Beech Tree News Network

Groucho Marx said, “There’s two kinds of people in the world.  Those who think people can be divided up into two types, and those who don’t” (quoteinvestigator.com).  No disrespect to Groucho, but I think there are three types of people in the world.  Those who do things ahead of a deadline, those who put things off till the last minute, and those whom the people who wait till the last minute come to for help.

For the biggest part of my life, I have fallen into one or other of the first two types of people.  It has only been in my later years that I have become the third type—someone people come to when they are running out of time and need help.  

At 7:30 on Thursday evening, I had finished dinner, cleaned up the dishes and was just settling down in my chair with a good book, when my granddaughter, Sabria, called.  I will pause here to tell you, Natalie is the type one person, who does everything ahead of time, but Sabria falls into that second category of putting everything off till the last minute.

“Hi, Honey,” I said.  It wasn’t Sabria.  It was Natalie on Sabria’s phone, and she was livid.

“Mom, remember that story Sabria was writing the last time she was at your house about three and a half weeks ago?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, tentatively.

“Well it’s due tomorrow, and she has hardly anymore written on it than she did when she was with you!”  Natalie’s words were running together, with barely any pauses.  That was never a good sign.

“Can you please help her?” Natalie asked.  “I don’t expect you to do it all.  I will stay right here with her and help too.”

I had flashbacks of the times Garey had tried to help Natalie with math in middle school.  Garey became frustrated, and Natalie ended up crying.  Natalie is an excellent mother, but she gets very frustrated with her daughter when she knows she hasn’t done her best, and she was definitely justified in her frustration at that moment.  Trying to push Sabria by standing over her however, is like trying to push a chain, she just knots up on you.

I convinced Natalie that Sabria and I would do better with just the two of us working on the project, telling her that it shouldn’t take anymore than two hours to complete.  Yes, I know my estimate was on the optimistic side, but I wanted to give my daughter hope.

The main obstacle to helping my granddaughter finish this story—besides the obvious one of her being in Plano and my being in Woodbury—was going to be the typing.  Sabria types with two fingers.  Since fourth grade, her teachers have been suggesting typing tutorial programs for her, but like everything else, she has put it off.  (The story she was writing was the continuing saga of the story I wrote about in my column on January 22nd, if you need a point of reference.)  

When I finally got to talk to Sabria, I said, “Honey, I am going to help you, but I am going to make a suggestion first.  We have only two hours to complete this, so I think you need to ditch the idea that the parents of the kids your thirteen-year-old boy is babysitting are kidnappers, and the children aren’t really theirs, but have been kidnapped as babies.  I think you need to keep the idea that the boy is still babysitting, but have the kids appear to be shy and quiet at first, then turn into hellions as the story progresses.”

“Okay,” Sabria said.

“Read me what you have so far,” I said.  

She was at the point in the story where the father of the two kids next door, ages 8 and 6, was at the door with the children.  The babysitter boy, Michael, was still talking to his parents who hadn’t left the house yet.

“Okay,” I said, “You have got to get the parents out the door and on their way and the father off the front porch and in his car, so you can interact with the little devils.”

Sabria developed the story line, as I listened.   I remembered the points she wanted to make, as she typed at the speed of a dripping faucet.  She had those kids into everything, with Michael closing in on their antics, then finally taking charge by the end of his babysitting shift.  It was 9:15. We had finished fifteen minutes early.  

I thought about this situation later.  When had I become the person to come to for help when there was no one else available?  When had I learned the three most important things when giving someone—who had gotten themselves into a hole—help?  One, don’t berate them.  Two, don’t do it for them.  Three, don’t remind them that you are sacrificing on their behalf.

I think it all comes down to something one of Garey’s friends said to him.

Good judgement comes from experience.

Experience comes from bad judgement.