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My mother died a few weeks ago. I thought, in her honor I
would give my column over to my daughter this month. She writes
about learning in a way that shows how learning really takes
place.
My daughter writes about what she learned from my mother.
While reading this, it is interesting to think about how she
learned what she learned from my mother. What did my mother
actually "teach" her in the normal direct action
sense of that word? I have some more comments at the end.
To put what is written below in context, my daughter had
given birth to her first child six weeks before my mother
died. My daughter is a writer. Her first book is coming out
in February. It is about her wedding and our crazy family.
What I Learned From Gammy
1. Always dress nicely
I was packing on Thursday for my grandmother's funeral, pulling
pre-maternity clothing out of boxes, trying to squeeze myself
into suits that once fit, visiting with blouses and sweaters
that I once love, feeling betrayed by the fact that they no
longer button. After about an hour of trying to fabricate
a decent outfit out of odds and ends, I pulled on a stretchy
black skirt and a turquoise sweater set from a million years
ago and stared at myself in the mirror. The skirt hadn't really
been all that nice when I bought it at least six or seven
seasons ago; the sweater set was sort of stretched out and
although I vaguely remembered it was stained, I couldn't find
the stain in the dim December light. Had it been anyone else's
funeral, I would have shrugged, told myself that I'd just
given birth a month ago and no one expected me to look that
great, and been on my way. But because it was Gammy's funeral,
I heard her voice in my head saying, "That's what you're
wearing to my funeral??" And so as soon as I arrived
in Palm Beach I had my brother drive me to the nearest Ann
Taylor. I ran in, leaving him with a screaming baby, and came
back out twenty minutes later with an outfit that fit properly.
2. Women can run their own businesses
My grandmother was the first business woman I was ever aware
of. She ran a wholesale bead business in the garment district
for decades. She was always flying off to Germany and Japan
to buy beads, and sometimes when I would visit her in her
office on West 38th St. she'd be meeting with customers in
a big glassed-in conference room. She had a booming, distinctive
voice that would rattle the walls of the room as she pulled
on her glasses to inspect various beads, or pushed display
cases across the table for customers to view. It all seemed
very important and glamorous, but never so important that
she didn't have time for me. She kept a big tin of beads in
her office for me to play with, and let me run around in the
stock room in back. One of my favorite memories from my childhood
is the way that stock room smelled, like a combination of
dust and cardboard. It was dimly lit and held rows and rows
of plain boxes filled with beads. I loved to pull open the
boxes because you never knew what kind of beautiful bead you
might turn up.
3. Be generous
Gammy was always sending us an endless stream of presents.
As a kid I used to think the UPS man worked for her. I remember
the sound the truck would make as it pulled up to our quiet
suburban house. It would idle in the driveway like a little
piece of Manhattan right in our front yard, and the UPS man
would hop out with a surprise package. Sometimes the packages
were for me or my brother, sometimes she'd sent several pieces
of jewelry for my mother to chose from. The arrival of the
UPS truck was always the highlight of my week. To this day,
when I see a UPS truck I think of Gammy.
4. Never wear fake jewelry
5. Put your stockings on one leg at a time
6. Always be glamorous
7. You can never be too happy to see someone
Gammy always made me feel like my phone call, my visit, my
appearance in a room was the highlight of her year. It wasn't
until her funeral that I realized she made everyone feel that
way. Her face would light up, she'd give you a big hug and
kiss and tell you how thrilled she was to see you. I'm not
sure I will ever get over the fact that she will never meet
Milo, and that he will never get to experience her unmatched
ability to make someone feel special and immensely loved.
8. New York is the best city in the world
My grandmother loved New York, and she especially loved Manhattan.
As a kid I would arrive in Grand Central with my mother and
the world was instantly transformed. Gone was the quiet, bland
greenery of Connecticut, replaced by the glorious bustle of
commuters, the echoing high ceilings of the train station,
and I'd know we'd arrived in the only city glamorous enough
to be home to my grandmother. This was New York in the early
eighties, when it really wasn't all that glamorous, when there
were scores of homeless people living in Grand Central, when
garbage piled up on the streets during the garbage strike,
when SoHo had good streets and bad streets and a hologram
museum that we used to visit after dropping our bags off at
my grandmother's office. But Gammy's New York was a wonderful,
exciting place full of trips to the theater (pronounced thee-tah),
whirlwind shopping expeditions through Lord and Taylor (itself
a place of unmatched beauty, filled with the scent of a million
perfumes and an old-fashioned art deco escalator), and dinners
at Shinbashi, where Gammy was on a first-name basis with the
kimono-clad waitresses. It is no accident that I have chosen
to make New York my home, and that Milo can be proud to call
himself a fifth generation New Yorker.
I will miss her very much.
That is the end of my daughter's remarks. Now mine:
My mother was a critic. She complained about what you did.
She never instructed -- she demanded. This alone would usually
not be all that useful educationally. Indeed I rebelled every
time she criticized and tried hard not to do what she demanded.
But, something else was going on at the same time. She was
exuding love with every criticism. She told you what she wanted
and then made it hard not to want to make her happy because
she tried so hard to make you happy.
To put this in another way: role models are really important
teaching tools, more important than the words they say. And
love, caring, and nurturing are the most important teaching
methods. This is what I learned from reading what my daughter
wrote, but it is, of course, what I learned from my mother
long before that.
So, what are you supposed to do, love your trainees? Should
teachers offer love to students? I am sure there are those
who would agree with these sentiments, but for me they are
meaningless drivel. A mother loves in a way a teacher cannot.
But does a mother motivate in a way a teacher cannot?
Students try to please both teachers and parents. Teachers
give grades and employers give money, both to motivate learning.
Are there better ways to motivate learning?
Yes. There is one much better way. Letting people be who
they are. So often we try to train people for things for which
they are really quite unsuited. We try to train employees
to do what they aren't particularly good at doing. I never
taught my daughter to write. My mother never taught me to
do what I do. What my mother did do was revel in my abilities.
And, I, in turn reveled (and still do) in my daughter's abilities.
This is what you can do as a teacher or trainer. Revel in
what your student can do. Encourage more. Be excited by accomplishments.
Put them in situations where their eyes light up and help
them achieve the goals they want to achieve.
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