Often, when I’m talking to someone, there’s a special place I go to – in my mind. I rarely go on purpose, but I end up there a lot (much like Dairy Queen or the Nutty Bar display in Gordy’s). In most cases, I’ll be having some sort of conversation with my wife or a co-worker or my parents. I might be talking about something casual like weekend plans or paint colors. I might be talking about something intense like religion or politics or how many times Buffy the Vampire Slayer has actually died. I could be talking about anything, really, and POW! I’m in the special place. I’ve given this place a name, which I will now reveal, in all caps for subtle emphasis:

I-AM-SO-FREAKING-RIGHT-ABOUT-THIS ... LAND

Somehow, my mind just suddenly shifts into this new reality where I’m absolutely right in what I’m saying, and I know it’s true – to the core of my very soul – I just know it. The clouds have broken away, the seas have calmed, and the sun dazzles down upon me as a magnificent, Ian McKellen-like voice booms, “You are totally right about this, Mike. You most certainly did not eat most of the peanut butter cups. And don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise. Also, you didn’t leave the water running in the bathroom.” 

Once I’ve entered I-Am-So-Freaking-Right-About-This Land, there’s no talking to me. There’s no agreeing to disagree and there’s no humoring the other person. My universe spins in but one direction, and you just can’t argue with that, baby. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.

I really can’t think of a time when my parents didn’t tell me, “There’s a wrong way, a right way, and then there’s Mike’s way.” Even as a third grader, I remember thinking, “That sounds like an awful lot of options, Mom. Seems like there’s really only the ‘right way.’ Which brings me back to the whole ‘you need to brush your teeth everyday’ issue ...”

As far as I can tell, there’s only one major problem with my frequent visits I-Am-So-Freaking-Right-About-This Land. See, on many occasions, I am so absolutely freaking wrong about that.

Unfortunately, I seem to lack the ability to realize how wrong I am until I’ve spent considerable effort explaining how mind-bogglingly not wrong I am. And again, I’ve always been that way. Much to my parents’ dismay.

    High school was perhaps the Golden Age of my extreme ... being rightness. It’s well documented that most teenagers are genetically bred to believe in the excruciating obviousness of how right they are. This stems back to a scientific study conducted in the 1940s which let our government to believe teen angst could be harnessed as a new and powerful energy source. As a result, the nation’s fluoride supplies have since been laced with a chemical called Centeroftheuniverseonium.

Unfortunately, human beings usually aren’t capable of realizing how ridiculous they sound until years (sometimes decades) after they open their stupid mouths. So I never realized what a giant ass I was in high school until well into my college career.

I argued about everything from when I should mow the lawn to what we should have for dinner to not going on family trips to whether or not shutting the car door with my foot could really be classified as “kicking it.” And when I wasn’t actively arguing, I just stayed in a crappy music and junk food-fueled state of ignorant bliss, where not talking to people was just easier than – once again – having to explain how smart I was.

At least I’m all grown up now and far too mature for all this dumbassery, right? Would I be asking that question if the answer was “yes?”

At least I’m more aware of it, now. I’m even to a point where, when I feel the familiar transition to I-Am-So-Freaking-Right-Land, I just trust that I’m missing something. I’m sure my wife (who probably never leaves the bathroom faucet running) would rather I just didn’t miss anything to begin with, but it’s a start.

All that said, I’d like to apologize to my parents for all those agonizingly stupid arguments I started over the years. I mean, I was probably right about a bunch of that stuff, but ... sorry.