Some people suck: Take the high road
“Take the high road, Archer,” I tell my 7-year-old son after he tells me about a kid being mean to him at summer camp. This is a far cry from the advice I gave him five years ago when a kid bit him at daycare. Back then, I said, “Tell that kid if he bites you again, I will sit on him.” Archer reported my sentiment back to his teacher and, well, now we are both learning.
“I don’t even know where the high road is. And I can’t even drive yet. How am I supposed to take the high road?!” Archer asks me, exasperated.
I stifle my laughter at his earnest response. Of course, he doesn’t know what this stupid idiom means. “Oh, babe,” I say, “that’s not what I meant. Taking the high road is a figure of speech. Like, if you take the highway or freeway, you’ll have less stress and a better view, you know?” As soon as all of those words are out of my mouth, I realize I’m making things worse. So, I start over.
“What I mean is, if someone is a jerk to you, you don’t have to be a jerk back. Walk away and try not to worry about it. Their behavior isn’t about you. Some people are just mean.” I go on to explain that hurt people hurt people. And that by not retaliating or seeking revenge, we’ll feel better about ourselves, set an example for others and in the long run, be rewarded.
“The high road is love,” I say. “The low road is fear. Choose love.”
This time he gets it.
“But, it’s not always easy,” I continue. “Sometimes even I have trouble finding the high road.”
I want to go on to tell him how the last eight months of this divorce nightmare have tested me to my core. I want to tell him about all of the times I have wanted to throw myself on the floor and kick and scream like a pissed-off toddler, but instead made myself go for a run. I want to confide in him about all of my vengeful fantasies and how Brené Brown’s, “Atlas of the Heart” and Mark Manson’s, “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck” kept me from acting on them. I want to play him my Spotify divorce playlist that makes me feel empowered and worthy and hopeful, and ask if the songs make him feel the same.
But, I don’t.
I don’t because he and my four-year-old daughter, Isla, are what have kept me from veering off the high road and speeding down the low road. So, I tell him about a time someone called me a name (I leave out that the name was ‘dumb cunt’) and in lieu of engaging in a name-calling war, I walked away. And then, to really drive the point home, I tell him a classic: Getting cut off in traffic and rather than chasing the car down in a fit of road rage — and risk getting shot (I leave this part out, too) — shaking it off because it probably wasn’t intentional and the person was probably just in a hurry.
I’m on my soapbox now and dangerously close to quoting Michelle Obama by announcing, “When they go low, we go high.” But I stop myself as I notice Archer’s eyes begin to glaze over and I’ve lost my audience. Teaching my kids to be good people, I suppose, helps me stay in line. I kiss him on the cheek and leave him with his iPad, letting him know he has 15 minutes before bedtime.
The following day, I check in and ask him what it means to take the high road. “It means if someone is mean to you, don’t listen to them and walk away,” he answers. And then adds, “But get your driver’s license first.”
We both laugh and I give him a high five, confident he’ll do his best to stay on the high road.
