I’m the oldest child in my family, which I’ve always borne with, I think, a special kind of grace. I took my responsibilities as the eldest very seriously—in particular, my duty to tell other people what to do.

It was a heavy weight; I’m not going to lie. But, if you ask my sister and brothers, I think they’ll tell you that I bore up under the burden—always ready to help other people direct their lives and activities.

These responsibilities became especially apparent when I was asked to babysit—which was often. I told everybody what to eat and when to go to bed. And if my mom had suggested we take some of our free time to help clean up the house, I knew immediately whom to call on to get the job done.

Unfortunately, my siblings weren’t always as enthusiastic about my role as the lord of the manor and chief order-giver. In fact, they were often downright resistant.

“You need to make sure the dishwasher is cleaned out,” I’d say—a perfectly reasonable request, in my estimation.

But I was almost always met with some level of unbelievable obstinance: “Why don’t you do it?”

I thought I exercised great patience by repeating slowly and clearly my reasoning. I don’t know why my siblings never seemed to remember the answer, but every time I found myself explaining, “Because I told you to do it.”

Apparently, this very simple exercise in logic was still beyond their moral and intellectual capacity because my sister and brothers would invariably respond by saying, “So? You’re not the boss of me.”

I take it as a credit to my merciful and forbearing nature that all of my siblings survived their childhoods and are now semi-functional adults—with jobs, families, and the fully-formed ability to unload a dishwasher.

I regularly await their gratitude in the form of a heartfelt “thank you” note. It doesn’t have to be a full-blown letter; I’m not a monster.

Have you ever had the “you’re-not-the-boss-of-me/you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do” conversation with someone before?

What’s that conversation always about? I mean, way deep down at the heart of it?

Power. It’s always about the pecking order, about who has the juice to make us do things.

When kids say, “You’re not the boss of me,” what they’re really getting at is a reading of the world that assesses where everyone fits in in the playground pecking order. “You can’t make me do anything because you don’t have sufficient power to compel me.”

But my assertions of power tend to be about my own decision-making authority.

“I’ll shut up if I want to.”

“I’ll wear tennis shoes to the prom if I feel like it.”

“I’ll empty the dishwasher when I’m good and ready.”

So many of us go through life believing to one extent or another in our ability to choose our actions despite opposition from others—especially those with less power than we have.