CHAPTER 4

The Yellow Truck

Don’t tell people what they want; tell them who they are.

When I finished law school, I bought a yellow pickup truck from my

dad. It didn’t have many miles on it and was in pretty good condition. I
gave him the cash, he tossed me the keys, and I climbed in. As I was
pulling out of the driveway, he tapped on the window and I rolled it
down. He pointed at the hood and said, “You’ll want to change the oil.” I
nodded dutifully and drove home. My dad is a great guy and I love him a
lot; but it bugged me that he was still telling me what to do even though I
was a grown man. However, I brushed it off as just one of those things
dads do.
The next time I drove over to see my dad, we had a great visit. Before
I left, he told me again how I’d want to change the oil in my truck. This
seemed to happen every time we got together, and I started to see it as a
kind of stalemate. I was an adult, and I didn’t want someone telling me
what to do. After all, this was now my truck. Each time my dad told me
about the oil, I grumbled under my breath that I’d change the oil when I
felt like it and not a minute before. Even though I knew my dad was right,
I could have had five cans of Pennzoil, a funnel, and a filter in the front
seat and I still wouldn’t have done it.
Why? It’s simple. Most people don’t want to be told what they want.
It’s in our DNA to assess our environment, take in the inputs, and decide
for ourselves what we’ll do. We resist in several ways. Sometimes we
send people the message with a sharp word or gesture to create some
distance. Other times we resist by being passively detached and polite,