also my aunt, has told me over the years that I was a fearless child, and that I was even fearless as an infant.  By fearless, she said that I was not afraid of things that adults expected to frighten me.  I did not flinch or cry at sudden loud noises, for example at a few months old; instead I would look for the source, out of curiosity; sometimes I would even laugh. 

So perhaps there is some genetic component, rather than purely a choice of character, that underlies my difference of opinion, and my approach to fear.  I DO recall on more than one occasion expressing a certain exasperation to my parents when something I had done upset them, asserting, "Daaaaaaaaad, I'm brave. I'm NOT stupid."  I did many things, especially with animals (my parents had no rapport whatsoever with animals) that gave them rip roaring fits of fear, sometimes full-blown panic for my safety.  The other areas besides my interactions with animals which gave my parents pause (read near heart attack) were my curiosity about other people, especially people different than those I was accustomed to being around, and challenges to my physical skills and endurance.  Wherever we were, but especially when traveling, my parents never knew when they would turn around to find me having wandered off to speak with someone who intrigued me.  Sometimes the people who intrigued me upset my parents.  By 'sometimes' I mean often.


I think mom and dad were a little over-protective, but not a lot over-protective as parents, given the (ahem) unique challenges I presented to them; and given that I was adopted, and they had waited a long time for me to come into their lives.

Not one - NOT ONE - of the things I did that frightened my parents ever resulted in so much as a lost hair on my precious head. Not a scratch, not a bump or bruise, or an unpleasant emotion.

My father initiated a conversation on the subject, appropriately when we were not in the middle of one of my little 'adventures' or immediately after one.


We were sitting in my father's den; I was around the age of 4 - 5 years old.  I remember sitting on the upholstered arm of the chair with my legs across my father's lap, my feet resting on the seat of the chair, and my arm across his shoulder.  My father was encouraging me to be more thoughtful so as not to engage in the situations that were upsetting them.

I pointed out (this is a paraphrase of our conversation),  that my father made decisions not on the basis of fear, but on the basis of intellect.  I asked him if as a naval aviatior in WW II, had he ever been afraid, knowing he had performed particularly dangerous reconnaissance flying.  He admitted he had been afraid sometimes.  I pointed out he had flown anyway, because he consciously made the decision that doing those things were more important than the fear.  I explained to my father, very patiently, that I sometimes felt an initial fear, but that fear was never for me the end point of making a decision; it was the starting point of my decision making, subordinate to rationality, which sometimes included exercising thoughtful curiosity.

We had a lengthy conversation during which I explained to my father that we differed in our assessment of these situations because we differed in the fundamental observations on which to form our decisions.  I pointed out very specifically that he relied far more - almost entirely - on superficial appearances.  I explained how I relied much more on behavioral observation, and almost not at all on the superficial qualities that were important to him; and gave him examples.  I went on to explain that this was the kind of thing I discussed with my mentor about whom I have written before in this series.  I think it was that last part as much as anything else which persuaded my father that I was in fact making decisions based on observations, careful evaluation of risk factors, and not on either pure emotion or unchecked impulses.  This was very much a different direction than my father had expected our conversation to take, and he sat there thinking silently for a few minutes just looking at me. My father was clearly taken aback by what I had said. He ended the conversation by pulling me down onto his lap, and giving me a big hug, and asking me, please, PLEASE, could I just scare my parents just a little less often, and take their reactions into consideration in my calculations too.  My too-honest response was that if I wasn't going to let my own initial fears stop me from doing something, it seemed just plain silly to let someone else's fears do so, but I would try, as a courtesy.

In the course of our conversation, I persuaded my father (never quite so successfully my mother) that while I was sometimes perhaps daring (ok - definitely daring), I was not reckless or foolish.  This I hope gave him some peace of mind over the years, but it also eventually changed my father for the better.

I had a somewhat parallel conversation with my grandfather, relating to expectations and assumptions.  My maternal grandfather was an avid outdoors man, enjoying all forms of hunting and fishing.  He had over the years tamed several wild animals which he kept as pets in addition to a series of dogs with which he hunted.  He had tamed at different times a raccoon, a fox, an owl and a crow. although all of them were from the time period well before I was born.  Rudy the fox in particular had the run of the my grandparents home despite my grandmother's expressed disapproval.  So it was inexplicable to me that my mother did not share that affinity for animals in any way.  My grandfather acknowledged that I had an unusual 'way with animals', but instead of sharing my feeling that it was a normal thing, he made the comment on more than one occasion that I must be a gypsy child, since I was adopted and there was no other way to his thinking to explain my ability.  As a tall, extremely fair skinned blue eyed Nordic-looking redhead, I didn't match up - in my mind - to the usual ideal of an ethnic Romany or gypsy, so I asked my grandfather what he meant.  He told me that when he was growing up sometimes gypsies came around, and that no one liked them, but they did have a similar inexplicable way with animals, he'd seen it himself.  To me, that 'way with animals' was simply another instance of observing behavior, omitting the reliance on superficial qualities and assumptions that got in the way of everyone else doing the exact same thing.

Unlike my father, my mentor, and many of the teachers in my life, who I felt accepted me as who I was and embraced those qualities my sense of my grandfather was that he required conformity to his expectations whether high or low.  On at least one occasion he told me I was too smart for my own good. My comeback to grandpa was that I refused to be dumb just to make him happy.  Grandfather found my response disrespectful, but it was a rare instance where disrespect did not result in being hit.  My maternal grandmother found my response funny, but she never dared laugh about it when grandfather was around.  While I have absolute conviction that my maternal grandfather loved me deeply, and I loved him, I recognized from an early age that differences were frightening to him on a visceral level, almost like superstition. While those same differences simply engaged my curiosity.  My grandfather's response to differences, to fears, was to assert control,  or to try to dominate.  To the extent that I might be smarter than he was - his fear - or just have a different ability or an ability to a greater degree, all placed me outside and beyond that control.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school.  I worked part time at our local county library a few days a week after school and on weekends.  Usually I had access to our second car, used by my mother the rest of the time, to get to and from work.  On one middling cold day in February, my father's car was in the shop for routine maintenance, so he had taken my mother's car to work.  We had arranged that one of my parents would be waiting for me when the library closed at 9 p.m.  When closing came, no one was waiting for me.  I insisted that I would be fine, that the librarians who had already had a long day should go on home, that someone would be there shortly; so they left. (Readers may have guessed by now that I was a somewhat fiercely independent young woman.)

After half an hour of waiting, I was getting very cold.  I tried calling several friends, but they couldn't get come to pick me up.  Eventually, I broke down and called the ex-boyfriend with whom I had recently broken up so as to date a couple of college students.  He drove me home, where I was surprised to find an empty house; no parents, no sibling.  Up until that point I had assumed there was simply some miscommunication, and I started to become seriously worried because of the late hour.  Bless him, my ex-boyfriend called his parents so they wouldn't worry, explained the situation, and that he was gong to stay with me until we figured out what was going on.  I was fond of his parents, and appreciated their offer to be of help if I needed it. Even more I appreciated their respect for my insistence that events were under control for the time being.  My parents had very predictable habits; for them to be out on a week night other than a special event, meeting, etc. was highly unusual.

My parents and sibling had gone out shopping after dinner, while I was working at the library.  On the way to pick me up (they hadn't forgotten), the car had a flat tire.  My father had taken a short cut through what he considered a 'bad area'; that was where they had the flat.  A black man, in clothing that my father thought of racially, came up to the car and offered to help with the flat tire.  My father's initial reaction was to expect ill-intent, but he later told me that night that he decided to try a different approach, based on that early conversation and subsequent conversations about assumptions and superficial appearances.  The very nice black man helped with the tire, and refused any offer of payment, although he and my father exchanged names.  My father believed the man could have very much used the money, but he explained that helping a stranger was part of his faith, and he happened to mention the Baptist church nearby where he was a member.

When he got home I thought my father told me he figured I'd get myself home, that I'd 'deal' with the situation.  And he gave me a bit of grief about how it felt to be on the other side of worrying about family members as well.  My ex-boyfriend went home; my parents called his parents, to explain.  My dad gave me an extra hug that night when I went off to bed, and told me he tried what I had talked about -- looking at behavior, looking past assumptions and superficial appearances. I jokingly reminded him I was a smart kid. Dad did do something nice, far nicer than the initial compensation he offered the man who helped him, through the minister of his church.  While what he did was anonymously, I think the man probably knew.  I teased him that he was being extra extra nice because he felt guilty for expecting the worst, and he agreed he probably was.

In the discussion about the Juan Williams controversy, statements have been made about regarding black Americans in 'thug gear' and crime, as similar to fears about people from predominantly Muslim parts of the world and terrorism.  I have thought about the ineffectiveness of ethnic and racial profiling.  I have thought about the tools against terrorism of behavioral profiling which is far more effective.  But most of all I have thought about the ways in which we rise to the occasion of challenges, of assumptions, and of fears.  I don't understand why more people don't 'read' animal reactions and behavior the way I do.  When I read the work of behaviorists like Turid Rugaas, the exceptional Norwegian scientist who was awarded her PhD for extensive studies observing canine behavior, or the biography of Monty Roberts, better known as the 'Horse Whisperer', or Jeff Koons when he wrote about animals and same sex attraction in the New York Time's article "Can Animals Be Gay"  I feel a tremendous vindication for observation that is different from assumption and expectation.

I look at Juan Williams, and Bill O'Reilly, and the many islamophobic ideas people have about Muslims, but not just Muslims, also about many other people, any people, who have some kind of perceived difference from themselves.  That fear is based on false premises and bad information.  There is nothing whatsoever wrong with acknowledging fears; there is everything wrong with only acknowledging fear without doing something further, something constructive, something logical.  So long as they hang on tightly to those assumptions, those preconceptions, and maintain a deathgrip on their counterproductive fears, there will be no good working solutions.  Only fear; and from that fear, comes anger; and from that anger, comes more conflict.  We each of us - and this includes Juan Williams and Bill O'Reilly - MUST think better, must react with our heads and not our guts.  We cannot afford to begin AND end with foolish fears; we cannot afford the price of false assumptions.  Those individuals especially who have a persuasive place in the media should use it to push back against those fears, not trade on them for more money.