Lessons of the Shrunken Folder

I hold that most, if not all of us, learn best from failure. Easy things we accept in passing, seldom giving them a second thought except in the rare cases when we recognize a lesson in a memory: a lesson we weren’t mature enough to grasp at the time.

Taking that thought a bit further, sometimes we find that the most impactful lessons come from the most painful experiences.

Allow me to offer a couple of examples: Cincinnati is well known for its hot and muggy weather. I remember hearing, although I can no longer remember the source, that summers in Cincinnati were nearly the same as what lions experienced in Africa. The summer of my second year was having its way. The temperatures were high, my mom  (six or so months pregnant) was suffering, so dad bought a floor fan.

I haven’t seen anything similar in years and googling didn't help, so I’ll do my best to describe it. It was round, with an inverted cone shape over the blades to direct air out the top, and a cone shape below the blades to accomplish the same thing at the bottom. Around the whole assembly was a cage made of wires; closer together where the blades turned and more open at the top and bottom. The openings at the top and bottom were plenty wide enough for a kid to reach in.

I was lying on the floor, loving the new breeze, when my dad explained that I was not, under any circumstances, to put my hands or feet inside the cage.

Being the compliant, sweet, docile child that I was I immediately stuck my foot through the opening and into the blades. Several things happened simultaneously. I howled and bled, mom screamed and yelled at dad, and dad cursed like a sailor while he rushed me to the bathroom to wrap my foot in a towel. Then we went to the doctor. 

A few decent size cuts and a sore foot were all that resulted. I never stuck my foot or anything else in the fan again, but when my sister began to crawl dad bought some screening, the kind for windows, wrapped it around the fan and made it impossible to stick a little hand or foot into the blades. (Again!)

Why do I tell you this story? When my sister was born, mom and dad moved her crib in front of a window—the one behind me in the picture below. Then they could cover the inward facing part of the 

crib with a blanket when they wanted her to nap.

Well I wanted to see my new sister--born a few months after the fan fiasco. I climbed on top of the register, slid along the sill until I could see her in the crib. I leaned against the window and it cracked. Since we lived on the second floor that wasn’t good. The instant my dad heard the crack he shouted, “Don’t move.” I froze. Immediately. He had me hold onto the bars of the crib until he could grab me. One lesson the fan had taught me was to listen and obey—at least at least in an emergency. The crib was relocated somewhere else. I can't remember where.

Here is the second lesson: When I was about ten dad announced that I was going to begin to get an allowance. A fortune in fact—fifty cents per week! He handed me two quarters.

That was the most money I’d ever had except maybe at Christmas when each set of grandparents might send a buck along with any presents.

As he handed me those quarters (this was a Saturday morning at breakfast) he said, “I’ll give you a nickel for every quarter you can stand on end.”

I tried and tried, but they kept falling over. I wanted that nickel so badly! Finally I had a genius idea—He hadn’t said I couldn’t lean them on anything! I leaned a quarter on my milk glass. “I get a nickel,” I crowed. He handed me a nickel and took my quarter. No amount of protest (and believe me I set up quite a ruckus) would get him to give me the quarter back. He said that I had to learn to listen closely to what people told me, that he had said he would give me a nickel FOR every quarter I could stand on end--not IF I could stand it on end. He added, “I’ll give you a nickel for every quarter you can lay on its side, too.”

That lesson, painful as it was, helped me become a first rate bargainer later on when I listened closely to what GM said and made certain I didn’t miss traps. It also won me a heap of quarters! It reminds me of a saying of Confucius: “The Master said, He who by reanimating the Old can gain knowledge of the New is fit to be a teacher.” Analects, Book 2:11

So all this and not a word about the folder? Ah, but we haven’t finished yet. Dad, and mom too, worked to teach me to be alert and aware of my surroundings—including people. I was very fortunate to have them, although dad died much too soon.

Below is my favorite picture of them, shot in 1940 while visiting mom’s family, three years after they married.

A crooked smile--

remembering their love.

My parents long dead.

The folder’s lesson? Spend time on what is good and make it better. Don’t waste time on things that aren’t worth the effort.

Four of the poems in that remained in that folder were later published. Two in a poetry magazine and the others in the paper. But I had to work on them first . . . a lot of work.

A bit more poetry next post--mixed with who knows what else!