An Unfinished Business

By

William D. Dannenmaier

Sometimes, in the many sentences I have written, I write a “good” line.  An essay I wrote several years ago had the line “the tree that doesn’t sprout new branches is dead.”  I like that sentence.  It is both simple and true. 

I thought of it the other day in church while I watched a young couple, all snuggles and hugs, and then listened to them discuss their marriage plans after church.  I thought to myself, “They have a lot to learn!” 

Don’t we all?  Each step in life is an unfinished business that we try to finish before we are ready. 

It begins in infancy.  Infants reach for objects before they are capable of grasping them, they struggle to crawl before their arms and legs are sufficiently coordinated to permit success.  After they can crawl, they struggle to stand, then to walk which is when parent’s work really begin.  Young children have no awareness of danger: they can run anywhere, streets mean nothing to them.  I recall my parents talking about how a neighbor, Mr. Caffell, saw my then four year old brother, Joe, crawling over a second story balcony.  He had thrown his baseball hat and it had landed on some telephone wires leading to the house.  He was going out to get it. Mr. Caffell stopped him, and then warned my mother. 

But life itself is a struggle as well as full of dangers.  As a teacher, I often heard second grade children warning first grade children how difficult second grade was.  And it is, if you are seven years old.  But, as I frequently told students preparing to become teachers, children will work hard at anything that they see as important to their lives.  If you don’t believe that, watch them on the playground.  Let an adult try the running and jumping in which children engage daily on playgrounds.  They will quickly learn it is hard work.  It is hard work for the children also.  However they see a reason for what they are doing and they strive to accomplish it. 

In fact, I sometimes believe that children learn more on the playground than they do in some classrooms.  Watch the games they play.  They innovate. They learn to follow rules.  They learn to cooperate.  And they learn that they improve with effort even if they can’t always be successful at everything.  Those are important lessons for life, and more important than what they learn in too many classrooms.

My son Andrew is applying for part-time work and went to get a haircut first.  Previously he had a job with a theatrical group at a theater.  He told me that after he had worked there for a while he was told that when he first approached them, they didn’t really like his appearance and approach.  They weren’t enthusiastic about hiring him, but that they were desperate.  Now, having seen him working for a few weeks they were delighted with his work and gave him additional responsibilities.  When they closed for the season they kept him for two weeks after others had been fired because of his work ethic and the skills he had learned.  He told me he realized he needed to avoid giving the wrong impression with his appearance and manner when he applied for a job. 

A young man of my acquaintance was promised great things when he applied for a job.  After he had been there for a few weeks, he realized they were all false.  A good lesson, one many of us encounter when we are young.  It is not what people say, it is what they do that counts.

Middle age brings its learnings, unfortunately, also.  Companies are much more interested in “promising” twenty year old applicants than in forty year old applicants, often without regard for their accomplishments or skills.  The world of work is not the pleasant world that so many believe and that feminists promise young women.

Mankind is an unfinished business – regardless of your beliefs: theistic or atheistic.  We all have a long way to go. 

I can hear the reader say, “Speak for yourself Bill, when did you last go to school or try to learn something new?”

Well, in fact, I am currently taking banjo lessons.  My fingers are no longer very supple, nor are my desires to practice as strong as my willingness to loaf, but, at seventy-seven, I figure I should know a simple song or two by the time I’m eighty, if I’m still alive.  If not, at least I’ve tried.

The tree that doesn’t sprout new branches is dead.