B, M & E

Observation: We humans have a bizarre compulsion to segment our lives, to treat them like pies, sliced and divvied. What I’ve been trying to figure out lately is why?

I think it starts in elementary school. Reading teachers teach sequencing, and a kid’s ability to recognize and label the parts of a story in order is – according to a leading panel of experts – a really important indicator of comprehension.

As important as grasping beginning, middle and end is, it’s not very easy to teach. Either kids get it or they don’t is what I find, but are we teachers happy with that? No. Because it’s “a really important indicator of comprehension,” we drill and drill and drill so that the average kid starts eating, drinking and sleeping beginning, middle and end and this in turn haunts him for the rest of his days.

That’s my theory, anyway.

Here’s the other thing I’ve noticed. Most first graders get it the first time – at least they get the first and last parts, because those parts are easy peasy. “What happened at the beginning?” you ask after closing the book, and even the child with the gnarliest case of attention deficit disorder who’s just heard The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the first time can tell you with gusto, “There was a tiny egg!”

“And what happened at the end?” you press on, and a chorus of voices shouts definitively, “It was a beautiful butterfly!”

Oh, how your heart soars – you are the world’s greatest reading teacher! Just look at this roomful of 6-year-olds so thoughtfully responding to a book!

Then you ask, “How about the middle?” and all bets are off. “He eats an apple!” “No wait, first he eats some cake!” “Hang on, when did he eat the watermelon?” “What about the stomachache? Isn’t that in the middle?”

The middle is where I reside now, and it’s a mixed-up big ole jumble of confusion in here.

It is vast and infinite and yawing like a ship on a turbulent sea.

It's not totally unpleasant, but sometimes it bugs me.

It's irritating because back in the beginning - sort of - when I was in what is lately referred to on NBC and in John Mayer lyrics as “quarterlife” – I thought I’d have it all figured out by now. But the older I get, the less certain I become. One small example: In elementary school I was a spelling bee champion. In my twenties I remained someone to whom lawyers and doctors and even doctoral candidates frequently turned in lieu of a dictionary. This morning I was correcting some second grade spelling tests and just wasn’t sure anymore how to spell anamil.

I realize that none of this adequately addresses the compulsion to segment with which I began tonight. Let’s just chalk that up to the wandering mind of the mid-lifer. (I am starting to understand why everyone I knew in the 1990's who was in their forties was on medication.)

I’m hopeful that by the next time I post on this blog, I’ll have figured out what it is I was trying to say.

P.S. I know, I know, what does this picture have to do with anything? But can you believe that Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island was recently busted for possession of pot? It doesn't warrant an entire blog post I don't think, but it was worth a mention.


(She's taller than I thought she'd be.)