Frank sent this.

An elementary school teacher was giving a drawing class to a group of six year-old children.  She noticed that one particular student, a girl who usually never paid attention, was actually participating.  Eventually, she asked the girl was she was doing; her arms curled around her paper, scribbling feverishly. Without looking up, the girl said, "I'm drawing a picture of God." Surprised, the teacher said, "But nobody knows what God looks like." The girl said, "They will in a minute."

"Gillian was only eight years-old and her future was already in danger.  She tested poorly, her schoolwork was a disaster, her writing was illegible, and she never turned in assignments. Not only that, she was a disruption to the entire class, one minute fidgeting noisily, the next staring out the window, forcing the teacher to stop the class to pull Gillian's attention back, and the next doing something to disturb the other children around her. Gillian wasn't particularly concerned about any of this, but the school was.  This all came to a head when a letter was sent home to her parents. 

The school thought Gillian had a learning disorder of some sort and that it might be more appropriate for her to be in a school for children with special needs.  All of this took place in the 1930s. I think now they'd say she had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and they'd put her on Ritalin or something similar.  But the ADHD epidemic hadn't been invented at the time.  It wasn't an available condition. People didn't know they could have that and had to get by without it.

Gillian's parents received the letter from the school with great concern and sprang into action.  Gillian's mother put her daughter in her best dress and shoes, tied her hair in ponytails, and took her to a psychologist for assessment, fearing the worst. 

Standing in the room next to a large desk was an imposing man in a tweed jacket. He took Gillian to the far end of the room and sat her down on a huge leather sofa. Gillian's feet didn't quite touch the floor, and the setting made her wary. Nervous about the impression she would make, she sat on her hands so that she wouldn't fidget.

The psychologist went back to his desk, and for the next twenty minutes, he asked Gillian's mother about the difficulties Gillian was having at school and the problems the school said she was having. While he didn't direct any of the questions at Gillian, he watched her carefully the entire time.  Eventually, Gillian's mother and the psychologist stopped talking, and he told Gillian, 'You've been very patient, and I thank you for that, but I'm afraid you'll have to be patient for a little longer. I need to speak to your mother privately now. We're going to go out of the room for a few minutes. Don't worry; we won't be very long.' Gillian nodded apprehensively, and as the psychologist left the room with Gillian's mother, he turned on the radio.

As soon as they were in the corridor outside the room, the doctor said to Gillian's mother, "Just stand here for a moment, and watch what she does."  Nearly immediately, Gillian was on her feet, moving around the room to the music. At last, the psychologist turned to Gillian's mother and said, "You know, Mrs. Lynne, Gillian isn't sick. She's a dancer. Take her to dance school."

Her mother did exactly that. Gillian said, 'I can't tell you how wonderful it was. I walked into this room, and it was full of people like me. People who couldn't sit still. People who had to move to think.' 

Eventually, she auditioned for the Royal Ballet School in London, and they accepted her. She went on to join the Royal Ballet Company itself, becoming a soloist and performing all over the world. When that part of her career was over, she formed her own musical theater company and produced a series of highly successful shows in London and New York. Eventually, she met Andrew Lloyd Webber and created with him some of the most successful musical theater productions in history, including Cats and The Phantom of the Opera.

Little Gillian, the girl with the high-risk future, became known to the world as Gillian Lynne, one of the most accomplished choreographers of our time, someone who brought pleasure to millions and earned millions of dollars. This happened because someone looked deep into her eyes-- someone who had seen children like her before and knew how to read the signs. Someone else might have put her on medication and told her to calm down. But Gillian wasn't a problem child. She didn't need to go away to a special school.

She just needed to be who she really was."*


Four year-old James got the part of Joseph in the Nativity.  Despite not having an actual speaking part, his parents were very proud, and assembled quite the group that came to attend the performance.  The scene came when the three kings walked in, bearing their gifts; gold, frankincense and myrrh. It appeared that they went out of sequence because the first child came forward, laid his box down and said, "I bring you gold." The second child stepped forward with his gift and said, "I bring you myrrh." The third boy set down his gift and said, "Frank sent this."

What all of these stories have in common, as Sir Ken Robinson so brilliantly illustrates, is the capacity of children for innovation, and their failure to be fearful of failure (say that three times fast.)  

After watching his presentations on how schools kill creativity, it really got me thinking about my own education, and lack thereof.  I agree with Paul Simon that, "my lack of education hasn't hurt me none, I can read the writing on the wall." But I also wonder how a generic education has limited myself and millions of others.  I admit that I wasn't the most popular person in high school.  With having a majority of your classes being honors or AP, being in Band and not dressing and acting like a ho, I was far from popular. And that's fine! Great, even. But let's be honest, high school, for most of us, was a joke. Granted, there were those few, brilliant teachers, who inspire their students; who devote everything to passing on some sort of nugget of wisdom and betterment, but they are few in numbers and very underpaid. Some genius in Hamilton county got the idea that implementing "academies" into my high school was a good idea.  There was a Freshman academy, Humanities, Science and some other garbage that I can't remember.  Anyway, the idea was that 14 year old kids would know what general fields of study and subjects interested them and that was their path for the rest of high school, thus limiting them to other topics that might have increased the width and depth of their education. Stifling their creativity, even. When I was 14 I had a hard enough time picking out my clothes for the day, let alone deciding between a science-oriented course of study or a liberal arts one. Freak! Most college students change their majors at least once.

The purpose of an education these days is to prepare children for the future, and to provide for their future selves and their families.  Thanks to the amazing and endless advances in technology, its safe to say that no one has a clue what the future will look like. Children entering Kindergarten this year, are set to retire in the 2070s.  Think of what has changed in the past 60 years.  Can you imagine what will be different in the next 60?  The degrees most graduates earn these days are useless without a Masters. More and more 20 something's are moving back in with their parents because their college degree hasn't been as useful as was expected. We are made to believe that the pursuit of making a substantial living is more important than following what calls most deeply to us.  That's why we need different types of minds and new ways of looking at education.  Temple Grandin is a great example of this.  Her tireless work in the areas of Autistic awareness and animal advocacy are amazing to me.  I love her explanation of  how her mind works, and that to her advantage, it has allowed her to see a new way of problem solving.  Being a lifelong learner is best described by Ben Dunlap, the president at Wofford College, who shows that the most valuable lessons come from starting over and learning from other's experiences.  

All of this...means what?  It just got me thinking about what I might do if I had no fear of failure. At a young age, failure becomes stigmatized, rather than being shown as another means of learning.  Children have an inherent ability to be unfazed by setbacks. They see it for what it is, a learning experience. It is only through others that we learn that failure is a bad thing, most often its from well-meaning teachers, mentors, friends, and even parents. This lesson doesn't end at the playground, it continues into adulthood, I've learned. I would by no means say that my marriage is a failure, its just hard sometimes. But there is a such a social taboo about admitting that your marriage and family isn't perfect, that you aren't the perfect parent, spouse, sibling, child, friend; that you aren't perfect.  Guess what? I think that's OK. We need to admit this more. We need more transparency.  Maybe then, we wouldn't feel the need to keep our houses perfectly clean, endlessly alter our appearances, and race off to Walgreen's to get our refills of anti-depressants because we can't wash off all that self-loathing in our designer showers. 

So what would you do if you had no fear of failure? If you couldn't fail? I'm just going to put this out in the universe and see what happens, maybe I'll get to it in 40 years, when my college degree has become useless.  Here's what I'd do: I'd run my own business. I'd serve mini versions of the best kinds of food, especially cupcakes, with ingredients that come from the community garden out back and the farmer's market down the street. The employees are folks that might be having a hard time finding work, based on current circumstance, past mistakes, or present appearance. And I'm not talking about typical finger foods, but actual small versions of food. If you can't pay, you can help in the kitchen, wash dishes, or work in the garden. There would be lots of big comfy couches and over-sized pillows everywhere to stretch out and read your choice of book.  These books would come in the form of donations, and you could take one for free to read and return it later, or not. Let's not forget the flower shop! Mini's would also have a small flower counter.  Seasonal flower arrangements made available for the lovely customer, as long as you are nice.  No poopypants allowed. Don't worry, my personal collection of tunes will be played (quietly) through out the store as you feed yourselves, read, nap and lounge. The best part? Its only open from February through October.  I love you all, but I plan on taking a 3 month break each year to travel, relax, gather books and enjoy the holidays with loved ones. 

There's that. 

I hope one day to be someone who is not burdened by fear. Paul McCartney was told he had no musical talent and was not allow to sing in his school's choir, Elvis wasn't permitted to be in his school's glee club, and Matt Groening (creator of The Simpsons) was told he had no artistic ability. Good thing they didn't listen to the naysayers. 



*The Element, Ken Robinson...phenomenal book!