My Bootstraps

In fifth grade my primary teacher left for, I think, a week. I was pretty stoked because my teacher was a no-nonsense kind of woman who ran a fair but strict classroom. I wasn’t too keen on strict so a full week without her made the idea of going to school a little less horrifying than usual. There would be movies, and self-study time, and generally less schooling. Perhaps with the extra time I could work up the courage to finally talk to Sara Huotari… or not. But that was not to be. Our substitute teacher, Mrs. Johnson, was just as strict as my primary teacher and my primary teacher had left Mrs. Johnson a very detailed lesson plan which she intended to follow. However, I did not intend to follow that plan.

One of the things I have realized about my faulty brain is that sometimes I get an expectation in my head, however irrational, childish, or stupid, and I get fixated on it. I get ornery, I struggle, and I pitch a fit if I don’t get what I consider is owed to me. And in extreme cases I act out. (Note: As my wife knows, fifth grade Greg was only slightly less restrained than 38 year old Greg.) Since I felt it was my God-given right to slack off that week I raised hell in protest. I was disruptive, I was obstinate, I was the class clown, and I was downright cruel. I don’t know if I succeeded but I acted as if my goal was to get Mrs. Johnson to quit teaching. At the end of the week our primary teacher came back and with her came dread.

Later in life I really did get better. Sure, I dropped out of college and joined the Army at the lowest rank possible. Yes, my credit score was damn near the double digits at one point. Yes, I did leave the woman to whom I am now married for some very selfish and stupid reasons. But I made it out and now I am a relatively well-adjusted and successful father of four. I have been happily married for over 15 years. I’ve traveled the world, done lots of cool stuff, have some awesome kids, a nice house in the suburbs, and what appears to be a healthy set of life and career skills. I am also, in the words of Chad Kroeger, a leader of men and I also brew some pretty good beer.

Stop. Look back on that last sentence and count the number of times you read “I” “I’ve” or “my”. Check out all those accomplishments. Take all that into consideration and spend some time basking in my accomplishments. I was a poor, awkward kid from the middle of nowhere and look where I am now. Pretty impressive. (Those that have read certain of my other blog postings know that this is a very, very ham-fisted setup but sssssshhhhhh. Don’t spoil it for the n00bs.) In the words of Grace from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, I am a “righteous dude.”

But I’m not, and that is the focus of today’s blog post.

Here is how it happened: My fifth grade teacher responded to my friend request on facebook so I finally got the opportunity to send her a note thanking her for being such a strict and wonderful teacher. As I was composing that letter in my head I realized that much of what I wanted to tell her was in line with what I wanted to tell a lot of people. To wit: I am where I am because of the care, concern, and hard work of multitudes of people. Some more than others. This is why I will never be able to write a self-help book. I can never honestly claim any sort of special wisdom or work ethic or “secret to my success” because all of the wisdom, hard work, and secrets came from all the people around me that took the significant amount of time to teach me how to not be an idiot. And it was a lot of time because holy crap I am dumb. So instead of just writing to her I am writing to you all in the hope that I will encourage you all (and myself) to be more like her.

Take care of the people around you. There are some kind of special morons that surround you on a daily basis and they most likely irritate the enamel off your teeth. Some are violently racist. Some are brutally ignorant. Some are just… awkward… really, really, painfully awkward. Awkward to the point that you feel all weird just being in the same room as them. Others are their own worst enemy and can’t seem to figure that out. I am asking you to reach out to them and try to help them. Teach them, or counsel them, or school them, or in the case of Gre… the awkward ones just be their friend and try to get them to be comfortable in their own skin.

But that is not easy. It is not easy to be the nice guy or girl. It is definitely not easy to be a teacher. Spending a lot of time with the lowest common denominators of the world seems like an almost complete waste of time. So much effort. So little short term payoff. Hell, so little visible payoff in any sort of realistic timeline. In the example of my fifth grade teacher she is just now, 29 years later, seeing her results. The time you spend with these people will be a short-term and mid-term loss and may very well be a complete loss. Because let’s face it: you may not help in the long run.

I say “try” for a reason. Unless you are an experienced teacher, a trained counselor, or a truly empathic and caring person you will mess up your efforts. You will do something wrong. You will be inadvertently hurtful yet say things with the best of intentions. And those things will rip the breath right out of the person you’re trying to help. You will accidentally tear off scabs you didn’t know exist. You will do all the wrong things and discourage someone from even trying to better themselves. You will completely botch everything, despite your best of intents. But you have to try because even if the person you are trying to help doesn’t show it, your work is appreciated. Plus, when you get it right it means more than you can possibly imagine to the person you’re trying to help.

Case in point: I just got a call from my oldest daughter. She is at dance camp and has been having a rough time of it. She didn’t get into the level she wanted, some of the other girls decided the movie “Mean Girls” was an instruction manual, and this is her first time away from home for any extended period of time. But tonight she was so happy it made me cry. One of her instructors was patient and kind and took the time to help the awkward kid with an attitude and a poor grasp of the English language. That teacher persevered and took the time to train the untrainable and tonight Lena was the happiest I think I ever heard her. The instructor told her she did a fantastic triple pirouette and complemented her dancing. The instructor probably doesn’t realize it but those words at this juncture in my daughter’s life were probably the most positively impactful things ever.

The instructor didn’t hear the joy in my daughter’s voice. She will never know how grateful I am as a father. That instructor may have been thinking about all the other girls who would be easier to teach. She is probably exhausted and getting paid shit wages at a summer camp and reevaluating her life choices. But right now that instructor and the time she spent with Lena are the single most important things in my daughter’s life.

It is people like that instructor – dozens, perhaps hundreds of them – that got me to where I am today. Those people are the proverbial bootstraps I pulled myself up with. Except they did the pulling. People like Bev Moye, my fifth grade teacher. The woman who took the time to put me in front of the class as an example of bad behavior, give me two weeks of after-school detention, call my parents and take the time and explain my actions and her decision, and then spend the two weeks of late nights after class watching over me and continuing to teach me.

Bev was one of many. Her example and the example of those like her encourage me every day to be a bit more patient and a bit more understanding when dealing with those around me. Be like Bev. Or be like my parents. Or like any number of other people that got me to where I am.