Exercise Authority
And don’t let others take advantage
By Ron Ciancutti
I love taking a walk during the pre-dawn hours when the world is still half-asleep. I see houses and neighborhoods come alive. A light turns on here or there. As a man retrieves the morning paper, he sees me, nods, and waves. I smile. No words are exchanged. There is dew on the grass, and I can smell coffee brewing through an open window. A dog barks but not too loudly, almost conscious of the early moment. A truck rumbles by on a delivery run, and sometimes I hear a distant siren or the back-up tones of another truck pulling into a loading dock.
Photo: © Can Stock Photo / andykazie
About three houses short of my driveway, I notice the McCallister family has had a new dishwasher delivered. The cardboard box sits on the tree lawn. I pull a pocketknife from my jeans and cut a three-foot square from the box. As I walk up my driveway, the sun begins to light the stage for the day. I pause at my truck and slip the cardboard under the front axle. I think I saw some drops in the driveway last week; one of the fluids may be leaking.
I enter the house, flip the gas burner to light the percolator I prepared before I left, and step into the shower. Minutes later, I’m dried and dressed as the coffee burps along. I shut it down, grab the paper and yesterday’s mail, and hook the coffee mug around my thumb. Setting all three and the coffee pot at the picnic table, I sit with the sun at my back and lay the paper out, weighing each corner down with the objects just described. The coffee mug, of course, is at the lower right corner for easy access.
The birds begin their daily symphony, joined by the insects. I retrieve the cardboard from beneath my truck. Sure enough, a few drops of power-steering fluid are visible. I sit down and call my mechanic, Jerry, who tells me to bring the truck to his shop this morning and he’ll “have a look.” Minutes later, Jerry takes the keys , and I pull my bike from the rear hatch and pedal home. Back at my table, the coffee’s cold but still plenty good, and I begin to review the mail.
I try to concentrate on the more serious-looking pieces that indicate the benefit changes coming next year or the shrinking hospital programs, but it is all very confusing. I think back to my high school and college years when none of this was on my radar, and I shake my head. Where did the time go?
If there was a movie version of this essay, this part would be where the screen goes all squiggly and fog is pumped in. The close-up of my face with my eyes closed would indicate I am either dreaming or in deep thought.
Get What’s Coming
Suddenly, I’m 6 years old and sitting in Grandpa’s barber shop watching a customer give him a hard time because the price of a haircut went up 25 cents. He curses and pays Pappy begrudgingly, but mumbles some foul language as he storms out the door. When he’s out of earshot, my grandfather has a few things to say about him, too. It’s a real lesson for me, as I see that some people don’t always get along and often don’t resolve things well. I also discover that, when men are mad, they typically offer the most honest advice. “Don’t ever let anyone talk you out of what you got coming to you,” says Pappy as he points the shears at me. I smile tight-lipped and nod—mostly to keep him happy—and return to my comic book.
The time-passing squiggly lines return, and I’m pressing out dough after school at the local pizzeria. The boss gives me a wink and jerks his head towards the office. I follow and he tells me he is proud of my work and wants to make me a manager. He promises me a better hourly rate and more predictable hours. In the weeks that follow, though, the rate stays the same, and I’m only working the hours other guys don’t show for. I remember my grandpa’s words and am not about to “let anyone talk me out of what’s coming to me.” The owner fumbles through an explanation about “meaning to get to that.” but I can see and hear I am only important when I’m on the clock and being more mature than my peers. When I serve a purpose, I have value, but at that moment, I’m just hired help. The performance in the office was a lie. Although I am only 16 years old, I take a stand, get my raise, and start getting better hours.
That developed a lifelong habit of taking authority in situations where people show signs of taking advantage of me. I even began to see that people do this unconsciously. For example, suppose a person shows strong organizational skills in the early years. Teachers, professors, or bosses will often ask this individual to handle leadership and organizational duties to help them. While this is flattering, there are limitations. I recall a time or two when I had to say something like, “Well, sir, the rest of this will be up to you since it is your class.” It was a little reminder that boundaries were involved.
Taking authority is a good habit to develop. It’s more than a matter of being sure-footed. It’s the WD-40 of life because it just makes things run more smoothly. When the world knows you are exercising control, the world seems to back off and let you. A man needs to look like he knows where he is headed, with confidence in his gait. However, if authority is exercised too much, it can become intimidating. There is a fine line.
I was raised to have a great deal of respect for anyone older than I, so my normal language included many “Yes, ma’ams” and “No, sirs,” but I also walk unapologetically.
There’s A Fine Line
Taking authority is not for the soft-hearted, however, as it can really backfire. When my wife and I bought our current home some 25 years ago, I noticed an elderly woman several houses away with a horribly maintained lawn. Whenever my wife and I were walking, the neighbor was always on her front porch, waved, and said hello. One evening, we had become familiar enough that I asked if she needed help finding a lawn service; she blushed and explained that, ever since her husband had died, she simply couldn’t keep the place up on her own. My wife and I figured our neighbor couldn’t afford the cost of a maintenance man. The lawn was not that large, and with my Christian upbringing, I took authority of the situation and simply began cutting the lawn myself. Whenever I cut my grass, I simply wheeled the mower down the block and did hers. We did the typical, polite dance of her trying to pay me and my refusing for the first few times, and then it simply became routine. I refused to take any money. Instead, I took authority and said I would have no more of that talk. One year became two and two became four, and soon it simply became my job. Years later she passed on, and her son moved in. I stopped cutting the lawn, and no one else picked up the job, and the lawn began to look terrible again, so I reassumed my former duties. From time to time, the son would even mention that I missed a spot here or there. After 20-plus years of this, I decided to finally have a heart-to-heart conversation with him. One evening, after completing the lawn, I knocked on the door and asked if he had a minute. As I began to broach the subject, he raised his hand to stop me. He said his mother had told him years ago that the lawn had become a matter of pride to me because of my fine work. She told him that, after she died, it would be wrong to take this task from me since I enjoyed it so much. He paused. I smiled. He put his hand on my shoulder and said he knew how hard the job had become. He had bought a new mower for me to use whenever I came to cut. I was speechless and nodded my false appreciation. I cut with the new mower for another two years, and then the son sold the place. I was there the day her grandson was loading the mower on his lawn-service trailer to add it to his fleet. I think the “man upstairs,” who has authority over me, had a good laugh that day. I hope someone did.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.