Perfection
Correction: In my last blog, “The Welshman and the Canadian” I mistakenly had my uncle and my father-in-law arriving in the same month in 1943. They did both arrive in December but in my uncle was there in 1944, a year later.
——————————————-
I have noted how whenever I am involved in interaction with customer service these days, the waiter or receptionist, will answer with well- meaning respectfulness,
“Perfect”.
The word has become part and parcel of the language of service rather like ‘doing the heavy lifting” or ‘having a conversation’. All of these are acceptable, of course, but when, Dear Reader, does something new and nuanced become old and clichéd.
I have often wondered how my order for breakfast can be ‘perfect’ when it is just breakfast for Pete’s sake! Yes I understand the idea of ‘heavy lifting’ as an analogy for somebody who has done a lot of hard work. Nothing wrong with ‘having a conversation’ but nor is there anything wrong with having a discussion, debate or, indeed, having a chat. I guess that some of these phrases have become the jargon certain work options, there is a certain safe phraseology there which protects both speaker and listener.
On the other hand I love local differences in language, I love dialect. To speak in the vernacular is to show somebody’s roots. So really I should set aside my old fashioned opinions, step away from my retired state and get a life.
There is a wonderful book which I used to read to my students. It is called ‘Ish’ by Peter H. Reynolds. In it a little boy, Ramon, is convinced by his bigger brother, Leon, that his drawings are garbage. So he is upset and stops drawing until his sister, Marisol, comes along, takes up all his crumpled pictures and pins them all on her wall. It is a children’s book but like all excellent child literature there is a message there for adults as well. The boys pictures were ‘vase-ish’, ‘tree-ish’ and so on-ish.
As a teacher, perfection for me was a hazard. The child who strove always to be perfect needed to allow him or herself to be imperfect for real success to come. Perfection stifles adventure, dries up risk taking and eventually stills creativity. Don’t get me wrong I am all for practice and hours spent making sure that the musical and sporting piece are the best they can be. But there are moments when –ish will do, when –ish is a very good step on the way.
Of course, I have my own bias here, I have always been satisfied in my own life with things that I have done which are very far removed from perfection. Indeed I have somehow made my way in the world by manufacturing imperfection into a strength; admitting to frailty and fallibility in hopes of winning over my critics. I comfort myself in the belief that I must have done some good, after all I survived three teaching jobs over a period of 43 years and was never asked to resign or sacked from my position.
It occurs to me that many of the best stories occur when things have not been perfect. I can think of weddings, meetings, events where things have gone spectacularly wrong. We remember them when all the perfect situations have long since been forgotten. When I worked in Australia in the concreting and pipe laying industry, my work-mates would often say that it was ‘good enough for the bush’ indicating that the concrete house base was level-ish or the pipe was deep enough-ish. So ish became the suffix which allowed us to move on to the next job, to forget about what was done because what was done was done and we were not going to revisit it. Every professional tennis player will lose a point and if they dwell on that point then surely they would crumble, every goal tender in whatever sport is bound to concede a goal and has to move on.
So when I set alight to the composter or hauled the couches over the roof in through the patio doors then it could have been disaster-ish, it was foolhardy-ish but no harm was done-ish. And, Dear Reader, the composter is throbbing away still and the couches have my attention every evening. Point is that if these issues had not been a part of the story, then there would be nothing to tell. Composters compost and two guys carrying a couch into the house is not at all a story. There would be nothing -ish about them and how boring those stories would be. A whole slew of adjectives which could embellish, pun intended, the interesting tale of rib tickling comedy and close call tragedy would be superfluous. The reader would be carried along by the tale expecting something to happen and be surprised and let down when nothing did.
So, Dear Reader, I am conflicted. I have read that ‘attention to detail is the finest discipline’ and I respect that. I do not want the surgeon who is removing my appendix to have anything –ish about him. But I do want that surgeon, perhaps to be thinking about how she may safely innovate to better improve her technique in the future. The world is full of the innovative and the inchoate, new discoveries and modus operandi are being discovered every day. At some points along the way, things will be –ish until a solution is found.
Ramon took up his pencil again and began to draw but now he also began to write.
- “Ish” by Peter H. Reynolds, Candlewick Press, 2004
