(This post is in recognition of National Grandparents' Day. 'Tis great to be a grand....)
A week or so ago, my grandson Britton faced a seemingly impossible task, in his mind at least. His teacher had challenged her first grade students with learning to tie their own shoes. As Britton’s mom dropped him off at our house before school, she encouraged him to work with me to tackle the shoe-tying challenge. “I can’t do it, JJ!” he grumbled. “It’s too hard.”
Now I’m no early childhood expert, but as far as I could see, Britton had no physical or mental limitations to learning this new skill. At the same time, my experience as a mom reminded me that kiddos develop different skills at different times, often to their parents’ pride…or utter frustration. (Britton’s mom tied her shoes at age three; she didn’t walk until fifteen months or ride a bike until age seven.) As parents, we take ownership for our kids’ successes and failures. As grandparents, we realize we’re not the complete reason for either.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I told Britton as we headed into the house. “Let’s get JJ’s shoes, because practicing on long laces is easier than short ones. But we’ll only practice tying three times before breakfast because practice takes patience. And patience takes time.”
Working side by side, I proposed to demonstrate each step so Britton could copy it. There was no pressure. If it worked, cool. If it didn’t, no biggie. There was always tomorrow.
Britton agreed to try. During our demonstration round, he grew annoyed with himself, not enjoying the fact that he wasn’t very nimble and couldn’t tackle this thing on the first go-round. I encouraged him to slow down and make adjustments (things like “pinch the loop lower on the lace, closer to the shoe”). Once he gave in to being patient with himself, he was able to succeed on his second go at it. You know that look a person gets when he thinks he’s done something stellar, like climb Mt. Everest? Oh, yeah, the kid had that look. Truth be told, I had that look, too. After all, I had taught the B to tie his shoes. I had reframed an impossible task into a doable challenge for someone I love.
A few days later, still basking in the afterglow of my JJ awesomeness, I came across a social media item written by M. Molly Backes (find her on Twitter @mollybackes). Her topic? The Impossible Task. Specifically, she wrote: “Depression commercials always talk about sadness but they never mention that sneaky symptom that everyone with depression knows all too well: the Impossible Task.”
Whoa. I could feel my afterglow of awesomeness start to fade. I continued to read. The Impossible Task, Backes wrote, is not an official name. Rather it’s the name she herself uses when something as simple as replying to emails or placing phone calls becomes suddenly undoable. The Impossible Task varies from person to person, and even more exasperating, the task itself can vary withinthe same person from day to day. In other words, you might have had zero trouble placing a phone call yesterday but find telephoning an Impossible Task to handle today. “From the outside,” Backes says, “[the task’s] sudden impossibility makes ZERO sense.” The task is rarely actually difficult, and it may be something you’ve done thousands of times before. This makes it very hard for outsiders to have sympathy. Or patience.
Ding ding ding! Dear God, I thought, she’s describing me.
Truth be told, I face dozens of Impossible Tasks almost everyday. Mundane but important information eludes me constantly (like computer passwords). I can’t remember simple sequences when receiving oral directions and almost always have to ask for repeated instructions. If I research a bit about the Impossible Task on Google, I might diagnose myself with Executive Functioning Disorder. If I complain about it to my husband, he might smile and tell me I don’t remember things that aren’t important to me. If I moan about my lack of recall at work….
Stop. Wait. No!
At work, I struggle with grueling ferocity to hide my lack of recall. My biggest challenges often relate to multi-tasking. Or new technology, which can leave me flummoxed. Shoot, even old technology presents Impossible Tasks. Judge me if you will, but often I’m the first to remind co-workers that I’m THAT PERSON, the more mature IT user in need of remedial assistance. My modus operandi? Make fun of myself first…before I become the laughing stock of others.
That’s not always possible, though. Sometimes I’m headed to a meeting off site, where our IT gurus are unavailable and my other colleagues are busy with their own pre-meeting to-do’s. On these occasions, I load myself down with iPhone notes and post-it’s to remind me of all sorts of mundane but important information that I might need to know:
call-in numbers and passwords
which cords to plug in where
how to link my laptop to the big screen
which icons or toolbars to click and when
a reminder that this too shall pass
Can you say ex.haust.ing?
I admit M. Molly Backes’ post comforted me. A good bit. She’d cut open her own veins to bleed out loud about something personal and poignant. Close to 15,000 readers liked that Twitter post. Hundreds commented “hell, yes!” They totally understood the Impossible Task.
Part of me, though, got little solace from Ms. Backes’ post. I mean, why does my brain not work better? Why do I struggle so with recall, especially when it comes to technology? Even at home, my computer gets testy. I swear, it freezes up when I’m having my most prolific thoughts. Technology, ugh. “I can’t keep doing this, Rice!” I’ll holler from my downstairs office to my husband’s upstairs workspace. “It’s too hard.”
Sometimes Rice will come down the stairs to offer help. Other times, he doesn’t hear me. (Or maybe he’s ignoring me?) During my most recent outburst, he simply wasn’t home. Agitated, I rose from my chair and paced into the kitchen. There on the floor sat my tennis shoes. Yes, THE shoes that represented my grandson’s recent Impossible Task. Both shoes had been tied by Britton, in double-knots even, because sometimes you can go that extra mile if you just take your time. “Practice takes patience.” My own words rang in my ears. “And patience takes time.”
Taking the time to teach a little boy to tie his shoes had been a lesson of love from me to him. Staring at those double-knotted shoelaces, I realized they held a lesson for me as well. Being patient with Britton is easy. So why is it so hard to be patient with myself? Especially at work, patience with myself is often my most Impossible Task.
So here’s to upping my game when it comes to sharing time and practicing patience. May I offer these gifts to others often. But may I also shower them on myself. After all, doesn’t the present of patience say “you’re worth it”? Doesn’t the gift of time say “you are loved”?
That, my friends, is just one of the wonderful lessons my grandson has taught me.
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