Duck and Cover

Please, dear God no, not another mistake.

No one could make me want to run more than my Dad. He was a good man and always did his best raising us, but he scared the bejesus out of me. His mood was usually serious and he rarely smiled. He also had a way of belittling those around him when they made a mistake. The only thing that would usually rally him from his easy chair was the need to discipline or make a drink. The opportunity to make a smart ass or condescending comment was often the only words he was motivated to utter.

For a child growing up in my house, the result of a mistake was almost always harsh criticism, discipline or ridicule. It really didn’t matter whether it was a mistake made out of a misjudgment or out of happenstance. If something was broken, then you should have been doing...fill in the blank. If we woke Mom or Dad up from a nap, it didn’t matter how or why. I always felt I was walking a tightrope. So when my Dad’s little sissy boy fills up the lawn mower with water instead of gasoline (both in red cans I might add), it was not a pleasant experience. I remember a tool pouch and a coffee mug hitting the wall of the garage. Other kids certainly had it much worse, but that kind of stuff has always rocked this guys world.

So by the time I got kicked out of the house at six years old to go to first grade at a Catholic school, I was already conditioned to cower after making a mistake. My brother’s nature was to rebel and fight back but mine was to duck and cover. I just happened to get “Sister Mary Humilate-the-Little-Boy” for my first grade teacher. That did not go well. It began about 10 years of trying to be invisible in class. It always seemed to me that teachers and kids alike seemed to really get a kick out of teasing and embarrassing me when I would try to answer a question out loud in class.

These are the only two things I can think of that might have led to my extreme aversion to making mistakes. All my life I’ve thought that very disturbing feelings, self-flagellation and retreat were normal reactions to making mistakes. It has only been in the last few years that I have begun to be told otherwise, thanks to a great therapist and a wonderful spiritual advisor. My grandmother new it, I remember her often  yelling at my dad as he went for his belt, “He didn’t go to do it!”

There are so many negative consequences to this misconception of mine that mistakes aren’t a normal part of living and learning. The self-berating and fear make me so judgemental of myself and ultimately others. This fear drives my ego to demand more of myself and others than is fair. It sets unreasonable goals for myself and others to obtain. It makes me feel at times - so worthless and a failure. It is all a lie I tell myself.

Today, I choose to believe my therapist and my spiritual advisor. There is absolutely nothing wrong with making a “mistake”. When a misstep is made I just need to make note of it, without judgement, and take corrective action to do differently in the future. Go figure.

My thinking, though, is so slow to change. I need reminders of this often by people who love me, and I need to remind others and forgive their mistakes. Everyday that I do this, I get a little better.

There is no mistaking the gratitude I feel today toward my teachers.

Hold that thought...

James