TouchedByMadness

Confessions of a Know-It-All

My mother likes to tell me the story of when she brought me to the doctor’s office with her the day she confirmed she was pregnant with my sister. I was about eighteen months old at the time and amused myself in the waiting room by looking at books and calling out the letters I saw. The other women smiled at my apparent precociousness, although they assumed I couldn’t possibly know which name was associated with which symbol.

That is, until I pointed above the door and exclaimed, “Look, Mommy. E-X-I-T. That spells exit!”

That moment sealed my fate. From those days in diapers through the present, my mother has repeatedly told me, “You are smarter than most people.” I suppose such statements were intended to be good for my self esteem. Unfortunately, I believe my well-meaning parents provided me with just enough hubris to make me into a giant Know-It-All.

I realize that it is a particularly irritating personality flaw and my recognition of it within me leaves a gnawing pain every time I hear myself interject an unasked for answer. I’m sure the professors I corrected during college classes thought I was a smug, self-satisfied bitch. I’m certain past colleagues have whispered about me being a pretentious, ass-kissing elitist. I’m pretty positive I’ve annoyed multitudes of people, and all while just trying to be helpful.

So as much as I can nowadays, I try to keep quiet.

But is there ever a time that being a Know-It-All is a good thing?

Yesterday the Captain and I went for a walk. As we strolled along the road beside the lake I noticed a child, no more than two, naked except for a diaper, standing in a driveway. Alone. The toddler took no notice of us as he was busy examining the back of the truck he was standing behind.

“Nobody is watching that baby,” I said.

“Come on, there’s no one outside?”

“No, look. That child is out there by himself. I bet no one even knows where he is.”

There were several vehicles in the driveway (where the toddler was wandering), but the yard was quiet. No one else in sight. The only indication there were people around at all was an open side door leading out to the deck (above and behind the driveway).

“It’s none of our business. Come on.”

“But he’s about five feet from the road. I know it’s not a busy street, but across the road is the lake. What if he falls in?”

“What are you going to do? Ask the people around here who he belongs to?” The Captain seemed concerned but hesitant.

“We’ll end up reading about him in the paper tomorrow.”

Eventually the Captain convinced me that I’m not responsible for other people’s children and coaxed me along on our walk. Ultimately, I guess he’s right. Yes, it wasn’t my place to interfere. Yes, I do need to learn to mind my own business. Yes, I shouldn’t be dispensing advice unasked. But although I know saying something would have been extremely intrusive and would have most likely made serious waves, part of me feels like a terrible person because I kept walking.