Three Lessons from the Lab
In Star Trek:The Next Generation, the android on the crew, Data, tries to be a parent. When the circuits of his android daughter begin to break down, she returns to the lab where she was formed. That's what she was programmed to do.
This was a "return to the lab" kind of week. I'm still reestablishing much of what had been my life's orderly circuitry, so I'll spare you splenetics on exactly what happened and trust time and perspective to produce a more evenhanded account at some point. Meanwhile, I return to three basic principles programmed, err, parented into me. They are my coordinates when I am otherwise adrift.
(1) I have skills other adults will notice. The first time I remember really believing this as more than parental pablum was, not surprisingly, in reference to my writing. I placed highly in a contest against fifth-grade contemporaries, and I liked this. I remember more vividly, though, feedback from my father. I was moved by the earthshaking consequences of the NFL's penalty for undue celebration, and I wrote a letter imbued with my 10-year-old certainty. Rather than dismiss such pomposity, my father suggested that with a couple of adjustments, it should be published and might change the minds of grown-ups. It was insignificant to my development whether publication or persuasion actually took place. The fact that as studiously objective an observer as my father thought my skills stood out was what mattered.
(2) Focus on discipline, not drift. This one was Mom's. I was in the eighth grade, and I was talking about college. I mentioned wanting to go to a selective university. I assumed that because my parents could pay for it, this university would open its doors to me. Hearing otherwise was a revelation. If Dad was right and I had gifts, the idea that I had to cultivate those skills was news. Affirmation meets intervention. My path was not predetermined by advantages or disadvantages.
(3) Other people might be a blessing. I'm not sure if Beware of Strangers was an actual gradeschool subject, but the residue of this warning in my thinking was considerable. It was January of 1985, and South Florida where we were vacationing was in the midst of Super Bowl fever. The Dolphins were set to battle the 49ers, and even the local news was taken over by football. The anchor reported that an older man won tickets in a contest, while a kid about my age came in second. The newsworthiness of this event was that the winner of the contest decided to, with parental permission, take the child with him to enjoy the event. I was aghast. Stranger danger! Dad, typically the more cautious about other people, reminded me that not all of them had ill intent.
This was a "return to the lab" kind of week. I'm still reestablishing much of what had been my life's orderly circuitry, so I'll spare you splenetics on exactly what happened and trust time and perspective to produce a more evenhanded account at some point. Meanwhile, I return to three basic principles programmed, err, parented into me. They are my coordinates when I am otherwise adrift.
(1) I have skills other adults will notice. The first time I remember really believing this as more than parental pablum was, not surprisingly, in reference to my writing. I placed highly in a contest against fifth-grade contemporaries, and I liked this. I remember more vividly, though, feedback from my father. I was moved by the earthshaking consequences of the NFL's penalty for undue celebration, and I wrote a letter imbued with my 10-year-old certainty. Rather than dismiss such pomposity, my father suggested that with a couple of adjustments, it should be published and might change the minds of grown-ups. It was insignificant to my development whether publication or persuasion actually took place. The fact that as studiously objective an observer as my father thought my skills stood out was what mattered.
(2) Focus on discipline, not drift. This one was Mom's. I was in the eighth grade, and I was talking about college. I mentioned wanting to go to a selective university. I assumed that because my parents could pay for it, this university would open its doors to me. Hearing otherwise was a revelation. If Dad was right and I had gifts, the idea that I had to cultivate those skills was news. Affirmation meets intervention. My path was not predetermined by advantages or disadvantages.
(3) Other people might be a blessing. I'm not sure if Beware of Strangers was an actual gradeschool subject, but the residue of this warning in my thinking was considerable. It was January of 1985, and South Florida where we were vacationing was in the midst of Super Bowl fever. The Dolphins were set to battle the 49ers, and even the local news was taken over by football. The anchor reported that an older man won tickets in a contest, while a kid about my age came in second. The newsworthiness of this event was that the winner of the contest decided to, with parental permission, take the child with him to enjoy the event. I was aghast. Stranger danger! Dad, typically the more cautious about other people, reminded me that not all of them had ill intent.
His wisdom has since been reinforced by the Oracle of the Sitcom on The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. The millionaire Uncle Phil is fond of sermonizing the importance of self-reliance, but he says the idea that, "real men make it alone" is the biggest bunch of bull stuff he has encountered since he left the farm. Whatever our advantages, whatever our disciplined efforts to make the most of them, openness to an assist from other people is an invaluable advantage.
Yes, always go back to the nascent beginnings Brian. The most painful lessons I have learned were from personally experiencing serious earthly groaning's. I have since learned that I don't have to participate in the experience to learn from it. People help people, be cautiously open to it. Okay, adding cautiously shows that I am still leery. :)
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