Just Plain Bill

Bayden McGregor

A few years ago, my 96-year old mother, Winnie, asked if anything had come for her in the mail.

First, some background.

Winnie had been living with my wife and me since she turned 92. We took her out of a convalescent home and retrofitted a special room and bath for her in our home. Soon after we brought her “home”, we observed both her physical and mental health improving significantly. Her skin tone turned from almost-transparent porcelain-looking, to a healthy pink color. Her hair stopped falling out and she even started to hum along with the TV!  She was able to use her walker to get around on her own much easier, which was far better for her overall health.

Each afternoon, the mail was delivered from the outside through the slot in the door to her room. She liked to look through the catalogs that came on a regular basis but one spring day, my mother asked the question shared in the first paragraph: “Did anything come for me in the mail?”

My wife and I asked Winnie if she was expecting mail for someone in particular. She replied, “When I was in my early 20s, I was being escorted by a young man, Bayden McGregor, who wore a kilt, and whose father was in the Scottish Guard. After a few months of courtship, we were on a walk and came upon a cute little house with a white picket fence around the yard.

“Bayden said to me that he’d like us to live in a house just like that, to which I replied that I had always wanted to live in a high-rise suite in one of the tallest buildings in Winnipeg, just like I had seen in a movie.

“Soon after that afternoon walk, Bayden stopped coming around and we eventually lost touch. All these 70+ years, I’ve been thinking that I hurt his feelings and that my comment about where we might live had caused him to drop out of my life.

“The letter I’m awaiting is one I’m expecting from Bayden. In the letter I imagine him to say that our disagreement about where we’d live was an unfortunate misunderstanding, and that he wanted to start seeing me again.

“All these years, I’ve regretted saying what I did about our choices of living quarters. I want to tell him I’d love to live in the house with the white picket fence, and that I hope we can ‘patch things up’ and start spending some time together.”  

My mom was a real romantic. This story of unrequited love provides a brief but vivid remembrance of a time gone by. After talking a bit about Bayden, and other loves of her life, Winnie perked up and a twinkle came to her eye. I reassured my mom that she had made the best decisions possible with the resources she had at the time, and the result was still a life full of joy and love. That twinkle never left her eye.

Just Plain Bill

I’m Tall Sitting Down

I’ve not been blessed with a great deal of height and I vividly remember how happy I was to reach 5 feet upon entering the eighth grade! I grew very slowly over the next few years, topping out at 5 feet, 6 inches tall. (It’s been reported that North American women have an average height of about 5 feet 4.6 inches – just 1.4 inches less than my maximum height.)

This height did not serve me well as I was very interested in basketball and football, which in most cases, required players who were taller.  So I remember playing one game of basketball at my local Boy’s Club (we only had seven players). I remember playing one season as the third string quarterback on our high school junior varsity football team too – playing when we were either so far ahead or far behind there was no danger that I’d impact the outcome. But I loved it! (To be forthright, in addition to being small for my favorite events, I was not very skilled or coordinated.)

I’ve lived most of my long life either tolerating or ignoring this condition and I must admit I really had no choice – but I occasionally experienced situations where I forgot just how short I was.

Moving forward into my career in the corporate world, I remember one particular day when I was in a business meeting with other managers.  I was enjoying a conversation with another manager sitting by my side, speaking to him “eye to eye”. As he was already sitting down when I entered the room, I didn’t notice whether he was taller than me or not – until he stood to leave the room. He kept standing up until reaching his full height of 6 feet, 3 inches, which as you can imagine, was a surprise to me.

From that time forward I realized that I was really taller than I imagined – sitting down – which gave me a tiny bit of solace from my concern over my lack of physical stature.

Looking back, I’m sure I tried to compensate for this physical liability by being over productive and trying not to experience the so called “small man’s disease”, which can be irritating and put offing at the least.

Best to consistently remember the advice I’ve shared with others as a mentor and coach:

It’s not what you’ve got. It’s what you do with it!

Just Plain Bill

Typographical error –

Is that my subconscious peeking out?

When I was typing a project paper for a graduate educational methods course, I typed “Leaner” when I meant to say “Learner”.

As I was erasing the misspelled word on my erasable typing paper, I reflected on the difference between the spellings of the two words. This was obviously well before White Out or correction tape…and way before computers. (Besides, having spell check turned on even if it was available wouldn’t have helped as both words were spelled correctly!)

After thinking about it a little, I felt to me, the letter “r” represents “responsibility”. It’s the key difference between educating a “leaner” – someone who is dependent upon others for their direction and continuous support, and a learner – someone who learns how to “learn”. A learner who takes responsibility for his or her learning has a good chance to become a lifelong learner.

I’ve heard it said that sometimes, typographical errors are really Freudian slips - our active subconscious coming out. I continue to focus on the “responsibility” part for all learners with whom I come into contact. 

Just Plain Bill

Daddy, Are You Famous?

It’s been said that out of the mouths of babes oft times come gems, so when my youngest daughter was three years old she asked if I was famous as we were walking to the donut shop near our home. The question gave me pause as I wondered how I should respond.

So, am I famous? Are you famous? And what makes one famous in the eyes of a child, or to anyone else for that matter?

I asked her if she knew of someone who was famous so I could respond to her most appropriately. She mentioned several “famous” singers, actors and the President of the United States.

Having gained a better perspective of what type of response she might expect, I replied as follows: “While I’m not famous in the same way that your examples indicate, I am very famous as I have the world’s most special three year old standing by my side.”

That response, while perhaps a little more broad than she had expected, seemed to satisfy her as her interest soon was directed at the caterpillar that was crawling on a leaf near her feet.

To paraphrase a well worn phrase, “famous is as famous does,” at least for that moment in time!