When I was a kid in first or second grade, my dad owned an oil business in rural Kansas. The business was about a football field away from our house and I often walked back and forth just to see what was going on and to hang out. The workers didn’t mind...or at least they never seemed to...but, then again, they did work for my dad.
Every morning, the big tanker trucks would leave to go into the fields. There was a gravel drive beside our house where they all had to go out. I don’t remember what I was doing...but I do remember one morning, walking across that gravel drive as a tanker truck was leaving for the day. I could have stepped up my speed to get out of the way, but I didn’t. I remember thinking, “He’s not going to run over me; my dad owns this place!” and continued sauntering across the gravel road. As I expected, the tanker truck slowed to let me pass.
Though no one told me I had power, I knew I did. At seven or eight years old, I knew I could stop a tanker truck. At seven or eight, I knew I would have no consequence for being defiant. Even though my parents would have scolded me had they been witnessing it, I inherently knew my dad’s employee was not going to expose me and, therefore, I would not get in trouble. My dad has power, ergo I have power.
And that’s how it starts.
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