You’d think logic would always be a great tool for life, but for me, it can be a liability.
Picture little Debbie on the playground in first grade:
· There was the time my teacher called my mom about me climbing up and across the top of the high swings instead of swinging like the kids below me.
· Another time, that same teacher made me stand in the corner because I didn’t come in after the recess bell. I sincerely did not hear it. Could I have been in another space? Yup, until I noticed that everyone else around me was bigger than me. I suppose it was logical for my teacher to assume I decided to extend recess, but being in “another space” was and is still a logical conclusion to draw if you’re talking about me.
· Every time I got on (or even glanced at) the spinning piece of equipment (I think we called it a merry-go-round)—you know, those ones that were later banned—I relived imagining how it took off the top of my friend’s finger.
· Um, other playground fun included marble tournaments, kick ball, jump roping, hopscotch, help me here… What else?
But those aren’t the time I’m thinking about right now.
This particular time (probably not my only example of this), my dance with logic (a dance I usually tried to lead) was about a classmate, the one I didn’t realize how brilliant he was until we were older. Anyone in our class would have identified him as the “class clown.”
There he was, kids around him, as he preceded to entertain them with “jokes.” The parentheses around that word are there because my first-grade mind knew they really weren’t jokes. There was no lead-in, no punch line—just stupid talk.
I knew jokes. My dad could tell them so effectively you wouldn’t know what was coming until the punch-line appeared. The issue for me that day on the playground?
Logic.
His jokes made no sense. So, of course, I tried to explain that to him, and even more fervently to the crowd around him that what they heard and were laughing at were NOT JOKES!
They didn’t stop laughing. And probably laughed even more at this classmate of theirs who was getting worked up about—what?
So, a little bit older, but not much (and the details are mostly gone for this episode), another moment of illogical things said by a classmate got me riled up, though again, it had nothing to do with me. Could I let it go? Of course not.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!”
Remember that line? If not, you’re most likely not as old as me. And they were not my words. I don’t remember the incident, but I do remember there were at least two kids yelling at each other. I’m sure I had views on who was right and who was wrong—that was always clear to me.
Funny how it’s rarely clear to me now. But logic was the issue then, too, and it was my responsibility to educate them.
“You can’t say sticks and stones because NO ONE CALLED YOU A NAME!”
Great way to stop an argument, right?
Oh, there were more of these, but you probably don’t need more to see the issue here. I hate to admit that it took me way longer to get there than it should have. Okay. Confession time. It can still happen. I just like to think it’s done in a more sophisticated manner now.
My “need” for “logic.” Do you ever fall for that, too?
I’m getting better at recognizing that perspectives on things can vary and multiple people can all be right. And when I can’t get all the way to that place, at least it’s getting easier to let it go now—unless it’s both illogical and bumps into my sense of justice.
You don’t need a grade-by-grade list of my bouts with logic. Let’s skip ahead from that first year of school (yup, we had no kindergarten classes in small-town Minnesota) to my last year of school…
Minnesota state changed the legal age of adulthood to 18 when I was a senior—an 18-year-old senior. Taking advantage of my righteous logic, I wrote my own excuses for leaving school.
“I have a dentist appointment this afternoon and need to leave at 1:20.” Debbie Lund
The principal objected, said I needed to have permission from a parent on a signed note. I stood my ground. I guess he figured out it really wasn’t worth his time—
Or maybe he recalled my fight to take shop class instead of home-ec and didn’t want to go through what might have happened next.
Or maybe he remembered my mom, who also had a habit of trying to “fix things” with logic. (As a side note, he and others at the school periodically called me “Sandy” by mistake.)
Or maybe his backing off on this one was because I was a top student—Why bother when she’s not much trouble in other areas? With all my work trying to help them make the school a better place—a more logical place—wouldn’t you think they’d be grateful?
I know I’ll still be whammed by that “logical” part, but I’m hoping I’ll see it for what it is a little faster, and then, also, for a more rational part to step in before my mouth opens.
Wish me luck. I’m only Partly There.
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All the picture books to be crafted around these situations! You were a child doing what made all the sense. I've thought a lot about childhood instances of finding myself "in trouble" from an authority figure for doing something I either believed was exactly right or at least logical, as you said — or something I would have no way of knowing it wasn't OK.
Ahh....the 'logic' thing, which also leads us into knowing we are 'right'....which sometimes leads us into some painful places indeed. Life is very complex!