Stubbornness

We had a competition over lobster dinner. (What else is new in the Michel family?) The prize: bragging rights as the most stubborn resident of 6 Providence.

“You know,” my mother objected, “it’s really not something to be proud of.”

But don’t be fooled; she joined the debate whole-heartedly.


It is true: stubbornness runs in the family. We’re all ridiculously — unhealthily — stubborn, each in our own way. My mother is vocally stubborn, loud and clear about her decisions, what she wants to do, and what’s going to happen. My father, on the other hand, is quietly stubborn — but so stubborn it can make your skin crawl. He’s stubborn about fewer things, but when it comes to those things he will not budge and inch. And he’s never, ever wrong.

Alex, meanwhile, is a mixture of both worlds. Sometimes he’s loudly stubborn, sometimes he makes up his mind and there’s no convincing him he’s wrong — or there’s a better way to do something. His is a matter of principle… of black and white principles, but principles none-the-less.

Me? Well, I firmly announced I was least stubborn. And then the rest of the family laughed in my face. Apparently stubbornness is rooted in my genes too… and when I set my mind to something — ridiculous as it may be — it’s gonna happen.

But as I looked around the table at my family, all of us laughing together and on our fourth bottle of wine, engaging enthusiastically in diverse conversations while absentmindedly poking the empty lobster shells and ears of corn that lay on our plates, I smiled proudly.

If this is what it brings, maybe stubbornness isn’t such a bad thing after all.