Osler's Razor

When I was the fifth-grader pictured here, I was a student at John R. Barnes Elementary School in Grosse Pointe, Michigan.  It was a good school, with many decent teachers and some great ones, too, along with a committed and caring principal, Mr. McMahon.

The school had a choir composed of fifth and sixth graders.  The music teacher had tryouts in the fall, well ahead of the holiday concert the choir would present.  We each trooped into her music room individually and sang for her.  When it was my turn, I came in, sang what she asked, and turned around.  She said nothing.

A few days later, the names of those who had made the choir went up-- every name but mine and one other kid in the class.  The other kid, Vince, was developmentally disabled.  He spent only some of his day with our class, and even then had special assignments.  My classroom teacher told the whole class that when everyone else went to choir, Vince and I would stay behind and work on a project in our classroom.

I suppose that this is where the story usually veers off into a bitter remembrance of being teased and bullied by the other kids, but that isn't what happened.  Sure, I was hurt and confused about why I was the only student besides Vince not to make the choir-- was I that much worse of a singer than Wally and Dave and Mike?-- but I don't remember anyone in the class saying a cruel word.

So I was left to do my project with Vince as everyone else marched off to the music room.  The teacher  struggled to come up with something Vince and I could work on, and finally told us to design and build a cereal box.

I didn't really know Vince; I was a shy kid, and he had his own challenges.  Now that we were thrown together, though, I had to get to know him.  And I did.

It was the first time in my life I had the chance to work with a handicapped person, to accommodate their needs and acknowledge their strengths, and I found it fascinating.  Vince loved the project.  His mom sent him in with boxes for us to look at, and for the first time I really examined what they put on the box, the marketing and busyness of it.  We went slowly, since we had weeks to finish.  I learned to settle down, to adjust to his pace, and be quiet sometimes with him.  He was often a good listener, it turned out, something that is rare in fifth grade.

After the concert (I didn't go) the choir was done with its task, and so were Vince and I.  Probably I learned much more than the choir kids.  That lesson, in my best moments at least, still informs my actions when I am with someone like Vince.  

That's what I am thankful for today.  I have had failures and humiliations in my life, grave disappointments, and each one has led to something good.  I realize how rare that is, how fortunate I am.  The grace I have received was unearned-- like those afternoons with Vince, I did nothing to bring them on except to fail in some way.  What can be more remarkable than that?

The gentle hand of such grace is a precious thing, and I am a very fortunate man.