The Conversation

The Conversation

We were at reading group. We had been writing letters to our partner school in Namibia, Africa. We had looked at maps and photos of the learners there and were now writing thank you notes for some gifts they had sent us. One of my students had actually been to South Africa, the country directly south of Namibia, and he and some of the others were discussing the pictures of our African friends. I was editing another student’s letter when I overheard the following:

“They wear uniforms in their school.”

“Yeah, and they don’t have shoes.”

 “Their skin is really dark.  Are they black?” 

“Some people in South Africa call them colored.” 

“Do they like that?” 

 “I don’t know. But if it were me, I think I’d like to be called by my name.” 

There’s an old song from the musical “South Pacific” called “You Have to Be Carefully Taught.” The song states that parents teach children prejudice. Hour after hour, day after day, children are taught to judge others by the color of their skin, their disabilities, their nationalities, and the language they speak -- not by the content of their characters as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. dreamed.   

My students, as children often do, had struck right to the heart of the matter. All people have the right to be recognized for their individual humanness. People don’t want to be labeled; they want to be called by name. And isn’t it wonderful to hear someone call your name in love?

This conversation impressed me.  My students are only seven and eight years old. They don’t have much life experience. A trip to Africa is a rarity for young children. But somehow, thanks to their parents’ teaching, they realized this great truth. Calling people by name not only honors them, but also communicates the respect we must have for each other if we are to get along in this diverse but wonderful world.

         

Our sister school in Namibia has over seven hundred students and, although the official language is English, most people still speak their village language. We don’t know which of these many learners will be able to read our letters. We don’t know their names.

But my kids do know one very important thing. When I asked them how we should address our letters, every one of them confidently called out, “Dear Friend.”

I'm Sorry

We were excited about our brand new washer and dryer. We put in our wash for a “virgin” run. The washer filled and stopped. We called the store where we had purchased the machines and they told us to call the manufacturer. We called them and they said that this was the store’s problem. We called back and the manager told us to return the machines to the store within 48 hours if we wanted a refund.  How do you return a washer and dryer? We couldn’t just throw them in the trunk!

After several more phone calls, the store agreed to send a repairman. He came and “fixed” the machine. The very next wash, the machine stopped again. This repair-crash pattern was repeated three times, each time with me calling the store again to ask for help. I talked to the sales department and the manager. I even called the corporate office.

After three weeks with no repair and much frustration, I was sitting at the laundromat watching my clothes going around in the dryer when my mother called me. Now, I called my parents every week, so Mom knew all about my washer troubles. She heard the frustration in my voice. After hearing my sad tale of woe, she said, “I am so sorry that this is happening.”

This is what you want to hear when you have troubles.  Not one of the people I had talked to at the store or at the manufacturer had offered any apologies for my trouble. Why is it so hard to say, “I’m sorry”? 

These two words seem to have been removed from the American vocabulary. Politicians who make mistakes don’t apologize, they “spin.” Business people who fail make excuses. Health care providers defend themselves or blame their patients instead of admitting errors. No one wants to admit culpability for fear of repercussions. Maybe they’ll be sued. Maybe they’ll lose business. Maybe their reputations will be sullied.

My mother, who had no responsibility for my frustrations, knew that I needed to hear that someone shared my concerns. Someone cared. Someone was sorry that I was suffering. A broken washer is a minor problem. A society which cannot say “I’m sorry” is in major crisis.

I learned a lot of lessons from this experience. First and foremost, I learned that big business does not care about my minor problems. I learned that the attendants at the laundromat are saints. They took time to listen to my troubles and offered to help me with my wash. I was also reminded that you can always count on your mother to take your side and offer sympathy for your troubles. God bless them all.

Most of all, I learned how important it is to say “I’m sorry” even when you have not been part of the problem. “I am so sorry that this is happening to you. You do not deserve these troubles. I am happy to listen. I will support you.”

           

My washing machine was eventually fixed and, about six months after my washer woes, I got a call from the upper management of the store. I told her what had happened. She listened and said, “I’m sorry.” 

That’s all I needed to hear.