Those Three Little Words

There are three little words I long to hear. They don’t come easily or often, yet when I hear them, they fill me with such rich satisfaction, such serendipity and serenity that it really defies description. I actually feel warm down to my toes.

“You were right.”

Yes, once in a while, in this hardscrabble world, someone will acknowledge that I am indeed correct about something. It’s probably just because I am surrounded by supremely confident and knowledgeable folks, many of them relatives, who are so totally secure in their own correctness that the veracity of my knowledge is never just taken for granted.

I don’t pretend to be infallible, and in fact, consider myself to be an expert on just two topics – Huckleberry Finn and the art of foundation relations and grant writing. I readily admit when I am wrong and defer to those with superior knowledge to mine on any given topic.

I have, however, learned a couple of things as I navigated my way through life so far, and I do on occasion know what I’m talking about. So it is a little baffling why no one believes me without some independent proof, even when I am presenting information that I know to be factual.

It’s one thing when the doubters are my peers or my elders, but my son was BORN with a robust level of skepticism. From the time he was a baby, he never believed a word I said. He always wanted verification, preferably written and from a respected reference book. The first time he actually said “You were right, Mom” he was 17. He now knows and acknowledges that I can be and have been right, but only grudgingly.

I only mention all of this, because it has been a banner month for me.

A few weeks ago, I gave my father a phone number that he needed after looking it up on the company website. He informed me that the number I gave him was wrong, because he got a different number from the phone book. I tried to explain that the website probably had the more up-to-date information, but he was having none of it. After calling the number in the book first (it was a wrong number) he reached the company with the number I gave him. He called back, to say, incredulously, “You know, Sharon, you were right.” Ah, that felt good, although I don’t know why he always sounds SO surprised when he discovers that I am right.

My sister actually KNOWS that she is always right about everything, which makes it difficult to set her straight when some misinformation falls into her unsuspecting hands. Just last week, she sent me an e-mail referring to a man by his son’s name. I informed her that she was really talking about the father, and explained why. SIX e-mails later, she remained unconvinced. Desperate, I downloaded a picture of father and son and sent them to her. Then and only then did she realize and acknowledge that she was indeed speaking of the father. And then she said, in writing, “Oh, yeah, and you were right.” Music to my ears!

Finally, last Monday, my son and I had a lively discussion about how we should watch the TV shows on the DVR. It’s kind of complicated to explain exactly what the disagreement was, but suffice it to say that we did it my way, because we were celebrating Mother’s Day. My son sat by, waiting to prove me wrong. But in the end it worked out just the way I said it would. My son said, “Well, Mom, first of all, you were right.” Perhaps the best Mother’s Day present of all!

It’s not that I’ve been right three times in one month that pleases me so. Believe it or not, that’s not SO unusual. No, it is that three generations of family members have actually said “You were right” to me in just one four-week period, and in one case, I have it in writing.