"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." - Alice Walker
Several years ago I was back in New Jersey visiting my parents. No longer living in the house that I grew up in, they had managed to transfer most of our childhood belongings to their post-children house. While the stage was different, the set was much the same. Childhood bedspreads adorned the beds that we had spent our youth sleeping in. The marionettes that had performed in many a basement puppet show hung from the ceiling in the “boys” room and my old “drum majorette” coat, covered in nearly 20 years of dust, still hung in the closet. Sleeping in those bedrooms was always a walk down memory lane.
Every now and then curiosity got the better of me and I would go on a scavenger hunt, searching for a piece of personal memorabilia; a photo album, an old macramé wall hanging, a “One Way” sign, written in Italian, that I just had to have after we returned from a summer visit to see the relatives in Rome. It was a personal treasure hunt and it was always a surprise to see what I might find.
On one such adventure, I rummaged through an old cherry dresser that had once belonged to my great grandmother. The bottom drawer was a gold mine. Buried deep under countless photos of several generations, was an old manila envelope, the corners creased and frayed from a lifetime of being moved from place to place. Inside was a collection of my report cards from kindergarten all the way through college. Wow.
I always hated report card time. I dreaded the inevitable moment when I would present the report card to Dad for his signature. I would sit at the round butcher-block table in the kitchen as he reviewed my “marks” and read the occasional comment from the teacher. It wasn’t that I did poorly. Despite an occasional “C”, I was, for the most part an “A” and “B” student, but Dad was a bit of a perfectionist and he demanded nothing but the best from all of us.
And my teachers played right into his hand.
“Suzanne can do better,” they would write. “She is a very bright girl, she just needs to apply herself a bit more.” Thanks a lot.
And so, I would. I’d spend hours on homework and test preparation, on assignments and term papers and reports and when I would get them returned to me, I would march home and proudly present the graded paper to dear old Dad.
“A 97? What happened to the other 3 points?”
I kid you not. He actually said that.
It’s become a family joke.
About a week ago, the kids’ report cards came in the mail. Holding my 16 year old’s in my hand, I felt just the slightest pang of trepidation as I tore off the perforated edges and pulled apart the computer printout. The word’s shot out of my mouth before I could even think about stopping them. “You can do better than this,” I heard myself say, ignoring the 1st honors designation. Within a moments time, we were off and running down a path of no return. What happened to the other 3 points?
One evening, later that week, we were in the car driving home from yet another late night on the football field. I decided to try my luck again and revisit the conversation that I had failed so miserably at the first time. After all, we were alone in the car, we had just stopped at Taco Bell for the post game meal and with a full stomach, a captive audience and the elation of win, I thought the odds for success were in my favor.
“You know Mom,” he said as I calmly tried to broach the subject one more time, “I wish you would notice what I’m doing well once in a while.”
Gulp.
I never said that to my parents although I certainly wanted to. I wish you would notice what I’m doing well instead of always noticing how I could do better.
Apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Why is it so easy to notice what isn’t working? Why is it easier to see when things go wrong rather than when things go right? Why do we focus on what we do not have rather than on what we do? And how do we keep our expectations in check so we do not miss the gifts we are presented with each and every day?
There is nothing wrong with wanting to do better. There is no harm in striving to improve. Accomplish great things. Be the very best you can be. My father taught me that lesson, and for that I will be eternally grateful.
My son taught me another. Take the time to notice what we’re doing well rather than always noticing what we could do better.
And for that lesson, I am eternally grateful.
Image from here.