Yelling - One of the Highest Forms of Compassion

Lately I’ve been watching Kitchen Nightmares with Chef Gordon Ramsey, who in my opinion, does for wanna-be successful restaurants what Simon Cowell does for wanna-be pop singers...and that is give them a serious dose of honesty – delivered fearlessly and without restraint. Personally, I like the honesty of Ramsey (and Cowell), not only because I usually agree with them, but because I admire how effortlessly Ramsey (we'll cover Cowell in a future blog) handles confrontation with stubborn, defensive, and clueless chefs and restaurateurs. I find myself wishing I could handle confrontation more like Chef Ramsey. It makes me curious about his upbringing and family life. In Ramsey’s home, is it copasetic and even encouraged to raise your voice during a discussion? I’m sort of fascinated by what his family dynamic might be like. Maybe he just learned it in the kitchen. Who knows.

I suppose it’s worth mentioning that my family is not a yelling family. In fact, my father’s side is fully non-confrontational to the point where they’ll completely ignore an elephant in the room to avoid making waves. However my father has more boldness than his mother, in that he handled confrontations while teaching and coaching (35 years of the former, 25 years of the latter) with relative ease. My mother’s family, while generally not very confrontational, has a bit more fire in them, being a blend of Serbian and Russian, two semi-confrontational cultures (though I believe we having nothing on Latinos). I also never witnessed my parents yelling at each other. Something I feel grateful for now because it’s not a default that I readily go to when in arguments with my beau Marcus. Though I might not have learned how to verbally spar from my parents, I did learn how to fight for what I believe in and for what’s right, as my parents taught me that on a constant basis throughout my childhood.

The background is to bring you to this: For the first time in my life, I’ve yelled at my father. I have to tell you, it’s a bit uncomfortable for me, but still, I feel justified.

So maybe that’s it with Ramsey. He feels justified in his yelling at these chefs and restaurateurs who are so reluctant to take responsibility and create change in their businesses that he’s their loud, living, in-their-face wake-up call.

Because that’s what it is for me with my father. I feel justified yelling at him. Here’s why: He’s pre-diabetic. For anyone who knows anything about this, you know that for a seventy-one year old man (for a man at any age, really, but especially a bona-fide senior citizen), being pre-diabetic is not a good prognosis. The human body seems to handle semi-high blood sugar for about ten years, but once we pass the ten year mark, things start to go. My father, true to form, doesn’t really want to change anything in his diet or lifestyle. The changes he has made are sort of half-assed. The problem, I think, is that besides being overweight, my Dad feels generally all right. His weight-gain occurred primarily since he retired 15 years ago (since he worked out and ate less as a physical fitness teacher and football coach). But slowly over the past 15 years he’s gained weight and grown more sedentary. But they (they = reporters, doctors, the powers that be) call diabetes The Silent Killer for a reason. There are often no obvious symptoms with diabetes, even though complications from diabetes can be blindness, amputations, and usually irreversible coronary artery disease (which can lead to heart attacks and strokes).

So I feel justified yelling at my father because he didn’t really change much when I just spoke with him. Fortunately, I’m not alone in my fight as I imagine this would be much more difficult if I were. My boyfriend Marcus is a health and nutrition expert, and much-like Ramsey, is not afraid of confrontation, so we take turns talking to and sometimes yelling at my father. My mother, while not yelling at him, is making him healthy, healing foods to eat, but between my Mom’s healthy and Marcus sanctioned meals, my father still goes to some of the bad stuff.

Today’s yelling spell at my father was due to my mother’s report that he recently ate Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and a tuna-salad sandwich. Part of my rant was, “Dad, Kraft mac n’ cheese and a canned tuna sandwich?!? They are the bastards of pasta and fish. How about some organic pasta and the good, organic cheese (unpasteurized) that I know you have at home, or getting fresh tuna from the co-op?? But no, you have to eat the bottom of the totem pole of pasta and fish. Come on, Dad. You know better.”

But at this point, his taste-buds and eating are so habitualized, that he isn’t even aware of what he’s putting in his mouth and how it’s contributing to his impending diabetes. For example, the boxed mac n’ cheese has a higher glycemic index than a can of coke. Think about that. Mac n’ cheese spikes your blood sugar more than drinking a can of regular coke. Seriously. And sandwich was surely loaded with unknown sugars, what with the high-fructose corn-syrup spiked mayonnaise and the white bread that undoubtedly comprised the tuna-fish sandwich.

But what does this yelling mean in the big picture?

Though uncomfortable at times for all parties, I actually believe that yelling at my father is one of the highest forms of compassion. True compassion is fighting for the highest good, even when it’s uncomfortable.

I selfishly want so badly for my father to live long and healthy, that I’ll resort to yelling my truth to him, in the chance it’ll get through his thick, stubborn skin.

Which is part of why I like Chef Ramsey. He wants so badly for these people to have what they claim to want, that he’s willing to exert the effort and frankly, balls, that it takes to speak loudly and fiercely, the truth about how they’re f%*king up their restaurants.

Could there be a more quiet or gentler way of getting across my point or Chef Ramsey’s? Probably. Though I suppose it wouldn’t be as entertaining television in Ramsey’s case. But in my life, yeah, I suppose if I were more Zen, I might be able to find a way to get my point across without yelling and with more finesse and subtlety. But until I attain this Zen-state, I’m going to throw anything I have in my arsenal at my father about his health. Because as long as he’s not wiling to fight for himself and his health, I’ll fight for him. I can handle being a little uncomfortable, and so can he.

The irony is, I learned this lesson on true compassion and fighting for the highest good from my parents. Guess my Dad should’ve known it might come back to bite him on the ass. But Dad, I promise you... you’ll thank me some day.

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