When my congregation talked about the power of stories last Sunday, I remembered this one. By the time I was 3, it was difficult for my mother to make me behave, so she used drastic measures. She told me she would have to send me to Reform School if I misbehaved.
Confronted by my willfulness, she picked up the telephone and pretended to talk with someone at the “school.” Then she said, “The truck is coming!”
I didn’t know what a Reform School was, but when she said “truck,” I immediately pictured the large van that had recently transported our furniture from Queens to Manhattan. Being forced into its dark interior sans mommy was frightening enough to break through my childish willfulness. I cried and screamed and begged for one more chance. “Please! One more chance. Pleeeeeze.” I would be good forever.
Mom picked up the phone again. “Okay, they’ll recall the truck, but this is your only chance. If I ever call again, that’s it.” Still sobbing hysterically, I promised to obey her forever.
I meant it when I sobbed it, but I was 3. Soon enough, I disobeyed again, and once again, the truck was on its way. So it went for the next few years. The truck that never quite arrived continued to terrify me as Mom used it to try and bend me to her will. This persistent experience colored my early childhood, and I hated her for that for a long time. I was still telling this story to my therapist (and to anyone else willing to listen) well into my 30s.
With the passing years, I matured a bit, and eventually, I could have occasional meaningful conversations with Mom. I told her about those years of being terrified by her cruel and persistent threat. She acknowledged it with surprising candor and explained. She never wanted children but had me to please my father. She didn’t know how to manage me even though everyone told her she had to.
As a new immigrant who spoke little English, she lacked trusted experts to advise her, so she consulted Aunt Rosa. As a piano teacher, she figured Rosa understood children, and Rosa recommended the Reform School threat. “But I only did it once,” she said. “I saw how terrified you were, and I couldn’t scare you that badly a second time.” Wow! I saw instantly that Mom was telling the truth. Once was enough to generate an exaggerated story powerful enough to color my intimate relationships for the next 30 years.
Stories have immense power, even when they defy logic. My wife, friends, family, and even my therapist believed my exaggerated story without questioning it, reinforcing that I had been severely victimized. None of them tried reframing my story by pointing to Mom’s better qualities or the difficulties she faced. Challenging someone’s cherished story is impolite.
The stories we live in are rooted in culture as well as personal experience. Today, many right-leaning voters live in a story about Liberals hating their country and even plotting to destroy it, while on the left, the story says that MAGA Republicans want to put an end to democracy. People living in varying versions of these stories are as sure about their beliefs as I was about my mother’s repeated cruelty and don’t usually care that I can trace these stories to The Founders.
Witness Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton’s differences about how to run the country, and the personal animosities that followed. Our two-party system grew from those differences and animosities. I can further trace Jefferson and Hamilton’s differences to the English Revolution of the 1640s when Levellers and Diggers unsuccessfully tried pushing Parliamentarians (who were fighting Royalists) toward policies we would now call Communism. Better historians than I can likely trace these themes to the cradles of civilization. Seen in this light, the current struggle between Liberal Democrats and MAGA Republicans is rooted in competing stories that are nearly timeless. Such stories should not be taken lightly.
It would be nice to tell you that once I understood my personal story in broader terms, Mom and I developed a loving relationship, but we didn’t. I still didn’t like her, and she continued being disappointed in what she considered my undue lack of attending to her. But we learned to talk about these differences instead of holding silent grudges; visiting became less of a trial for me, and I could at least meet my obligations without resenting them or her. Understanding didn’t lead to a “happily ever after,” but it helped us get along.
So, listen up, Trump and Biden haters. Our argument is thousands of years old. Do you think your team will finally win? Are you enjoying the fight? If you answered “no” to these questions, maybe it’s time to ask Mom her version of the story. You don’t have to agree with everything she says, but understanding her point of view might lower your blood pressure.

Mature Content is a monthly feature from Age-Friendly Carbondale.