“I don’t LIKE writing!”
he states emphatically.
It’s an all-too common
scene. Sitting at his little desk, my son struggles against the work in front
of him. Being six years old and practising basic writing skills can be
daunting. In his mind, it’s a mountain to climb and he doesn't think that he
has the gear.
The problem isn't that
he can’t print; it’s the challenge of writing out a paragraph. That’s a LOT of
words! Too many words! It’s, like, a whole BOOK Dad! (I wish.)
He’s overwhelmed and, in classic fashion, has
dug in his heels.
And I get it.
As I sit here looking
at my to-do list for the next few days, filling up the better part of a page, I'm overwhelmed. That’s a LOT of things to do! It’s hard to concentrate on taking
action when the list is daunting. It’s easier to turn the list over, to pull
out the toy action figures and fade into a land of imagination without lists.
Without tasks or things to do. Without…writing a paragraph.
In 1986, I found
myself working in a kitchen, the first of many kitchens I would work in over
the next few years. A dishwasher in the truest sense of the term, washing most
everything by hand with just the assistance of the tiniest of machines to help
sanitize the wares. After the dinner rush, dishes would be piled everywhere. Bus
pans bunched up on racks, filling counters, and arranged in rows down the hall.
But I was strangely happy in that job because I knew the secret. Wash one dish
at a time as well and as quickly as possible. Get that dish cleaned properly
and I’d never have to wash it twice. The process became Zen-like as the dishes
went by one by one until the kitchen was once again clean. A life lesson learned
in the dish pit.
And I also know that I
can write. I can write a single paragraph in a session - oh ya, I know how to
do that. It’s a manageable task for me. I've learned to complete small, measurable tasks and I ‘try’ to focus on the doing the best I can on the work
in front of me.
As I remember this, I look
down at my son, stuck at his desk, and tell him, “Don’t worry about the
paragraph.” He’s confused.
“Let me ask you a
question. Can you write one letter really, really well?” I ask. And he does it
beautiful.
“How about another
letter? Show me that.” Again, he does it in textbook fashion.
We continue this
little back and forth for a minute, me calling out letters while he knocks them
out. He starts to get it. The paragraph isn't important – the letters are. And
he can do the letters!
Eating the elephant
one bite at a time. Measuring twice, cutting once. We have lots of descriptions
for this. But at the core, it’s about doing one thing at a time to the best of
your ability.
Focus on shaping the
letters; the words have a way of figuring themselves out.
