By: Wayne Head
In 1984, I was attending the graduate social work program at the University of Texas at Arlington. I had gone to several interviews to get a job to pay for my living expenses and had been told that they did not hire college students, or they wanted to pay me less than I needed to meet my obligations. I told my Uncle, Jim Head, that I could not find any work and he asked his son, Jimmy Ray, to hire me. Jimmy also did not want to hire a college student. He had not had good experiences with college students doing concrete work. He told me that they usually quit before a week was out and he did not want to waste his time with me. I told him that I would do what the job required and I would be ready to work the next morning at six a.m. We created a good relationship and friendship on that promise. I worked a year for my cousin and both of my uncles while going to graduate school and learned how difficult cement finishing can be, day in and day out.
Several months into working for my family, we were doing a big pour, a long sweeping driveway coming from a two-car garage. My Uncle Jim asked me to free hand the curbing coming from the garage. We had been working ten hours and the sun was going down. I was tired and wanting to go home, eat dinner, and go to sleep. I was not adept at working the cement with a trowel. I decided that I was not able to do this task; I began having my own personal pity party. Why are they having me do this job? Other workers can do this job. I will mess it up. This is unfair. I don’ want to do this troweling job.
I decided to not try hard on this job. I had decided that I could not do this task and that was what I was practicing. Now, concrete has to be worked with quickly, it can set up in short time especially if it comes hot, without a lot of water in the mixture. Uncle Jim walked up and saw what I was doing so poorly and he caught my eye. He then started whistling a country western song with lyrics that state do what you do, do well boy, do what you do, do well. I had been raised with the expectation that if I chose to do something, I should do it right. I looked at Uncle Jim and said alright and he walked away. I stopped telling myself that I could not do this task. I quit feeling sorry for myself and did the job. It actually came out well, and I was able to go home, eat then sleep.
By reacting as I did with the unexpected task, I was risking causing my Uncles to have to tear out my poorly completed job and pay the other workers to fix the curbing. I was risking getting fired from a job that I had badly wanted and very much needed to make ends meet. I let my emotions, fear that I could not do the job, frustration at not getting to leave the job site, and anger at being put in this situation override my main goal, which was to do what my Uncles needed me to do and do my best in each situation.
I am going to look at this dynamic of our emotions overriding our thinking using the perspective of three Native American men. The first story comes from my experiences with the Inipi, the Lakota sweat lodge. Perry Bob Tail Bear used to come down to Shallowater, Texas from South Dakota to hold these sweat lodges for the members of the West Texas Native American Association for his nephew, Lou Harmonson. Most of the attendees of these sweats had not been raised in these traditions, including myself, and often knew little of the religious protocols. One day in particular, we were into our second door, one half hour into the sweat lodge ceremony and Perry had just opened the cloth door letting out heat, letting in cooler air, and allowing us to get a drink of Mni Wiconi, water. For the second time that day the men inside the lodge made loud protestations about how hot the sweat was, how thirsty they were, and how good the cooler air felt. Perry looked at us and told us that what we were doing was a sacrifice and prayer offered up for others in our lives, and for previously answered prayers. Our making a big cry about the discomforts associated with the sweat lodge took away our sacrifice. We should face these personal sacrifices without feeling sorry for ourselves but instead feel grateful to be able to approach the Creator with our concerns and prayers. The third and fourth doors were met with quiet resolve.
The next perspective comes from the book, The Wind is My Mother, by Marcellus Bear Heart Williams. In the book, a friend of Bear Heart’s calls him to tell him that he has been fired from his job as a DJ at big radio station. Bear Heart tells his friend, “terrific,” and the man replies “no, I was fired.” Bear Heart says, “That’s wonderful.” “No,” says the friend, “I have a wife and three children to support and I have just been fired,” and Bear Heart once more says, “That’s great.” The friend tells Bear Heart that he obviously does not understand his responses to this upsetting news. Bear Heart tells him that when knives are made they are fired in the hot forge. Each time that they are fired, they become stronger and more able to hold a sharp edge. He concludes I am glad that you have been fired. The man eventually attempts an endeavor that he would have never tried when he was in his good paying comfortable job, and the endeavor makes him wealthier than before he was fired.
Lastly, Joseph Marshall III, in his book, Keep Going, the Art of Perseverance, compares the troubles that we all face to storms. He writes that the storms are not there to knock us down, they are trying to make us stronger. He says that being strong means taking one more step to the top of your personal hill, no matter how tired you may be. He says that it means letting the tears of grief flow, to keep looking for your answer when the darkness of despair is all around you. He says that being strong means to cling to hope for one more heartbeat, for one more sunrise. He says that each step takes you closer to the top of the hill, to the sunrise, and to the promise of a new day. He tells us that the weakest step toward the top of the hill, toward the sunrise, toward hope is stronger than the fiercest storms that we will face.
This summation of the storm analogy is just what I faced when I was having my own personal pity party at the big concrete driveway pour. As I almost did, some of us choose to end our endeavors; walk away, give up, just before the discomfort gets better, just before the next sunrise, and before reaching the top of our hill. We need to face these storms, to quietly offer our sacrifices during each door of life that we face, and take being fired as many times as it takes to make us stronger and sharper.
