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Concept of genius is relative to delegator
(by Christine Thome - March 03, 2011)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Concept of genius is relative to delegator
On Saturday at 10 a.m., the following conversation took place:
"Jack! Go out and shovel the snow!" John yelled at our son one snowy, cold morning.
"Why do I always have to do everything? Why don't you ever ask one of the girls to do it?" he cried.
"Because I asked you -- now get moving!"
On Sunday at 10 a.m., the following conversation took place:
"Hi Chris, I need a favor," said John's dad over the phone.
"Sure! What do you need? I replied.
"There are some pretty big icicles hanging off our roof. I'm going to be out this afternoon, but could you ask John to come over and knock them down for me?"
"No problem. I'm sure he'd be happy to do that for you," I said, knowing perfectly well what John's reaction would be when I informed him of his unexpected plans for the afternoon.
John came bounding down the steps a few minutes later.
"Who was on the phone?" he asked.
"Your dad. He asked if you could go over and knock down the large icicles off the roof for him today."
"Why does he always call me? Why doesn't he ask my sisters to do it?" John cried and pouted like a teenage boy.
Deja vu.
I didn't grow up with brothers, but I'm pretty sure that, since the beginning of time, fathers and sons have been butting heads. Maybe it's an alpha male thing, or maybe, like my husband and son, they're just butt heads.
"Didn't you have this exact conversation with our son yesterday?" I questioned. "Your dad asked you to help him -- now get over there and help him!"
At the reminder that he had a son, a dim light bulb suddenly went on above John's head as he headed to the top of the basement stairs.
"Jack! Get up here! We have to go over to Grandpa's house and knock icicles off the roof," he yelled.
"What's this 'we' crap?" Jack muttered as he came sauntering up the steps. "We both know you're going to make me do all the work."
"I will supervise you," John assured him with a grin on his face. "Dress warm, because you're gonna have to walk around the entire house, and there's a lot of snow."
"You're mean," I whispered to John.
"I am not mean! I'm a genius," he replied, tapping his head.
So Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber went off to save my in-laws' roof while I waited nervously for the paramedics to call me to tell me that my son had been impaled by a giant icicle.
Not able to get this possible scenario out of my head, I imagined how I might react. "Oh, no, not my baby! What about my husband? Is my husband OK?" I would cry.
"He's fine, ma'am. He's enjoying a beer and watching the basketball game. He said he would be home before dinner."
Just as I was about to race over to my in-laws' house to make sure everything was OK, John and Jack walked through the door.
"How did it go? Are you OK?" I frantically asked my son, looking for any signs that an icicle may have grazed him.
"I'm fine, it wasn't too bad," he grunted as he began pulling all his snow gear off.
"Did Dad help you?" I asked.
"No. He stood inside at the windows, drinking Grandpa's beer, pointing out the icicles I needed to knock down and laughing at me."
"You're mean," I said to John, this time loud and clear.
"I told you before, I am not mean, I'm a genius," he replied. "I did my dad's crummy jobs, Jack does mine, and one day he can make his son do the chores he doesn't want to do. This is a very important multi-generation teaching moment."
When Einstein said, "It's all relative," I'm pretty sure John's logic is not what he had in mind.
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