Mr. Gerke came up to me after
class and without asking me why I didn't turn it in, he simply said, “Donna, I'm
giving you a homework assignment. I want you to go home and write the worst paper
you have ever written.” I looked at him bewildered. What did he mean by the
worst paper ever? How was I going to do that? And why? Then he made me promise
that no matter what, I would turn it in the next day.
So, I went home and proceeded to write what I considered to
be a really, bad paper. But still, I remember having thoughts like, “What if
this isn't bad enough?” “What do I have to do to make this worse?” and struggling
with the assignment. The next day, I begrudgingly passed it in. Mr. Gerke took
one look at it and immediately put an A+ at the top of the paper without so
much as reading a single sentence. I said to him, “Wait! Aren't you even going
to read it? And why are you giving me an A+ on a bad paper?”
Mr Gerke quietly turned to me and said, “Donna, what you
need to realize is that your worst, is better than most people’s best. All you
need to do, is just turn it in.” I could still cry when I think of that moment.
Mr. Gerke had the wisdom to know that my problem was not
that I didn't want to do the work, but that I was afraid to do it. I was afraid
of it not being perfect. I would have big ideas in my head, but somehow they
never seemed to be as good, once executed. This led me to feel that no matter
what I did, it was never as good as the actual idea and therefore always felt
that my work was not good enough.
Even then, as a child, I knew I was blessed
with great big ideas that were not necessarily coming from me. I knew I was
being gifted with them, but with that, came a great responsibility. Somehow, I
felt I was failing God by not having the final product match perfectly with the
original idea. That’s why I had a problem turning in my homework. It was often
more palatable for me to turn in nothing than to turn in something that didn’t
rise to the vision.
Mr. Gerke, in his wisdom recognized that I had a typical perfection
complex, the need to try to be perfect in everything I did. And by the way, I
still do. But, his words to me, still reverberate in my head 35 years later. “Just
turn it in.”
Now, when I counsel kids on the weekends who want to go to
college, and their parents tell me that their child does the homework, but
never turns it in, I think of Mr. Gerke, and how he made a young girl feel
seen and understood for the very first time. I tell them this story. I tell them they're good enough just as they are. I tell them to turn it in, no matter what.
I still struggle with
following through and completing things, but most of all, about feeling good about
the things I do complete. I have come to understand, that our idea of perfection is an
elusive counterpart. Like chasing the mechanical hare in a greyhound race, you will never catch up to it, and trying to, will only make you feel worse. Best thing to do is trust that the real assignment is not
how good something is, but whether you turned it in at all. Did you show up? Did you say yes? Did you allow the vision to be made real through you? If yes, then you've done your part. Feel good about it.
So, run your race, write your play, sing your song.... Know you are
good enough right now. The pursuit of perfection should never be the goal. It's knowing that whatever you do is perfect as it is, and you are perfect and always will be, just as you are.
To The Truth That Sets Us all Free,
Donna Gershman ALSP
Are you wanting to move forward on a dream, or to change something in your life? Do you feel stuck, and know you're in your own way? Let's move that boulder together. Feel free to email me at youwillheal@aol.com, or contact my office at (818)904-6840 for a free telephone consultation or 20 minute tune-UP! All sessions are conducted by telephone or Skype.
* PS. Thank you, Mr. Gerke. And, sorry for starting this sentence with AND.
Mr Gerke reading my article
Donna Gershman ALSP
Are you wanting to move forward on a dream, or to change something in your life? Do you feel stuck, and know you're in your own way? Let's move that boulder together. Feel free to email me at youwillheal@aol.com, or contact my office at (818)904-6840 for a free telephone consultation or 20 minute tune-UP! All sessions are conducted by telephone or Skype.
* PS. Thank you, Mr. Gerke. And, sorry for starting this sentence with AND.
Mr Gerke reading my article
3 comments:
Donna, thank you for sharing this memory! I'm going to print this out and show to my dad.
- James Gerke
So, James went to see his dad this weekend to share my article with him. He messaged me quickly afterwards to say that Mr Gerke had teared up after reading it, and thought I may have gotten another A+. Today, he sent me more details that I knew I wanted to share with you.
This was from James Gerke to me today:
I arrived at my Dad's and opened the 1981 Tattler yearbook to the page with your photo in it (to set the stage and perhaps spark his recollection, and to provide some context for your blog post and make it a bit more concrete). Then I explained what a blog is, haha. I then handed him the article, and as he read through it, I took each finished page (he only has use of his left hand, so it's hard for him to turn pages).
He was completely absorbed in your writing, and clearly moved. He chuckled when he got to the part about the "worst paper" assignment, seemingly pleased with and simultaneously slightly bashful about that unorthodox technique. He had forgotten he'd done that, but said it wasn't out of character for him to do something like that.
As he continued reading, the significance of that interaction with you and the effect it had on you soaked in. He made a few comments including, "Wow." and "This is precious!". Finally, he teared up at the end and apologized, saying, "Sorry. Well, not really sorry," smiling as he dabbed his eyes with a tissue.
My dad asked if he could hold onto the yearbook. I think he wants to go through it as a kind of reminiscence work, which is awesome. Re-reading your article and looking through the photos of students and his former fellow teachers will keep him going for weeks.
Your article is important and awesome for many reasons, but one very significant one from my perspective is that it reminded my dad that his work made a difference. My dad often laments that over the course of his 29-year teaching career at BHS, the level of effort evinced by his students showed a clear decline over time. He told me (once again, after reading your article) how at the beginning of his career, students were attentive, disciplined, and dedicated. If he assigned some reading, every student would have completed the work, no questions asked. In the last ten years or so, his recollection is that only a handful of students would have done the reading, and they just didn't care. That was a huge frustration for him and part of the reason he eagerly accepted the early retirement package BHS offered in 1989. It saddens me that this is the way he remembers his teaching career (possibly a case of primacy/recency... the "good" students are now SIXTY years in the past, but the slackers are only 30 years ago).
So, it's great medicine for my dad to read your article and be reminded that there were students toward the end who DID care and wanted to do a good job (in your case, perhaps cared too much!), and in addition, that the work he did throughout his career influenced not only his students but generations of people hence. He even asked me, how many generations am I removed from the date of assignment he gave you. We figured that we're now a couple of generations from that time (since my siblings have children who now have kids of their own). That gave my dad pause as he thought about the legacy he left.
So... it was a very powerful moment. I wish I had filmed my dad reading the article, but that felt somehow intrusive. I did, however snap a photo of my dad reading. Thank you for writing about your experience with my dad. It really meant a lot to him, and it's just the medicine for the soul that he needs at this stage of his life. :-)
This is beautiful.
Post a Comment