No

I’m learning to say no. I know I’ve said no many times in print, every time I wrote about something I didn’t like. That’s not the same as saying no to someone I like. That’s not even like saying no to poor service, which I can usually manage to do.

As my mother’s only child and her major focus of attention, I’ve always had a hard time saying no to women. Now and then it would dawn on me than I could say no, to anybody, even this smooth, warm one right here. I hardly ever did, though. I don’t suppose my passive aggressiveness, if that’s the right label, fooled whoever she happened to be into thinking I was altogether happy with my lot, probably ensuring that she wasn’t altogether happy with her lot either.

My father’s wordless acquiescence to whatever my mother wanted showed me how to go along with whatever my primary woman wants. If I do it I’ll be happier than if I don’t—I get a point or two, and I don’t have to hear about my not doing it. I could tell you no, though, even if you’re a woman, because you’re almost certainly not my woman, and if you are, “Yes, dear.”

I’ve heard that Woody Guthrie turned down a chance to make a lot of money to do a show and said no, because he’d have to disrespect his social group and, of course, himself. He was a poor man, as were the other musicians, a lot of money would’ve made a big difference to any of them, and he said no anyway. That’s a big ass no. I’d’ve sold out long ago if I had gotten an offer, but I was the world’s worst employee and didn’t know I had anything to sell other than my time, and I never got anywhere. I took what was offered. I never considered saying no.

An especially hard no is not being able to think of something good to say about work done by someone I like, and that’s the no of the week for me. A guy I know slightly and think a lot of asked me to read part of a manuscript a couple of years ago, and I had to tell him that if I were to come across such a book, I wouldn’t read past the first page. I tried to explain specifically why I felt like that, and ways he could approach the story that might help him, or at least help me like it.

He recently sent me the whole shebang to comment on, and it’s no better than it was two years ago, dammit.