Critical Thinker

In the year before I met RJ, I was a busy girl in the dating department. There was Sam and Larry and Larry and John and Ben, but only one of the Larry's interested me--the first one; the one after Sam. At twenty-five, he had his own business and he drove a Corvette. At 5' 11" two hundred pounds, Larry was a giant next to me. His disheveled black hair, brooding dark eyes, day-old beard (even after shaving), muscular frame, and "my-way-or-the-highway" bad attitude was what attracted me to him. Big and mean. But I was confident I could win Larry over and tame his inner giant.

WRONG!

Larry was an Ayn Rand devotee, which if you think about it, makes "my-way-or-the-highway" make sense. From Larry I learned that Rand was a Russian-born novelist who wrote The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged and from those two books came a philosophy called Objectivism.  Ayn wasn't much interested in altruism (helping others); she didn't believe in a higher power; and she thought that from using reason that is acquired from concrete, proven facts (i.e. science) came the truth.  Larry said that consideration for others was not his thing and that his focus was on himself. Big, mean, and self-absorbed. But I was confident I could change Larry and tame his inner egomania.

WRONG!

"Be a critical thinker." That's what Larry repeated to me over and over. "Don't accept what you see, read and hear; question everything." When I told him that after I died, the most important thing I wanted people to say about me is, "She was a good person," he chuckled. It was one of those "oh-you-poor-little-naive-thing-you" chuckle. "What does being good even mean?" he asked. "And who makes up the rules that differentiate between good and bad? Have you ever questioned the rationale and motives behind those rule makers and their rules?" Then he went on to say that people should remember me as "smart" not "good."  Before that could  happen, he said I needed to work on my grammar because it was atrocious. Big, mean, self-absorbed, and critical.  But I was confident I could change Larry and tame his critical nature.

WRONG!

One day Larry and I, along with several other couples, went on a Corvette rally in southern Indiana. We were fourth in a line of eight Corvettes winding through small town streets and narrow country roads commanding the attention of everyone in our path.  On a country road somewhere in southern Indiana the lead Corvette made an abrupt left onto a narrow, one lane dirt road. He was flying and each Corvette made a fine precision left turn, one right after the other. The dust kicked up from the road was so thick we couldn't see;  Larry backed off the accelerator, but it was too late. Suddenly we were flying through the air. When we landed we were sitting next to two Corvettes bogged down in mud. We had missed a 90-degree turn in the road and ended up in a farmer's newly plowed field.  Within minutes the farmer arrived and he was not happy. So many were talking at once, speculating on what happened. I walked up to the farmer and said, "We were driving too fast and we missed the turn." Larry pulled me away from the group. "SHUT UP! You don't know what you're talking about. JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" On the way home later that day, I sat quietly, afraid to say a word for fear of reprimand. When we pulled into my driveway, I let myself out of the car and walked alone to the door.  Big, mean, self-absorbed, critical, angry. But I was confident Larry would call me after his temper tantrum subsided.

WRONG!

I sat by the phone and waited for Larry to call. He did call, eventually, but it was years later, and this is what he said, "It was you I loved and I was about to ask you to marry me, but on our last date you didn't speak to me all the way home, and I thought you didn't want to see me anymore." Big, mean, self-absorbed, critical, angry, and...

WRONG!

Oh so wrong for oh so many reasons. Thank goodness, he thought I didn't want to see him again, because in my enchanted forest, fantasy world, I probably would have said yes.