Dorsai - Jan

I found out that she delighted in math, but couldn't deal with such things as literature – the math was "neat, and clean" for her, while literature was a trial "because the teachers make us figure out these novels, and tell them what we think the novel means, but the only right answers are the ones they know, and didn't tell us." I told her – a little, minus the female adventures of a young man full to overflowing with hormones – of my travels in Asia, and how I'd gotten interested in the people and their cultures, the how and why of the things that they did in the different cultures; and how it had gotten me started on an interest in philosophy that I still had. She told me how quiet and solemn her family was, and how they seemed to have so little humor and joy in their lives. I let her know that I'd gone into the Navy at 17 to get out of an unhappy home, and how the Navy – in it's infinite wisdom, I said, getting a grin from her – had taught me electronics, a subject I knew nothing about when I went in, and then how to fix airplanes; how I'd enjoyed the travel and experiences, but figured out that the control and discipline necessary to a military organization didn't jibe with the creativity I felt, and how I'd gotten out to go to a major technical college, getting dual degrees: electronics engineering and philosophy; how I'd worked for a number of companies doing instrumentation and control work before I realized that most large companies didn't want innovation, they wanted obedience and conformity, so I'd broken free of them to take charge of my own life – and while getting started, found out that it was scary, it was frightening, and there was an incredible amount of responsibility and work involved; but that I wouldn't trade it for twice the pay at any of the companies that I'd worked at before.

When we finished our snacks and drinks, she called a pause to the conversation long enough to collect our paper napkins and bottles to put them in the trash, telling me "I'm not a neat freak or anything, but there's no sense having them in the way, either, is there?"

Once seated on me again, she looked at me for a moment before tilting her head, and saying "You know, it's so much easier for me to talk to you than my parents, or even most of the people that I know at school."

"How's that?"

"Well, for starters, you actually listen to me – not just the words, but where they're coming from. And when you talk to me, or answer a question, you don't sound like you're trying to preach or tell me what to do or anything; you just tell me what you think, or teach me something I don't know, and then leave me alone to take care of things myself, like*I* have a brain, too."

I shrugged, and didn't say anything, but she wasn't going to let me off that easy.

"No, don't be like that, okay? Remember, I know, now, what it's like for you, and with you. I know that it isn't always easy for you to deal with people that way. I know that doing it makes you feel good, but I also know that you put a lot of time and energy and effort into doing it, too. I know you're not going to brag about it, or make any kind of big deal about it; but you don't have to do that 'aw, shucks' routine, either. Just acknowledge you did it, is all, okay?"

She caught me by surprise, and all I could do was look at her for a few seconds before answering "Okay. Just try to understand, too, that I'm not used to people knowing what's going on, so it'll take me a little time to get out of the habit, okay?"

She nodded in acceptance, and went on "Anyway, like I was going to say, when you talk to me – or any of us, really – you do it in a way that lets us know that you're not judging us; at least, not for anybody but you. I mean, we always know where we stand with you – but ONLY you; it's not like you're making decisions about us for everybody , like we were in some court or something. And when we DO make a mistake with you, you're careful to let us know what the mistake was, and how to both fix it, and not make it again, so that we actually learn something from you. We feel bad, but not because of anything you've done or said, but from inside ourselves – it's like being around you has given us even better consciences, and a better idea of what's right, and wrong."

I nodded, and satisfied with that, she went on "Before I understood all this, before I 'got it' as Kelly called it, I thought you were pretty cool. I don't mean cool like you knew all the latest bands and dressed the way I did or anything like that, but cool that you had this*dignity* and self-respect – but not TOO much, you know? – and you treated us the same way; with dignity and respect, which was pretty weird at first. And I thought you really had your act together – there doesn't seem to be much that rattles you – and I KNOW that they were trying to rattle you at the, uh, fashion show, that night – but they didn't, and it really blew most of us away. Jan told us the little bit she knew about your job, and it sounded pretty boring, really. But you dress nice, you've got this really cool house, and all this neat stuff; and you're not a dealer or pimp or anything like that – so I had to figure that there's more to what you do that there seems. And that just made you seem like you were that much more together, and that much cooler: you weren't doing what everyone else was, to fit in, you were doing what you wanted. Way cool."

"Actually, I know I've got my stuff together – because*I* know it, not because someone tells me. As for the other, I just don't much care about it – cool or not, I do pretty much what makes ME happy, or what I want to, and ignore anything else. Every flock of sheep has a Judas goat; I'll be damned if I'm going to be a sheep, so that leaves the goat."

She looked confused, and I explained to her "Sheep are dumb. No, they're flat-out stupid; dumber than a box of rocks. You can't get sheep into a pen – they're just too stupid to figure out the open gate. So they keep a goat – not smart, but an Einstein compared to sheep – to lead the way. It's called a Judas goat because it's most often used to pen the sheep for slaughter: the sheep will follow it into the pen, but the goat goes free and they don't."

Understanding, she smiled, and went on "And that's another thing: it's really obvious – to all of us – that you're smart. way smart. Kinda scary-smart, even. I mean, the way you figure stuff out, and how you remember things, is just amazing. I mean, I knew you were smart – but I didn't really know how smart until Jan and Kelly started showing us this place. I mean, you're the one that figured all this stuff out, like Mabel and everything, and designed it and installed it and made it all work. It's incredible – I didn't know one person could have that many brains, but you do; and yet you're still able to talk to us like we're real people, about little stuff. And you've got way more sense than any of the other smart people I know, like our science teacher. I mean, he really knows about chemistry and biology and all that other stuff, but half the time, he wanders around with his shirt buttoned wrong, or his fly half open, or something else like that."

"Candice, do you think Susan is pretty?"

"Sure."

"Do you think you're prettier?"

She paused a moment, and said "Yeah, I suppose."

"Do you treat her any different, just because she's not as pretty as you?"

"No, of course not! She's my friend!", she answered, a bit testy.

"Would you treat Kelly any different, if she wasn't as smart as she is?"

"No. She's still my friend, and I like her!"

I waited, smiling.

She watched me for a moment, to see if I was going to say anything -then started thinking about what I HAD said.

Then she saw what I was getting at, and blushed a bit before saying "Okay. Lesson learned. Like people for who they are – all of them, just not one part of them; and treat them the same, no matter how they're different."