Inner Brat

I was working on a project that grew and grew, so keeping track of names, email addresses, action steps and all that became too much for my Lucy Ricardo way of organizing things. The logical solution would be to make a spreadsheet, but, you see, I like spreadsheets about as much a a cat likes taking a bath. So, of course, I took no action.

Now, I don't imagine anyone wakes up in the morning, jumps out of bed, and says, "Oh boy, today's the day I get to do a spreadsheet!" But most folks probably hesitate briefly and then do what's necessary. But not me. My tactic was delay, delay, delay.

Then, one morning when I was making my third cup of strong, black tea, another delay tactic, I realized it's not just spreadsheets that bring up a slew of negative feelings. I'm immobilized when it's time to start my physical therapy exercises, step away from the computer and rest my eyes, pull a few weeds in the yard, prepare a shopping list. You get the idea. And thus it occurred to me I have an Inner Brat running the show.

So I wondered what to do about this Inner Brat. I didn't consult my husband, Jim, because he's not exactly charmed by my fledgling ideas. A life partner can't do everything, after all. I phoned my sister Kathy and mentioned I have an Inner Brat who basically says, "No way!" to everything I've decided to do that's good. Make it stand out

Kathy and I theorized this little contrarian stems from our childhood, when we lived with adults who were scarier than the Queen of Hearts—who, at least, mostly stuck to shouting "Off with their heads!" rather than delivering real blows, which were routine in our home, including whacks from a leather belt for the worst transgressions. Faced with that, what's a kid gonna do if not go underground? That explanation made sense to Kathy and me, and our conversation moved on to other topics. Then, as we were about to sign off, I said, "You know, I think I kinda like my Inner Brat. She's feisty." And then she asked, "Laura, can I tell you something?" "Sure," I said. And she replied, "Your Inner Brat has a sister." We had a good laugh at that. And then she remember it was almost time for our weekly Zoom with our other sister, Mary Ruth, and our counsin Bill.

I got off the phone with Kathy and was heading to my computer to log onto Zoom when Jim said, "Don't go; all they do is upset you," which is not true. It's his way of joking about how close my sisters and I are, so I ignored him. On Zoom, Bill asked what we'd been up to in the past week. Ii blurted that I'd discovered I have an Inner Brat, and that Kathy does, too.

I elaborated a little bit. Bill's eyes flashed with recognition. "I think I do too," he said. It's not like his parents were scary. Any child would love to have a mom like his. But he said his Inner Brat was very much there at times, for example, when he would get money for his birthday and his parents told him to save it. Well, by the grin on his face, I knew a lot of that birthday money wound up in the till at the candy store on his way home from school.

His impish expression reminded me of when Bill and I, who were born just two months apart, were about three years old. We were at our grandfather's house, a grand, rambling kind of home, complete with a hidden staircase we used to slide down on the seat of our pants, making a racket that echoed throughout the house. On this day, we were playing, unsupervised, at the carpeted staircase near the front entrance. Bill and I decided it would be fun to make a boobie trap. Oh, we were excited. At the bottom of the stairs, we piled a metal dump truck, a few balls, a Raggedy Ann doll, an assortment of wooden blocks, and whatever other toys we could find.

Then we draped that with a white sheet that we got from who know where? Then Grampa appeared at the landing above. We were gleeful. We weren't just going to capture my sisters or his. No, our first captive would be a grownup! So we waited, little hearts thump, thumping, as he descended. When he reached the bottom stair, he gave a perplexed squint, and then stepped right over our trap. We were crushed. He wasn't even angry about the mess. Bill and I concluded we had to build a better boobie trap, but at three years old, our skills were limited.

So all these years later on Zoom, I could easily envision Bill having an Inner Brat. Then Bill said, "Oh yeah, lots of us have Inner Brats. I mean, parents, you know?" And we all agreed that even for little ones who aren't mistreated, childhood comes with a dose of powerlessness.

Mary Ruth, meanwhile, listened to this exchange and said, "I think I have an inner brat, too." But Mary Ruth told me about five years ago that when she was in second grade, she counted the years until she would graduate from high school, and decided the only way she could get far away from our home would be to excel in school and get a scholarship. She set that goal while sitting at her little second-grade desk, and ten years later, she graduated first in her class with a full scholarship to Vassar.

Now, when I was in second grade, our teacher put about 25 addition and subtraction flash cards up on a wall. She told us to copy them and work the problems, and she would check them the following day. She mentioned this would be a daily activity, and if you finished early, you could go to recess early. So I did a couple problems, told her I was done, and then went off to play The next morning, when she went through the classroom collecting papers, I made a great show of trying to find mine, but my desk was such a mess that papers, crayons, Elmer's glue and pencils flew into the air and clatter to the floor. In exasperation, she moved on without my paper. I got away with this at first because I was usually obedient to a fault. It was terror of arithmetic that drove me to the dark side. Based on this contrast between Mary Ruth's and my second-grade selves, I theorized that Mary Ruth's Inner Brat must have a little super hero mixed in who skips rebelling and takes action.

Later that day, I told Jim about my Inner Brat and how Bill thinks we all probably have one. Jim shook his head and said, "Nonsense. Inner Brat? That's just ridiculous."

"Really?" I asked, frowning.

He looked at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and declared, "I have an Outer Brat."

My God, what a revelation. You'd think I would have seen that, having been with him since 1984. But in that moment, I realized his Outer Brat is something I love best about him. I never know what he's going to say. He's a genius at stirring things up. Sometimes I think it would be nice if he were more of a warm, fuzzy sort of guy, always offering bear hugs and assuring me he's my safe harbor. But that's fleeting. He keeps things interesting. And the truth is, he may have an Outer Brat, but inside a Sweetheart is driving his actions. So now, maybe our Inner Brat and Inner Sweetheart will get to know one another. I think they'd make an ideal pair.

Sometimes I think it would be nice if he were more of a warm, fuzzy sort of guy, always offering bear hugs and assuring me he's my safe harbor. But that's fleeting. He keeps things interesting. And the truth is, he may have an Outer Brat, but inside a Sweetheart is driving his actions. So now, maybe our Inner Brat and Inner Sweetheart will get to know one another. I think they'd make an ideal pair.