Humility: A Personal History (Part One)

Those of you who have achieved "a certain age" know that life, especially later life, is chockablock with lessons in humility. But all of life—beginning to end—is discovering that you cannot do some things you thought you could, of banging into doors that are locked to you (and have no key), forcing you to look for other, perhaps less appealing ones.

I'll share with you some of my more memorable and even stunning ones.

In first grade (Adams School; Enid, OK) I learned I was no good (i.e., I sucked) at art. When I saw the crayon drawings (on manila paper!) my classmates had done, I knew I was hopeless. One day, when a table-mate was up at the classroom pencil sharpener, I took a brown crayon and drew some things descending from the rear of a nice figure she'd drawn.

Our teacher, a kind soul, showed us how to convert those "things" into a fence; Now her graceful figure sat on a very nice fence. So, in self-defense/justification, I could have said: See, I improved your drawing! 

A couple of years later, one Sunday morning, Shirley Williamson, a classmate at Adams, beat me, easily, in a foot race the length of the long sidewalk in front of University Place Christian Church in Enid.

Then I had to go into church for the service and pretend to be sin-free though my thoughts were homicidal and/or suicidal. (I think I loved Shirley, later, but then we moved away—off to northeastern Ohio.)

A couple of years later, in the spring, it was time for Enid’s annual Little Olympics—a city-wide track-and-field meet pitting all the Enid elementary schools against one another. It was a gender-free event. Boys and girls competed against one another.

I was sentenced to the shuttle relay, but I was the lead runner. Bang! went the starter pistol, and off I zoomed (!), but there was a girl from some other school in the next lane. And she was ahead of me. 

And she stayed there. Our team eventually came in second, and I still have that red ribbon somewhere.*

This is how I learned that girls can be better athletes than I.

One more, for now ...

In my day we numbered our girlfriends, just as the girls did their boyfriends.

Our Enid music teacher taught us square dancing and chose me as one of the Lucky Eight that would be performing at some event for the parents. She also chose Linda Clinesmith, #1 on my list.

The teacher then surprised us by choosing a new kid whose name I can’t remember.

And then ... disaster. The teacher let the girls pick their partners. Linda chose the New Kid. I don’t think I was the fourth boy chosen, but it well could have been. I was devastated.

I thought about a fight after school—but knew it was one I’d lose in a New York minute.

I practiced hard, danced my heart out.

But Linda had eyes only for the New Kid.

So she became my #2.

TO BE CONTINUED

*I just checked: The schools are still holding the competition, still sponsored by the Kiwanis Club.