Lessons about Caring, Taught by My Sisters

I spend lots of Blog air-time talking about my three daughters, and only occasionally mention that I also have three older sisters. Today, it's all about the sisters without a word about my (wonderful, smart, beautiful, amazing, hard-working, kind-hearted, funny and talented) daughters.

Why? The specific trigger is an important event for the youngest of my three sisters - her Masters graduation ceremony is streaming "Live from New York!" this afternoon, and I am very, very proud of her. And of course, they're my sisters and they helped shape who I am. So why not give them one Blog post of their own?

My sisters...

I won't say that everything I know about caring for people I learned from my three sisters, but I will say that they taught me lots on that subject - by word and by deed.

While I could bore you to tears with details about their individual qualities, many lessons they taught me (on all subjects but math), and all sorts of stories from childhood, I will instead give you a glimpse into each one of them using three vignettes about caring, each featuring one sister. (As usual, names have been withheld to protect the innocent.)

Sister #1: The Eldest

My eldest sister wrote the book on caring. Anyone who knows her, knows that. If absolutely anyone in her sphere (her own children, her nieces or nephews, her parents, her siblings, her friends, her students - I'm sure - or even her casual acquaintances) throws off a scent of being in pain or in trouble, sad, frustrated, upset or scared... my eldest sister is the first to the rescue. Mention that "today I'm feeling blue" on Facebook, she will be your first respondent.

She taught me that caring is a full-time responsibility and an unlimited resource...

I remember at some point in my childhood something was bothering me and keeping me awake at night. I couldn't tell you if I was sad or worried or angry and I certainly couldn't tell you what it was that was troubling me, but what I do remember clearly was getting out of bed, trotting downstairs, and finding my eldest sister busy with something else, but immediately available to me. She asked me what was wrong and all I remember is spending a healthy chunk of time sitting with her on our piano bench, talking it through, and feeling better. It's telling that I remember the caring but no other details about what was going on.

When someone cries out, no matter what else you're doing, caring is your immediate and top priority.

Sister #2: The Middle

(Warning, language may offend)

My middle sister is the one who was always wildly independent and larger-than-life, travelling and living in exotic places, finding adventure in the every day, eating fancy food and telling us all about it ('fancy', at the time, meant rapini and mortadella), and always ready to challenge me on what I was learning about the world. It elevated me whenever she was around asking questions about my life and offering (at-the-time) frightening advice about things to try, ways to behave, girls, and everything else that no one would talk to me about. 

She taught me that caring isn't always about coddling, it's also about challenging and questioning and building a little backbone...

I remember she had a bird. She loved that bird with the unbridled passion that she brought to everything in her life. She cared for it deeply, and that included teaching it to get out of it's cage and explore. One day, it found a little respite under the couch. My middle sister needed it to get out from under the couch, so in her sweetest most dulcet tones, she said: "Please come out from under the couch little bird...", lying flat on the floor and reaching out with a helping-hand. Soon, her tone shifted a bit, still in a soft voice still lying on her side with hand extended: "Come on out of there stupid fucking bird... it's time to go back in your cage!" Then it was, "GET THE FUCK OUT FROM UNDER THE COUCH RIGHT FUCKING NOW YOU ASSHOLE BEFORE I...!%$#@!&$%#@". 

If you care for someone, encourage them to explore and give them room to learn for themselves, challenge them, push them out of their comfort zone, then stand-by, ready to guide them back home, when they need a little help.

(Mini-epilogue: The bird later died when we moved into a new house and my Mom left soapy water in the sink which the bird mistook for a landing pad. Might not have been the same bird, but you can read about that adventure in my 'Ode to Zero').

Sister #3: The Youngest

My youngest sister was closest to me in age, and my best and dearest friend throughout my childhood. We played together all the time, we ate the same food (which was basically, nothing), we watched the same television, we listened to the same music, we sold stuff to each other, we had the same friends, we more-or-less went to the same schools, and we had many of the same interests - as long as they were her interests (Barbie, for example). She demonstrated her caring for me by teaching me to do things (for her) by myself. Doing her math homework, asking Mom and Dad for things, buying candy for her at the store, and so on. 

She taught me that caring for someone means encouraging them do things for themselves so they can learn, even if it means depriving yourself of that learning opportunity...

I remember on bath-night, my youngest sister always gave me the opportunity to fill her bathtub so that I could get better and better at it when I had to fill my own. She'd offer encouraging words like "You know exactly how much Mr. Bubble to put in", "You always make it the best temperature", and "Stop complaining, or I'll tell Mom that you sold me your old deck of cards and it was missing a 3." Ask any of my daughters today who - as a child - they'd have preferred to fill the tub for them. They have their Aunt, my youngest sister, to thank for that.

caring...

...is a full-time responsibility and an unlimited resource... 

...isn't always about coddling, it's also about challenging and questioning and building a little backbone... 

...means encouraging people to do things for themselves so they can learn, even if it means depriving yourself of that learning opportunity.

I don't tell my sisters that I love them often enough, nor do I let them know how much I've gained as a person because they are my sisters, ... but I do and I have.

And to my youngest sister on her big day, I am so proud of you for taking time out of your life and bravely going back to school at your advanced age to get your Masters. We are all thinking of you and very, very excited for you.

...David 

Packing Maslow

Remember Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?

From simplypsychology.org:

"Maslow's (1943, 1954) hierarchy of needs is a motivational theory in psychology comprising a five tier model of human needs, often depicted as hierarchical levels within a pyramid. Maslow stated that people are motivated to achieve certain needs and that some needs take precedence over others. Our most basic need is for physical survival, and this will be the first thing that motivates our behaviour. Once that level is fulfilled the next level up is what motivates us, and so on."

I didn't remember it either, at least while we were packing for our move into the new house.

Only after the fact did I realize that we should have been "Packing Maslow", a different approach to filling and sorting moving boxes according to what you'll need most desperately at the other end.
(I expect similar thinking applies when packing for a vacation or business trip, but I'll leave that to my devoted readers to think through for themselves.)

So without further fanfare, here is what I mean by...

Packing Maslow

How do we ordinarily pack for a move? First, we make ourselves very, very busy and leave most of the heavy-lifting to our significant other. Having done so, what the significant other does is move room-by-room, dutifully filling boxes with items, more-or-less in the physical sequence of their position in the room. As a result, boxes end up with labels like: 'Kitchen: glasses and stuff' and 'Basement: books'.

(The 'more-or-less' is because no block of physical space in the old house has homogeneous items that precisely fill a box, and so the leftover space in each box is filled with other items that are nearby, or possibly not nearby.)

In more sophisticated packing situations (like at the beginning of the packing period, when intentions are still good and tedium and fatigue have not yet set in) rather than being labelled based on where things were, boxes might have labels reflecting where they should be. For example: 'Kitchen: glasses and stuff' and 'Basement: books'.

Then, when the movers come, they carefully look at the label on each box and randomly place the boxes according to a formula that, translated from mathematical symbols, looks something like this:

PLACE-TO-PUT-BOX = MIN-DISTANCE-AND-EFFORT (MARKED-DESTINATION-ON-BOX; ANY-OPEN-SPACE) / SCRUTINY-BEING-APPLIED-AT-THE-MOMENT-BY-CUSTOMER

As a result, on that first night in the new house, everything can be anywhere, and the evening's conversation is predominantly made up of conversations like:

"Honey, where is my underwear?"

"In the box marked: 'Bedroom Closet: David's Middle Drawer' "

"But my underwear were in the top drawer. And I can't find any boxes marked 'Bedroom Closet'."

"Oh. Well I know there were some in the last load of laundry that I did."

"And where is that?"

"Try the box marked: 'Laundry Room: Stuff in the Dryer'".

"Do you know where that box is?"

"I think I saw it in the kitchen."

Very simply, 'Packing Maslow' applies Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Boxes are arranged and labeled based on these needs:

1. Physiological needs (food, water, warmth and rest).

The essentials for days (and nights) 1-3 are in boxes labeled 'Physiological needs'. These boxes COME WITH YOU IN YOUR CAR. They contain: some dishes, glasses, cutlery, and napkins (so you can eat the take-out in your new house without using plastic); pyjamas, bed linens, blanket, pillow, and basic toiletry and bedside essentials (toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, soap, alarm clock, book and reading glasses) so you can be warm and get some sleep; and three changes of clothes that meet the needs of your next three days' schedule (might include underwear, socks, dress pants, loungewear, moisture-wicking-sweatwear for when - and if - you're helping to unpack). 

DON'T FORGET SHOES. It's amazing how shoes become a physiological need when you're up first thing in the morning to catch the train and you suddenly realize your dress shoes haven't appeared yet - mine were in the spare room in the basement in a box marked 'Front Closet: David's Shoes', which also happened to be the last room I thought of checking on morning #1 in the dark with my iPhone flashlight because who the hell knows where light switches are.

And if you have children, you need to do the same for each of them. Here, the challenge is thinking through their physiological needs, because they aren't necessarily the same as yours. For example: Bearsy didn't make my list, but the 8-year-old couldn't go to sleep without him.

2. Safety needs (security, safety)

Once you've reached basic survival in the new house, you can start to think about security and safety. Tripping over boxes in each room isn't safe. Leaving boxes containing your valuables at the front-door with labels like 'Anywhere but the front-door: Valuables' isn't secure. Can you lock the front door and reliably open it? Do you know your new address in case you accidentally drive to the old house and need to tell your GPS where the new one is?

Not only should you pack a box of essential security / safety needs and label it 'Safety needs', you should also now spend a few moments in each room thinking about what's safe and what's not safe; what's secure and what's not secure. (E.g. should we take that 5-box-high stack of 'Basement: Books' and move it from the family room, where it hovers over the couch? Or at least unstack it?)

3. Belongingness and love needs (intimate relationships, friends)

I'm going to pretend for a minute that TV and Internet are not physiological needs, and that it's only when you get to belongingness and love that these essential items come into play. Pack a set of boxes labeled 'Belongingness and love' and make sure they contain:

• Wireless hub and all the related wiring.
• TV remotes, DVD connectors, and all the related wiring.
• Telephones, and all the related wiring.
• Etc.

The actual TV(s), DVD player(s), and other large 'belongingness and love' appliances, won't be in boxes and should be easy to find - so the key is to know where the stuff is that goes with those items to make them work. 

Other belongingness and love needs? Can't think of any, but if you have some, throw them in as well. 

4. Esteem needs (prestige and feeling of accomplishment)

When going through a move, the esteem needs are met when you've reached stability in the new house. There's prestige and a feeling of accomplishment in a job well done. 

For that reason, your next area of focus should be cheering on your significant other as she unpacks all the remaining boxes. Make her feel a sense of accomplishment each time she empties a box. Get up off the couch every now and then and give her a 'thank you' peck on the cheek. Heck, buy her a coffee.

Even better, choose an easy box and unpack it yourself! For example, I unpacked the box labelled: 'Bedroom Closet: David's Middle Drawer' without asking for help (once she found it for me). Talk about a feeling of accomplishment.

Other esteem needs, like all your half-marathon medals (participation medals, that is) while important, don't need to be unpacked until she's ready. They can be in boxes labeled 'Esteem needs' and stay there until after the TV and internet are up and running.

5. Self-Actualization (achieving one's full potential, including creative activities)

You only reach this point once things are so stable that you've returned to life-as-usual. It's okay if you get there before your significant other - everybody has different self-actualization timetables.

As you should now understand, I've finally arrived at that point - able to write a blog post about my harrowing move.

Sure, the tap water smells funny, we can't find anything in the kitchen, weeds are taking hold in the garden, we don't have a table to eat at, the 8-year-old is sleeping on the floor, and there are bunch of boxes in the spare room in the basement that contain things that seemed important when we packed but so far haven't asserted their importance now that we're in...

...the important thing is that 4 of us sat down on the couch in front of the TV together last night for the first time and we lost ourselves in 'The Secret Lives of Pets'. What could be more self-actualizing than that?

Great job significant other! You're almost there...

Dear Future Owners of this House

Dear future owners of this house,

Welcome to our house. It might be yours now, but it was once and will always be ours as well.

We were the first occupants of the house. We chose the floors and the walls and the kitchen. We chose the finishings. We ran speaker wire (what's that?) and ethernet cable (what's that?) in the walls and never used them. We designed and finished the basement.  We paved the driveway and the porch. We planted the lawn and did our best to take care of it. That big tree in front? That was planted as a sapling just after we moved in.

We lived here from 2000 to 2017, and I am writing this letter with less than two weeks left for us in this house.

In 2000, when we moved in, we were a family of four (father, mother and two daughters - 5 and 7). We added a third daughter in 2009 and thus leave as a family of five.

Until this house, none of us had ever lived in one house for longer than five years, so I guess we grew kind of attached to the place.

When we moved in, we were moving from the only house the two older girls had ever known into this big, brand new empty shell. And they weren't happy. There was mud everywhere. A bunch of things were still being finished. We weren't near our ex-neighbours anymore. There wasn't a finished basement for them to play in. Our bedrooms weren't right on top of each other. It was different. It was scary. They (we) loved our old house.

The 7-year-old got the bedroom over the garage. The 5-year-old got the bedroom next to that. Given the luck of the draw, it turned out that the older one got the haunted bedroom. Throughout her years in that bedroom, she'd be visited regularly by a well-dressed spectral gentleman who would hang out in her room during the night.  Nice guy, but he'd cause a shrill, middle-of-the-night scream on a fairly regular basis. Our youngest one has spent the last 8 years sleeping in that bedroom and never met him, so I don't expect you will either.

It wasn't long before the two older girls were sleeping in the same bed many nights (in the not-haunted bedroom). And that was fine because it made tucking them in and kissing them goodnight that much more efficient.

They grew up in this house. They learned to ride their bikes in front of it. Every amazing TV moment we shared was in this house. They went from primary school through high school and then off to University here. We ate amazing meals. Had lots and lots and lots of family and friends over. It hosted birthday parties and get-togethers and all sorts of memorable times.

It was right here in this house that the girls greeted our youngest daughter, their sister, and fell in love with her. They helped her learn to walk. They watched mommy (and occasionally daddy) change her diaper. Right there - in the dining room - is where the baby shot a perfectly aimed stream of urine at her mommy's face. And over there - that's where she used to ride the plasma car. Her first steps were in the family room.

In the den, over there near the corner, that's where I lay on the floor with the youngest one on the day her second sister went off to University (the first one had already gone a couple of years earlier). We lay there reading a brand new Toy Story 3 picture book (you know, the one where the kid goes off to College?) One of us had a good cry there - check the hardwood, I bet it's still a little warped.

Over here in the garage, that's where we hosted 16 years worth of amazing Halloween exhibits. It was a witch's dining room a few times, a pumpkin patch, a dungeon, a monster day care, a demon-infested child's bedroom, ... This house was THE house on Halloween. Year after year after year after year our driveway was always full of neighbours chatting, kids trick-or-treating, dogs jumping out of their skin as a spider lunged at them. And dads too.

If you go to the backyard, you might see a little stone sundial that one of the two older girls gave me on Father's Day one year. We plunked it down in the little garden back there and for whatever reason it never moved from the spot. With everything else changing in our lives, that sundial was just always in the same place, tracing out the circles of time.

See the fence on the left? I built that. Me and two neighbours. I'm not a handyman by any means, but we did nice work on it. And had a ball. I hope it's still standing.

I could go on and on and on, but I'll leave you with this: You can rest assured that you're in good hands in this house. It's a happy place. It was owned by happy people and filled with tons of love.

The growth chart on the closet door frame in the bedroom over the garage...that's from our youngest. She's probably off living an amazing life somewhere at the time you're reading this, and those pencil marks might be the only sign that she was ever here, that any of us were... but you should know that each mark represents a moment in time where a mother stood with her beloved daughter and marvelled at how she was growing up.

We all grew up in this house and years from now, if you let us in, we can show you all the other marks of our growth in this place. But the pencil marks on the cupboard frame in that bedroom might be the only messy, human, physical evidence that we were there. If you don't mind, please leave them there so we've always got something of us in that place.

We're moving on now. No regrets. Great times ahead.

We leave this house remembering it as a great house and a great 17 years. I hope the place brings you as much joy as it did for all five of us.

Best,

The original owners of this house

The Grump in the Park

The Grump in the park sat and looked all around.
He looked at the sky and he looked at the ground.
He looked to the left and he looked to the right.
Yes, he sat in that park from the morning 'til night.

And - oh - what he saw gave him scratches and itches,
And a deepening sadness (despite his vast riches).
For all the Grumps just like him were no longer about,
In their place scurried others (and this was bad, without doubt).

All the Grumps he had known were nowhere to be seen,
But the others, instead, filled the park where they'd been.
They were blue, red, and yellow; they sang and they danced.
There were oodles of them, everywhere that he glanced.

Said the Grump, "This is wrong! This is terribly wrong!
Who let them all in? This ridiculous throng?
I will stand for the Grumps and make everything right!
I will stand for them now, all the time, day and night!"

And there on the bench, where he once had just sat,
The Grump climbed right up and he took off his hat,
And he called to the Grumps who were hidden from view,
And he asked them to join in what he knew they must do.

"We'll get rid of the others! With me leading you all!
We'll toss them right out! And then we'll build a wall!
And they'll never come back to this park that is ours!
All I ask is your faith so you'll grant me these powers!"

And the Grumps came when they heard, they came back to the park,
Some came right away, and some waited 'til dark.
When at last they were there, all the Grumps he could find,
Their love and support for him blew his small mind.

So the King of the Grumps (as he now wished to be known),
Sat down on the bench (which he now called his 'throne'),
And drew up a plan that told the Grumps what to do:
"First we round up the Others, red, yellow and blue.."

"...then we take them away, outside of this place,
Using force if we must (and I hope that's the case)."
So the Grumps joined together and did what he said,
And got rid of the Others, blue, yellow and red.

'Til the park was all clear, each Other now gone.
Only Grumps filled the sidewalks and the green grassy lawn.
And they whooped and they yelled with an unbridled joy.
For they had the park back, every Grump, girl and boy.

And it was great for them all...for one day, maybe two.
'Til they got a bit bored without much left to do.
"I must get them invested in new, stronger opinions,"
Thought the King, "lest they leave me alone, with no minions".

So the next thing he said was directed at 'us',
"Some of us here are starting to stir up a fuss!
It's the ones with pink hair that are causing the trouble,
Let's send them away next, right now, on the double!"

So out went the Grumps whose hair was too pink,
They were carried away (despite making a stink).
Then the ones with no pants were directed to leave.
Then the ones that liked dogs and those with beige on their sleeve.

And the Grumps with the mumps and the measles and flu,
And the Grumps who smelled too much like antelope stew,
Away they were dragged, one group after another.
'Til the only two left were the King and his brother.

"Well that's that, I guess," said the triumphant King,
"It's just you and me now, we've got the whole thing!"
"Yeah, but why must I still share this park with you, Bro?"
Asked the King's younger sib, before making him go.

So now stands the Grump just outside of the wall.
Humbly asking himself "What has led to my fall?"
And the answer comes clear to his sad, tortured mind.
"I'm alone now because I am one of a kind."

"And someone so special, who is truly unique,
Needs no-one around when he chooses to speak.
For I'm with the right group now, alone, as I choose."
And away from the park walked the Grump and his views.

A Letter to My Youngest Daughter: Cherish 8 Year-old You

I made a big mistake right now and looked at the letters I wrote just before you turned 7 and 6. That's two whole years ago now and I can't believe how quickly you're growing up. As I told you a few days ago and on the occasion of your previous birthdays, these milestone events make me both happy and sad. But I won't dwell on that this time.

Instead, let me tell you about something else that really matters given where you are right now and where you may find yourself in the future.

Grown-ups talk a lot about their "inner-child", and finding their inner-child when they're older and get lost in the day-to-day mess of being an adult.

You see, for most people life isn't always fun or easy. I hope it always is for you, but there may be times when it's just not what you want it to be. That's okay, the down times make the up times even better.

Sometimes work is really, really hard, and you still have to do it day after day after day. Sometimes money is short and you can't buy what you want or need. Sometimes bad stuff happens and it feels like that squashes everything else that's good in your life. Sometimes people are mean or insensitive or selfish and they make themselves feel better by bringing you down. And sometimes you're sad for no good reason at all, or angry, or confused. Things just get that way sometimes.

It's very easy to let that stuff eat you up and to forget who you are, who you were, and who you want to be. This sends people looking for their "inner-child", who they used to be before they got lost in being grown-up, so they can re-anchor themselves in that tiny happy person inside: The kid who used to see every day as a big shiny promise; who used to find fun in everything; and who didn't have to worry about anything in the world.

You are, right now, the child that you may later be searching for inside the grown up you become. This tiny perfect person you are right now will always be there inside you. Your voice, right now, will always be a voice in your head, and you will sometimes want to stop and listen to it. Your wide-eyed innocent opinion of the world will always be sitting there waiting to weigh in on things. Your beaming optimism will always be sitting there intact where you can find it if you have to. Your inner-child is sitting there on the surface for everyone to see right now, today, but tomorrow you'll probably have to dig a little deeper to find her.

I need to work at it sometimes to find mine, but it's definitely there. I know that because there are often times where I need to work to hide it (like when I get the urge to stick my leg out when somebody comes running past me; like when I have to suppress an irresponsible giggle at the worst possible moment in a business meeting; like when I find the sound of a fart in a quiet room the funniest thing in the world). Right now, today, you are still a child in all the gloriously amazing ways that we all were once. Think of what a privilege it is to have a few more years of getting to be what everyone else wishes they were.

Love it. Embrace it. Don't be in a rush to push that child down and inside so that you can be a teen or a grown-up. Being a kid means you don't have to be embarrassed when you do stupid things, or when you don't know something, or when somebody sees you dancing around in a room alone, or when somebody hears you singing when there's no music, or when you play made-up games with no rules, or when you play with dolls, or when you get caught watching a show you used to watch when you were a baby, or when you draw crazy pictures that make no sense, or when you spit out food you just tried because it tastes disgusting, or when you change your clothes because all of a sudden you want to be all dressed in purple, or when you do a million other things that later you have to pretend you're not interested in doing.

Pay attention to all the things you see, taste, smell, feel, think, believe, want, know, think you know, and wish you knew. Freeze an image of yourself and remember it. Because before you know it you'll be looking for it. Hold onto it. Stay in touch with it regularly. Keep it near the surface.

I think I'm the least grown-up grown-up you'll ever meet. I'm happy. I'm successful. I'm often a goof (like the time I recently walked up to a Barista at Starbucks and asked what I could get her, or the time I licked out a bowl of ice cream at the restaurant, or the time I hurt my arm skiing because I couldn't ski and should have known better, or the time you and I made up inappropriate songs in the car - which is most of the time we're in the car, by the way). I haven't fully let go of the child inside because I don't believe you really ever have to or should.

Your older sisters, for all of their bluster and drama and grown-up angst, keep their inner-children pretty close to the surface too. And when they're around you, you get to see it plain as day. Be that way too. Don't take yourself too seriously - certainly not now and even more importantly, not later.

Other kids (and grownups) love to be around you because you are a good, kind, fascinating, creative, fun, industrious, innocent, amazing KID. Your facial expressions, your choice of words, your wry smile, your sparkling wit, your petulant whiny voice, and your miffed and angry face are so real and so engaging (and cute) that we can't get enough of you. You should never get enough of being that way.

If you ever find yourself feeling lost, depressed, unsure, lonely, scared, ... remember this very best version of yourself ... and drop everything, put on some loud music and dance, or taste something new and spit it out in disgust, or watch some tv for babies, or make fart jokes or noises, or pull out some old dolls and make up a story about them, or colour something way outside the lines, or do any of the million things you do naturally every day because you're 8... and you'll find your footing again. Guaranteed.

I hope you don't ever have to look too far.

I love you and I can't wait to see the kid you are a year from now and a decade from now. Don't ever, ever, ever, ever, ever hide the 8-year-old away where you (and I) can't find her.

The Valentine's Day Message

Mom was making her write Valentine's Day cards for everyone in the class. EVERYONE. It wasn't fair.

Her Mom's explanation was: "Ms. Farley said that her policy is that everyone gets a card or you don't bring any cards at all. It's so that no one feels left out and sad."

"Then I'd rather bring no cards at all." she had said, but to no avail.

Here she was, instead, writing stupid cards for everyone.

You had to be soooo careful because you couldn't just give the stupid little pictures and messages in the cards to just anyone (and Mom always bought cards with stupid little pictures and messages). If it said "love" or hinted at it, you had to make sure that went to a girl. If it had cute little animals, same thing. Boys had to get superheroes or trains or cars AND you had to make sure there wasn't a message that suggested you liked the boy. No hearts for boys either.

Then, you had to be careful about what you wrote. Safest thing for girls was "Your friend, ..." or just "Happy Valentine's Day!" Boys got "From..."

Then there was Eddie. What a jerk. What a bully. "He gets a card too!?! Mom! I can't do it."

But her Mom shuffled through the pile of cards and pulled one out that just said "Happy Valentine's Day" on the front and nothing inside. NOTHING. How perfect because Eddie was a nothing.

He stole people's lunches. He punched you when no one was looking. He made faces at Ms. Farley when she had her back to the class. He made fake fart noises (which was actually pretty funny, but RUDE!) And here she was being forced to write a card for that worthless loser.

She opened the blank card and wrote her name and nothing else. Not even a 'from'. "That'll show him", she thought with a malicious smile.

----

Valentine's Day in Ms. Farley's class was pretty good. They had a party instead of math. And at the end of the party, they each got a little box to put on their desk, and then walked around dropping their cards in each other's boxes.

When she got to Eddie's desk, she quickly checked if Ms. Farley was looking and when she was sure she wasn't, she plugged her nose with one hand and dropped her card in his box with the other.

They all sat down after that and had a few minutes to open their cards.

She picked the first one at random and opened it. The print said "Happy Valentine's Day" on the front, and nothing inside, except "Eddie". WHAT A JERK!

Then she opened another. It was the same card, and inside it said "Kenneth".

Then the same again, from "Emily". And "Lisa". And "Thomas"...

Tears welled up in her eyes as she opened each envelope and found the same card over and over again from every kid in class. They hadn't even had the decency to write anything but their names inside! Not even a 'from'.

She stood up and asked Ms. Farley if she could go to the office because she wasn't feeling well.

Her Mom picked her up 20 minutes later, and she cried all the way home.

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The next day, when she came into class, she made a point of going straight to her seat without teasing anyone. At recess, she didn't get in any fights and instead tried playing tag with some of the other girls. In fact, she went all day without once getting in trouble.

Valentine's Day message received.

(Love David. Happy Valentine's Day.)

Reflections on the seemingly inevitable demise of my morning paper

In 1999, Russell Ackoff wrote:

An ounce of information is worth a pound of data. An ounce of knowledge is worth a pound of information. An ounce of understanding is worth a pound of knowledge.

Despite this, most of the time spent in school is devoted to the transmission of information and ways of obtaining it. Less time is devoted to the transmission of knowledge and ways of obtaining it (analytical thinking). Virtually no time is spent in transmitting understanding or ways of obtaining it (synthetic thinking). 

The DIKW model (which isn't Ackoff's), is often depicted as a pyramid, and doesn't include an 'understanding' tier.

Because I personally like Ackoff's addition of "understanding" in the hierarchy, that's the version I'll refer to here.

My thoughts below aren't in the context of education; instead, I'm reflecting on my morning paper and my concern for its demise.


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I still get a newspaper delivered to my home every morning. I diligently read it every day and take the information it contains more-or-less at face value. I can generally tell the difference between what is information and what is opinion, and I tend to trust the information because I trust traditional journalism, its foundational ethics and processes, the professionals who have been educated and vetted before landing at a major paper, the editors who carefully guard against breaches of the rules, and so on.

I believe, perhaps naively, that because all of those people have done their job responsibly, I don't need to familiarize myself with all of the data from which their information was drawn. In the same way, I trust the information my doctor gives me without personally digging into the data, and I trust information about home renovations when it comes from a professional who knows much more than I do about the underlying data and who has personal experience applying the data and the information.

In those other professions, though, I further rely on the professionals' personal knowledge; their processing of the information they've studied and gathered directly from experience. I'll continue to do so, and to build even deeper faith in the individual's knowledge until and unless I see first-hand that their data->information->knowledge conversion is not trustworthy.

From professional journalists, I don't ask for knowledge and they don't claim the right to give it to me. Just information. And opinion that has been clearly identified as such. My newspaper is one source for me in the search for knowledge and understanding about what's going on in the world. It contains (I believe) data and information carefully vetted and explained, and that's all. I trust that, and a few other sources.

So I'm worried - very worried - when I think about the (near) future of traditional journalism. It can't and won't survive the disruption of its business model, resulting from technological change, democratization of publishing, changes in consumer preferences, etc. I can only hope that whatever fills the void will also be built on a foundation of professional ethics that puts the truth first.

The more dangerous development, though, (in my opinion of course) is that so many people are implicitly and blindly short-cutting the data-information-knowledge-understanding-wisdom hierarchy because it's so much easier to do so than to be diligent about each of its layers. I'm comfortable getting my data and information from experts I trust, but I'm careful about who those experts are and I will stop trusting them when they show me that my trust is misplaced. I have a much higher standard for knowledge. And wisdom - to me - comes from my parents (and a lifetime of trust in them), from my religion (and the thousands of years of thought and observation upon which it is built) and from my own personal experiences and insights.

I am alarmed and saddened whenever I see people react to a Facebook post as if they are reading the words of a trusted journalist, when blog posts are shared as if they are thesis papers written after months of careful research, and when people posing as reporters share their opinions as fact and others embrace and share their views as if they are.

It is convenient to believe someone else's information or knowledge when it aligns with your own opinion, and it's also dangerous. Where's the data? Was it responsibly and diligently gathered, analyzed and processed into information? Is the information reliable? Is it based on reasonable conclusions without bias? Who is the source of the knowledge and how did they gain that knowledge?

Without rigour around data, information and knowledge, we won't find shared understanding, and wisdom will be a pipe dream. Because of all of that, it feels like we're headed for calamity.

My newspaper matters to me and I'll keep paying for it until I no longer can. You should consider doing the same (in my opinion).

Final note: Every word that I've written above is directed at people who largely share my worldview, not those who I feel are intentionally spreading "alternative facts". It's on you and me to defend the truth, not our preferred version of it.