When I was a little girl and, like all children, began learning more than the simple "See Dick Run" words, I'd often ask my dad what a word meant. "Go get me the dictionary," he'd order, so that we could look it up together and discuss it. First of all, that dictionary was the biggest dictionary I have ever seen and weighed probably 5 pounds. So it was a chore just to lug it over to the leather chair he sat in each night - a chair that was his and his alone and no one else was allowed in it. I suppose one could consider it his throne. Secondly, as I got older and, especially by the time I was in high school, his command to fetch the dictionary was often met with a roll of the eyes and a small request: "Can't you just tell me what it means?" Nope. That was never an option and so, sometimes I would go way out of my way to find out what the word meant without asking dad. Like calling a friend. Who didn't know. Or asking mom who would say, "Ask your father." Or just guessing.
All too many times, I would walk to his chair, resigned to my fate, carrying that huge tome, and I would place it in his lap. Interestingly, I knew I could've just looked up that word myself. But now, years later, I realize that the interaction with my dad was extremely valuable to me - talking over the word and looking it up together, seeing what the dictionary had to say about it and then looking up similar words, even when I thought I didn't want to.
Which brings me to today's word - patronize. The first time I heard that word, I was watching an old black and white movie with my parents. Of course, in those days, there was often an underlying romantic theme between the main character and the leading lady. In this particular movie, the two lovers were having an argument. "Don't patronize me," the beautiful dark haired woman yelled in frustration. As she turned to storm out, the man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back where they locked eyes, and she melted into his arms as he crushed her lips with his in an almost violent display of romantic lust (how many of those have we seen over the years? And, more importantly, why do we never grow tired of that scenario?)
My husband is a scholar at patronizing me. In our younger years, I, like the dark haired beauty in the movie, would yell, "Don't patronize me," and storm off. And he knew better than to yank me back and try to smoothe it over with a long, hard kiss. He'd end up with a fist sandwich if he did that. But, like fine wine, we seem to mellow with age and, most of the time (emphasis on the word, most), I enjoy and allow the patronization, depending on the type it is.
Positive Patronization. This form of patronize is when I, for example, tell someone, my husband, for example, something and he is way too excited and encouraging about it. On Saturday, I told my husband that I was going to be seeing my sister and we were going to go to the India House for lunch. "Oh, well! Isn't that prrrrr-esssshhhhh-US! That is so precious. It is darling, is what it is." And he goes on and on while I stand there with a huge grin on my face, hands clasped, waiting for him to finish. Finally, when he was through with his long, drawn out diatribe, I said, "Thank you for patronizing me. I mean, I know you're doing it, but I'll take it. I like it. Thank you." And I fell into his arms for that dramatic crushing kiss which we both play up big and end up screaming with laughter.
Negative Patronization. This type of patronizing is not the kind I like - at all. This form happens when, for example, Druck breaks something of mine that is very dear to me. "Don't worry," he'll say nervously. "I'll replace it. In fact, the one I get will be better than this one." "The one you broke is 75 years old. Where are you going to find another one like it," I scream. "You have no idea the power I have," he'll say reassuringly with a pat on the shoulder. "I will be successful and I will get you one that is in better condition than that old thing."
I mostly don't like this form of patronization because he has never come through on this. Never. I think he hopes I'll just forget about it. I still remember the beautiful vase he broke in 1986 while swinging our son around the living room (a no-no in itself). 23 years later, he thinks I forgot. I haven't. But I have let it go.
Solicited Patronization. I have mixed emotions on this form. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don't. It is the kind of patronization that you actually ask for and often know you're going to get. The other morning, as Druck sat on the edge of the bed, cup of coffee in hand, staring at the floor as he tried to wake up, I (being a morning person unlike my husband), flew out of the bathroom and said, "Now tell me honestly. How does this look. Be honest. I can't go to work looking like a crazy person." "Beautiful," he murmured.
"You didn't even look at me. Come on. I need to know. Put forth some effort here." With a fleeting glance, his eyes darted to me and back to the floor and, with a long sigh, he put forth all the effort he could muster for a non-morning person. "You. Look. Beautiful. There. I said it, ok?" "Are you serious," I said. "Do I really look ok?" "Oh, brother," he whispered. "Yes!"
I fell to the floor and, kneeling beside him, I said, "You are wonderful. Thank you. Now give me a kiss." With another sigh, he bent forward, reluctantly proffering his lips as I gave him a quick peck and left him alone.
So the next time someone is patronizing you, why not just go with it and enjoy the moment. Give a knowing smile and thank the person for patronizing you. Some days it just feels right. By the way, I still have the big dictionary (see photo), and I often run my hands over it or open it slowly against its weak binding, remembering those times with my dad. It is more valuable to me than fine china or precious gold. And Druck will never ever come near it, if I can help it. Because this one is irreplaceable.
Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma
