When my mom was mad about something I was doing or not doing she’d yell, telling me to behave. Behave. There’s an interesting word. What is a “have” anyway and how could I be one? Every time I get mad, it’s for the same reason. There is something or someone not behaving the way I want. Wanting the world to conform to my likings is a family tradition.

When did some part of me declare I know better than everyone else? It must have been early in my life. I know how people are supposed to behave. Why don’t they know? If everyone acted the way I wanted, we’d all be better off. How did I become so brilliant? Why is everyone else so slow to see I’m right?

People, or at least the media, are fascinated by the inhabitants of this planet who don’t behave. I know better than to strap a bomb to my body, run into a crowed place and blow myself up. You won’t find me smoking, drinking and driving or believing that fruit roll ups have anything to do with fruit. I know how to behave. Why doesn’t the rest of the population?

I would think anybody could figure out that the little stick thing coming off the steering column should be used to signal other drivers a lane change is about to happen. Why don’t people know it’s a waste of time to buy a weight loss product from an infomercial? I can’t for the life of me think it’d be a good idea to be a guest on the Dr. Phil show.

Here’s what I’m thinking. I’m thinking people watch something like Judge Judy so they can think to themselves, “Thank goodness I’m not that person. I’m not that stupid.” It’s a need for reassurance. As egotistical and narcissistic as I am to believe I know better than everyone else, there’s also this haunting voice that says I don’t know much of anything. I need that reassurance that I am as brilliant as I think, or at least smarter than the folks on daytime TV. Why else would I pay any attention to Britney Spears? If I really know so much, how come I’m not as well known as Rush Limbaugh? Don’t you think the same way?

So I get mad and ask, “Why won’t these people behave?” To make matters worse, it’s not only people. I take the same stance with inanimate objects. I yell at my computer. Nature isn’t spared my wrath either. I’m really irritated with winter. Why does the planet have to lean so far away from the sun at this time of the year? Doesn’t it know I want to play golf year-round in shorts?

I’ve tried to “live and let live,” but it doesn’t work. I’m too smart, know too much and above all, I know better. I really think the human genome project missed the “know it all” gene that causes me to know I’m right about everything. Every conflict I have is based on the knowledge that I’m right and demand that everyone believe what I believe. I know I’m right about this.

Apparently it’s more important to me at times to be right than it is to get along. There’s another one of my mom’s reprimands: “Why can’t you boys just get along.” I know I don’t have to give up being right to get along, I just have to be loving, but sometimes I don’t want to be warm and fuzzy. Knowing all this doesn’t make it any easier. When couples come to me for help, they start with their individual stories hoping for me to take sides. I do. I tell them they’re both right. Then I ask, “Now what?”

I spent thousand of dollars in therapy learning to be more loving. It worked. I am more loving, and I do shake my head, roll my eyes and wonder when will everyone else learn what I know and behave. Why can’t they all just get along?