You Split. She chooses.

As parents, we do the best we can to instill good ethics and values in our children. Howver, we never know what we are really accomplishing.

Lauren (7) and Eva (4) had been charged with the task of cleaning up the entertainment room and the guest bathroom that I used. Lauren found some money in the couch and Eva found some in the bathroom. Both came running to me saying, "Grandpa, here is some money that fell out of your pocket."

I thanked them for it and put both amounts into a single pile. "Lauren," I said, "I want you to divide this evenly between the both of you."

She grinned and immediately, I detected a little slyness in her expression. "Now when I say evenly," I added, "I mean money of equal value. I don't want you splitting the coins in some way to fool your sister."

Lauren grinned and I could tell she knew exactly what I meant. I went upstairs to read, assuming I had averted a problem by calling the game in advance.

Things were quiet for a while, and then Eva came up from the entertainment room rushing over to me, screaming that Lauren hadn't split the money evenly. She opened her hands to show me three quarters and a penny--76 cents..

Lauren was just behind her. "I gave her the quarters because I know she likes to spend money in the gumball machines," Lauren explained.

I looked at her. "Oh? So where is your half?" I asked her.

"It's downstairs." she said innocently.

"Well go get it." I said.

She came back with the money clutched in her hands. She opened her hand up to reveal nickels, dimes, and lots of pennies. "See," she said. I didn't take any of the quarters." She continued to maintain that she had made a fair split.

I could have counted, but decided not to. Instead, I said to Lauren "Give me your money. She put the coins in my right hand. "Give me your money." I said to Eva, and she put them in my left hand.

I then turned to Eva and said, "Which hand would you prefer." Eva pointed to my right hand -- the pile of coins that represented Lauren's half. I turned to Lauren and asked, "Do you care which pile she takes?"

She hesitated a moment, and then said sheepishly, "Well, I kind-of wanted my pile."

"Okay, lets see." I counted the pile that Lauren had reserved for herself. I quit counting at a dollar. There were still dimes and pennies left so the split wasn't even. Lauren continued to maintain that it was a mistake and that she thought she had divided things evenly.

"Let me explain something to you, Lauren" I said. "This is something I learned from your grandmother. When she taught kindergarten, as a reward, she would have two children go and cut pieces of cake. She would give the knife to the more responsible one and say 'Cut two pieces of cake. But remember, you cut. The other child gets to choose first.'"

Lauren looked at me and grinned--getting the point. "So when you didn't like the plan of Eva choosing either pile," I explained looking her directly in the eye, "You already told me that you knew the split wasn't even."

Lauren looked a little sheepish. She nodded, knowing her game of innocence was over. But it was obvious that she was fully absorbing the lesson.

"Now," I said. "Let's try again and I handed all the coins to Lauren. Sit here and divide these into two even piles. When you are done, Eva will choose whichever pile she wants.. Do you understand? "

Lauren grinned and said yes. I explained the plan to Eva and she understood it. So I returned to reading. Lauren went to counting. Eva sat and patiently watched. When Lauren announced the piles were ready, I merely glanced to see if there was likely to be another trick. They appeared about even, so I said to Eva. Now you may select whichever pile you like, but only one.

Eva chose and went off smiling. Lauren took hers and seemed satisfied. In fact, she seemed quite happy about the situation. As I went back to reading, I thought, "I'm not really sure what lesson Lauren learned. She is extremely bright. I'm guessing the lesson she learned to to figure some way to beat that trick."

Bullies, Fish, and the Social Pecking Order

For the longest time, I followed Mother's advice. "Do not fight! EVER! When people try to fight with you, go away." This advice worked well for a while...

Most of my elementary school years in Monroe VA were relatively peaceful. There was never much of a reason to fight. Even the tough kids did not fight much and the teachers had excellent control of the classrooms and the playgrounds.

Corporal punishment was still possible in this environment, but in my seven years of elementary school, I can only remember the famous paddle (named Oscar) being used twice on any student in any class. Believe me, if it was used, the whole school knew about it within a few minutes. The rumor spread almost instantly.

However, I do not think that threat kept the peace. Perhaps it was the times, the community, or just the age of the kids. Whatever the reason, there were few fights.

For the eight grade, we switched from a small seven class-seven grade elementary school to a much bigger consolidated high school. Despite the fact that there were more faculty and administrative personnel, discipline was not nearly as good. Of course, by this time many of the students were as large as or larger than the teacher's. Boy's testosterone ran high. More places in the school were unsupervised.

High School meant Sock-hops. Sock hops were a big new social opportunity for me. My older brother had gone to them and seemed to like them very much. My going would be a sign of growing up. So when the first sock hop was announced--near Halloween, I pestered Dad to drive me the fifteen miles to the high school. He would be driving 60 miles in two trips so it would be a bit of a burden. But he agreed. I was excited.

Mother had invested $13 for several dance lessons at the YWCA for me during the summer. I knew how to dance well enough to get by. When I got to the dance, I saw I would not be doing much worse than most of the kids there and maybe better than some. Things looked good.

After wandering around and asking a few girls from elementary school to dance, I saw Becky chatting with some guys. Though she and I had never talked much, I knew her from church. She was cute and had a bubbling personality that made her even more attractive. So I went over to ask her for a dance.

Becky was not dating anyone (too young). But apparently, one of the guys she had been talking to took exception to my dancing with her. He gathered a gang to threaten me. They did not strike up a fight there, but they did gravitate to the back door threatening to get me when I left. All the normal doors were blocked. There was one with a corn-shock in front.

I stayed in the cafeteria until my father arrived to pick me up. Rather than run out the door they were guarding, I ran out the one with the corn-shock in front. When they saw this, they came charging down the sidewalk, but I made it to the car before they caught me.

Regrettably, this did not solve the problem. A few days later, the ringleader cornered me in gym. When no one was looking, he executed several gut shots that left me on the gym floor gasping for breath. He declared the girl in question off limits.

The next couple of years offered periodic misery. While
I cannot remember any real fights after that, several kids on the school bus would take pot shots on my arm, thump my head, knock my books on the floor and generally harass me whenever the bus driver was not looking.

I remember the day it stopped. Riding home from school on the bus, a gang of three would-be toughs started with the head thumping and hits on the arm I told them to quit, but that just egged them on. I moved forward to a seat by myself. They took this as a reason to come forward and attack some more
I was tired of the game. I was as large as the lead attacker. I had purposefully picked a seat that was empty between two seats that were full. It appeared, to them, that I was trapped.

In fact, I had chosen a position in which only one could get at me at a time. I grabbed the leader as he charged in toward me. In a moment, I had him in a headlock position with his throat in the joint of my arm. My back was to the wall. His body was between the other two attackers and me.

"You better let me loose." He yelled.

"Are you going to stop this?" I asked.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you when I get loose." He screamed.

"Then" I said calmly as he struggled, "You don't give me any incentive to let you loose." I tightened my hold strangling him.

"You are choking me," he said.

"Are you going to stop this?" I said.

"You are choking me," he gasped again.

"I am going to choke you until you promise to stop this." I said with hate built of having been humiliated many times.

"I promise," he said.

"And the other two also." I added tightening the chokehold.

"Tell him! Tell him!" he gasped. They agreed.

"And none of you will ever do this again." I added while I was in a good bargaining position. They all agreed to that too.

In addition, that was the last time anyone ever bothered me again.
A strange thing happened. The three kids who had attacked started acting as if I were there best buddy. I wasn't. I didn't become friends with them. Frankly, I did not like them.

However, I did learn one lesson from this: Bullies would respect you if you beat the crap out of them. I carried this lesson forward with me in life and I shared it with my children and other kids who were like me--people who didn't really want to fight.

I was fifty-six when I told this story to a young man I know. I thought he might need to know this.
"That's funny." He said. "The same thing happened to me. A guy threatened to beat me up."
I smiled. And what did you do.
"I told my mother," he replied.
"And what did she say." I asked.
"She bribed me in to going back and fighting the kid,"
He said. I was surprised. Knowing she was the politically correct, academic type, I had not expected that answer. I smiled.
The he added, "But, I think she was wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Because I didn't win."
I was momentarily saddened.
"But" my friend added, "It's a strange thing. That kid never bothered me again. In fact, I don't recall anyone bothering me after that. He went on to beat up on other kids, and eventually became an outcast with everyone."

I thought about what he said for a few moments and then smiling I said, "I think your mother was right."

I had recently come across some research in which social scientists had modeled the fighting behavior of a particularly aggressive breed of fish. Their model showed that one fish would be on the bottom of the pecking order. That fish would always run away. Others gained easy social points by attacking it. However, if that fish fought back, it no longer became a source of cheap social pecking points and the attacks would stop.

Therefore, I changed my theory about dealing with bullies. It was not necessary to beat them up... They just needed to know that there was not going to be a cheap win. Too bad, I had not understood that years ago.

Telegen Effluvium, God and Gravity

“This is horrible,” my wife, Edwynne said, as she looked down at her pillow and saw a large hunk of hair lying there. “My hair has been coming out a little for several weeks. But it has never been this bad.”

“What do you think is causing it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “A little has been coming out when I combed my hair. But this is a humongous hunk. It was on my pillow when I woke up. I haven’t changed anything like shampoo or anything that would cause this. My hair is just falling ou like crazy. Edwynne said shaking. "It's scary because I don’t know why."."

“That is strange." I said. " I’ve never heard of such a thing so I don't know why either. “Perhaps you should call the doctor.”

Edwynne wasted no time. She called immediately, but the office wasn't open. As soon as the family doctor's office did answer the phone that morning, Edwynne made an appointment.

A few hours later, the doctor was studying her head and taking her history. After a while, he finally concluded. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that your hair is falling out. I don't know why." then he suggested, “You should go to a dermatologist.”

Edwynne had the Doctor’s office call for her so she would get a quick appointment. A couple of days later Edwynne was sitting in the waiting room of the dermatologist. The nurse called her name and led her to the examination room.

“What’s your problem?” The nurse asked as she was taking weight and vital signs.

Edwynne explained that her hair was falling out and no one seemed to know why.

“Oh,” the nurse replied very knowingly. “The Doctor will probably tell you that you it’s Telegen Effluvium.” The Nurse finished her readings and then left Edwynne to herself.

It wasn’t very long before the doctor appeared. “How are you doing? Tell me what the problem is?” he said.

Edwynne explained how for some time her hair had been falling out a little at a time but that a couple of days before a whole hunk had fallen out on her pillow during her sleep. She explained how she hadn’t done anything different and so she didn’t know why it was falling out.

He studied her head and he studied the hunk of hair she had brought. He asked several questions and listened very carefully. “Telegen Effluvium,” he finally announced authoritatively. And after several minutes of answering questions, he sent Edwynne home.

It was late that evening before I saw Edwynne, and she was very pleased and excited. “Well,” she said. “The dermatologist knew just what it was.” She related her experience at the dermatologist’s office.

“And...?” I said with a questioning tone, “What is it?”

“It’s Telegen Effluvium.” She announced with great confidence and relief.

“And what is Telegen Effluvium,” I asked.

“It means your hair falls out—a whole lot at one time.” She started explaining.

“Yes. We knew that much, “I interrupted, “What is it? What causes it?”

“Well,” She explained. “They don’t really know the reason. It just happens to some people.”

“What can they do about it?” I asked.

“Well, nothing really.” She explained. “It just runs its course and sometimes it comes back and sometimes it doesn’t”

“Telegen effluvium.” I mused. Then, just to be sure that I had heard correctly, I added, “You are saying it means that your hair is falling out.”

“Yes.” She answered.

“And that they don’t know why?” I continued.

“Yes”

"And there is nothing they can do about it?"

“Right”

“Well just what do we know today that you and I and the Family Doctor didn’t know two days ago?” I asked.

“Well it has a name,” Edwynne replied a little defensively.

“Yeah. I replied. "It’s ignorance with a label. We still don’t know anything more today than we knew two days ago.”

“Well” Edwynne defensively started to explain. But she stopped and didn’t say much after that. I regretted I had said anything. Although I was right, I had unconsciously taken away the comfort she had gained from the doctor’s token explanation. She wasn’t quite ready to give that up.

I was disgusted with the Doctor. I thought he had really hustled her. He had just given her a label but he hadn't really helped. At the time, I thought it was just a typical example how the medical indsutry cons us and charges us a fortune for doing so. (I have little respect for such things).

However, Later I realized that it is quite common in science to do that. Perhaps in life itself. Newton defined a relationship of orbits and masses--but he couldn't really explain what created the relationship. Newton hypothesized that this was some force which he called "gravity." But he couldn't say what it really was or physically how it it worked.

Descartes criticized this explanation of creating action at a distance, suggesting that it was no more credible than attributing the attraction to supernatural spirits. (Descartes would have criticized magnetic force and most other theoretically described forces for the same reason.)

But time passed. The formulas worked. And people came to accept the idea that there actually is a force called gravity. Yet, in 400 years, no one has explained what it is. People were told to believe there is a force. Bt all physicists can really prove is the result. For most people, labeling the ignorance stops the search for other solutions.

Epilog
Edwynne called the doctor a couple of days later and told him that her joints had begun to ache too. She wasn’t sure if it was connected or not, but she thought she would ask.

“Go to the hospital right away.” He ordered. He had her take several tests.

What was the ultimate diagnosis? Lupus, an autoimmune disease. Lupus can be a killer if it is not treated. For some reason the body's immune system starts attacking the body. They don’t know what causes it, but they do know how to control it. That was a big difference. Today, Edwynne has her hair back. She is alive and leading a productive life.

Perhaps I hadn't done so badly after all. Asking one more question saved her life.

He added yellow

"You have to use the night crew at the print shop? Boy you are in trouble." My friend told me. "They don't know what they are doing. I spent two hours in the middle of the night trying to get the right color match. They are okay for package printing, but they just don't understand merchandizing standards."

This was not good news to me. Printing is an art. When printing four color process, mixing the of colors can change the result in strange ways.

As the new Merchandizing Manager for a Hanes Knitwear, it was my job to approve the final printing press settings for a poster campaign. It was my first project for Hanes. The deadline was tight. It was for a national sales meeting where I would actually meet with the people using the material. I wanted to show my new boss I knew what I was doing. I couldn't be late and we were down to the last hours before flying the materials to the meeting. Finding out that there might be a competency problem in the print shop didn't bode well. It could destroy the whole project.

"...and George, our merchandizing manager was there until four in the morning doing the same thing," she added.

Although I dreaded the experience, it was not as if I had a choice. Hanes had an internal print shop which they used to print packaging. In an economy move, management issued a corporate decree saying that we had to use them rather than an outside firm. I had worked with their day crew, and they were competent. I had not had to work with the night crew. I was anxious about having to spend all night there telling people what they should really know.

The call came at 11:30pm to be at the print shop by 12:00 midnight to review the project. It consisted of a Norman Rockwell style color drawing of a man shaving in his white knit underwear while his 3 year old son watched him (also in his underwear).

When I arrived, I was met by the supervisor who walked me over to the press. He introduced the job-press operator. Three other press operators were standing there. That was unusual, but the supervisor explained that he just wanted them to meet me so they would understand the kinds of things I would be looking for.

They started up the press and ran a few boards to make sure the ink was spreading right. Then they stopped the press and we looked at the result. It was not a particularly complex project and the underwear looked just fine. However, the man and his son looked like ghosts.

"It's not quite right." I said. "Something doesn't look right in the flesh tones." They brought out the master color sample. When comparing the printed result with the original, I realized what was different. "It doesn't look red enough on the legs," I said.

The supervisor immediately asked, "Do you want us to add more red?" He seemed sincere enough. However, the four press operators behind him had odd grins. Were those smile or smirks? I had worked with many other printers and none of them asked me for advice on how to run their press. And I knew how technicians often like to work over someone who tries to tell them how to do their job. The nature of the warning I had been given took on a new light.

I turned to the supervisor and said quite bluntly, "Actually, I don't care what you do. I just want the legs to look redder."

The supervisor was startled. Then he smiled. He turned to the press operator. Without saying a word, the supervior nodded his head affirmatively to the pressman.

The press operator jumped on the press and without being told anything, began making adjustments. About two minutes later, he hit the start press button and ran out a couple more boards. They were just right.

"Thanks." I said. "You obviously have some good people working for you." We nodded to each other. The entire review had taken place in less than ten minutes.I started to leave. However, when I was a few feet away, I turned and asked. "Just out of curiosity, what did he do?"

The supervisor grinned and without consulting the press operator replied in a matter of fact tone of voice, "He added yellow."