The Best Advice

We were all sitting around the table, my sister and I picking at our broccoli and my parents attempting to start an interesting conversation with one of us. The usual conversation-starter ("So how was school today?") elicited its usual response ("mmmm"). We lapsed into silence again, every one of us fearing the dirty dishes and homework that awaited when the meal was done and nobody could think of anything else to say. Somehow, in a fit of boredom or maybe on the urging of the Imp of the Perverse, I found myself picking the last piece of broccoli up from my plate, placing it in my palm, and flicking it at my sister with a ferocity not usually found in eleven-year-old girls.

As the soggy bit of plant matter soared through the air, flopping helplessly as it went, I realized I had made a horrible mistake. The vegetative projectile would hit its mark, and my sister's eyes would widen with surprise and then quickly narrow with rage. She would lunge to her feet, lean over her plate toward me, and yell, "STUPID MEAN UGLY POOPYHEAD!" or something to that effect. I would cringe and sulk, as those words, from my usually docile sister, would cut me deeply.

That's the way it happened, more or less. My parents watched helplessly as the mood in the dining room went from bland to tense to gloomy in about seven seconds. When they managed to gain control of my sister and I, it was decreed that we would not be allowed to have such unseemly outbursts again, ever.

At first I doubted their ability to keep me from expressing my frustration in the loudest possible manner. But the very next day, as I sat down at the table and looked up expectantly for my serving of mashed potatoes, I saw not my food but a sign taped to the wall across from me. In my mother's elegant but forceful handwriting were the words think before you speak. I turned around to find a matching sign behind me, where my sister could see it clearly. I would think little of it until later that night, when it caught my eye as I was about to whine, Liii-za, why do you pick the pieces of skin out of the mashed potatoes? They're the best part, stupid. Think, the sign said, before you speak. I was about to speak, but I hadn't thought about it at all. I closed my mouth and concentrated on my own meal.

Whenever I find myself about to say something, I see the plain piece of paper bearing the words think before you speak. It's not a complicated idea as far as bits of advice go, but it's saved me from innumerable arguments and other awkward situations.