A New Look
At Bragging Rights & Other Cultural Fibs
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Just so you know, I don’t come up with these topics by my lonesome. I
have generous help from people in my everyday life. This idea came from Cheryl,
one of our “girl” group. We girls hit mile-marker seventy this year. We still
call ourselves “girls”. Another friend, male, refers to us as “you ol’ hides”.
He means well.
Cheryl made a rhubarb pie. Rhubarb,
however, had historically eluded her culinary efforts. So she was telling us
girls what she’d done and how she’d created the ultimate rhubarb pie.
This was no surprise to the rest of
us. We girls are pie bakers. We grew up down the hi-line, in Harlem, home of
the Montana Seed Show and the best homemade pies in the world. In our generation,
we were not allowed to grow up unless we baked pies.
A few hours later Cheryl, having
thought through her pie message, had sender’s remorse and wrote again,
apologizing for “bragging”. One could actually feel her cringe.
I suggested we all rethink this
teaching given to us with great love by our stern-mouthed parents. What is
wrong with honesty? Why cannot one say, Hey, I did a really good job. Or, Look at
this beauty. I made it. Or, I won the race; I’m excited.
Our first impulse is to hang our head,
shuffle feet. Oh, it’s okay. Or, Yeah, I made this but it could be better. Or, He
should have won the race but I think he stumbled or he had the flu or some
other preposterous excuse. Hey, we grew up with this. It is ingrained.
So, to illustrate, I shared a chair
story. This happened in ’85, my first full year of recovering furniture. At four
am I put away my tools, stood back and looked critically at the finished chair,
which I had committed to mid-morning delivery. Out loud, and this part is
critical, out loud, with nobody in the room but me, I said, “Sondra, that is
beautiful. You have done a great job.” With that one little action, I broke the
mold. Nobody else was going to tell me good or ill. No amount of money could
equal the sense of accomplishment, of having created beauty, that I felt that
morning, tired as I was.
You want balance? A month later I
had to tear down and reorder fabric for a chair with which I had problems. That
ding-blasted chair was worth 6 months of schooling. It’s about being honest
with one-self, both directions.
Cheryl shared a story of a visit
with Norwegian cousins, who had built a beautiful home. Her cousin’s wife told about
giving the home tour to his parents. They had not one positive thing to say. This
could have been done differently. Don’t you think that would have been better?
Why did you put this wall here? It was all negative criticism with a dour face.
Cheryl, that’s my family. We are sisters.
I recognize my family. I’m English. You are Norwegian. Scratch the DNA and I
know we are related. Oh, those Vikings!
A kissing cousin to the teaching
that we not toot our own horn, is the lesson, equally well learned, that if we
lose or fail at something, we are not to express disappointment. What is wrong
with saying, “Shucks, I gave it my all, my best shot. I failed. Congratulations
to the winner. But I do feel disappointed. I really wanted it.” That’s honest.
I’ll never ever forget the day I brought home, with shame and
trembling, my first report card marred with an “A-”. Sixth grade, Catholic
school, St. Joseph’s. In music, mind you. Tin ear, etc. A beating would have
been kinder than the tight lips, couldn’t you have tried harder. I cried myself
to sleep that night, old as I was, big baby. High school freshman, B+, algebra.
You think these teachings are not life-long? No wonder I’m screwed up.
Another chair story; Twenty years later, I got a call from my
same customer who owned the chair with which I broke the family mold. She had
another project. Silly as it is, I walked into her living room afraid to look
at the chair that had so pleased me. What if my perceptions that morning were
flawed and today it looked like junk! Oh, fear! Oh, trembling! My customer cut to the chase. “Look at the beautiful chair you made for me.
I love it. Now I want this other one done.”
Know what? That old chair was as lovely as the day I’d
delivered it. No brag. I felt soft with pleasure.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
July 16,
2015
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