Encouragement

I have long been a believer in encouragement because I have such an adamant hate for discouragement, especially the kind that comes from outside scources. Yuck. Give me good a old compliment any day and trust me too fill in the gaps on my own. At least that is my theory for dealing with other people. I'm talking about sharing information or teaching or motivating others to keep trying.



I break and train horses as and advocation and the first rule of thumb for teaching anything to a horse is to reward the slightest change and the smallest try. So that is the foundation I use when working with horses and people. If I'm trying to teach a horse to take a step backwards I put some pressure on the bit in his mouth by pulling on the reins. As soon as he even thinks about taking a step back I release the pressure on the reins. I build on this foundation.



It is the same with teaching kids to play basketball. I help coach sixth grade boys each fall and at the beginging of the season some of them are so lousy they can hardly heave the ball within orbiting distance of the hoop let alone put it in the hole. So I often encourage some of them with a heart felt attaboy in hopes that they will at least keep trying untill they can get the ball near enough to the rim that it may go through the hoop. But I try to be honest and not shine them on. I try to encourage them so maybe they will go home and practice and get to the point where I can say "Hey, nice one, you made it (or touched the rim) now try this technique" I show him the technique such as hand position on the ball or bending the legs more. Sure enough the next shot, in most cases, hits me upside the head. But the point is, if he is encouraged in such a way as to keep his confidence up he may at least practice on his own enough to where a foundation can be laid upon which to build.



Another case in point. One Danny Dunne. I met him on my online humor writers group. When he first started posting I feared for his life because he seemed to have a preoccupation with his own death. He posted hillarious stories such as, My Life as a Dead Person and My Obituary. They were not necessarily the lighthearted, humorus stories normally produced by the group. He'd scratch out a few morbid words in random sentances that flowed painstakingly uphill untill comming to a standstill mercifully ending the story by which time we first readers were contimplating our own death.

But nobody in the group was criticle of his writing. We just encouraged him and made a few kind suggestions sensing that any undue harshness might discourage him or possibly cause the old boy to throw himself off a cliff or try to strangle himself with his own mouse cord. Sure enough it wasnt long before he wrote an amusing story about his childhood. Then another about his highschool mishaps. They were lighthearted, interesting and actually contained a laugh or two. Nothing about death. What we didn't know was that what seemed like a preoccupation with death was really a dry sense of humor with a unique little twist. Before long he had his own Blog and had written a book that could be categorised in the "delightfull" category with favorites of mine like this. And some that are even more delightfuller. (Thats the beuaty of belonging to the encouragement croud, you can get away with delightfuller)

Danny and I have branched out from the group and created a group of our own now. We are prohibited from saying anything negitive by federal mandate and proffesional courtesy since we have both been, ahem, published. You would think it wouldnt work very good but everytime he reads my work and compliments me on a funny line it motivates me to write something. The nearest thing we come to criticism is reporting if something isnt clear. "Tim, not sure what delightfuller means. Please extrapolate." "Dan, not sure what extrapolate means." etc.

I kind of broke off from the original group when an old nemisis of mine, posing as a writer no doubt infiltrated the group as a new member with no other thought in mind butg to commit the foxpaus of criticising my work. Its not that I dont want criticism. Its that I dont appreciate rude criticism. And I dont like criticism that is based on personal preference. I took a break from the group after the critiques became so rude and opinionated I could take no more. I came back a year later but when I wrote a humorous story about elk hunting this certain member me took offense and criticised me sanctimoniously about what seemed to him a flippant attitude about the taking of a game animal for meat. I wrote a scathing rant about people that dispised hunting but wore leather boots and used leather saddles and ate chickens without so much as batting an eye. Poor chickens.

Also there is the public speaking story. Actually it was preaching. My wife and I took a preaching class at our church. When it was my turn to do my little preaching deal I shared about Gods love and told a story about my third grade teacher Mss. Klampee who washed poor David Dunleavys mouth out with soap for Saying "Gawwd." Not that he meant to take the Lords name in vain but probobly because he had heard everyone in his immideate family say it a million times. Unbeknownkst to him the wrath of God came in a fiery handfull of that pink powdery handsoap that shot innadvertantly up his nose and about half killed the poor kid right in front of all of us. The memory was so vivid and so traumitised me and our entire tiny third grade class, let alone poor David, that upon regurgitating (no pun intended) the sad tale of woa I burst out in tears and slobbered and snorted out the rest of the "sermon" in front of the speaking class. The instructor, which consitsted of our women preacher was very gracious to me in front of the class and did not criticize my "delivery" for lack of a better word. She told me in my quiet prayer time God would show me where I could improve my style.

When my wife and I got in the car I asked her what she thougth the lady preacher might have meant. My wife sayed, "Well, she probobly meant that you shouldnt go SSNOOORRRRTT! and wipe your nose on your sleve if you happen to be overcome by emotion on the pulpit" It was sweet of the kind reverand to leave me with some dignity intact. Dignity and confidence go hand in hand with encouragement. I went on to do some successful public speaking after that when it would have been just as easy to give up. Ive also never forgotton her kindness. As for my wife, she pretty much says what she means or keeps her mouth shut so she does not often feel indebted to the non chriticism claus in the federal mandate or anything else for that matter. Thats another part of the beauty of this system. Most people have someone from whom they can accept perfect honesty, at least part of the time. So by being the encourager, I get to be the good guy. Not that I wont be honest, but in order for me to be completely honest with someone I've learned its best to have permission. If I have permission I still use honest chriticism very sparingly.


And finally there was the bucking horse ride I actually made in front of a small crowd where I recieved a compliment that I have never written about. I was attending a horse training clinic in Montana during the days when I fancied myself as a proud buckaroo and rider of the rough string. In reality I was neither but at least I was young and gullible enough to not know any better. An elderly lady had a big mare that she had kept out on green grass who was tight as a tick and higher on grass than any crack addict in the territory. A group of people on horseback were instructed by the clinicion to gallop their horses to the end of the areana and back. On the way back the slick fat mare carrying the elderly women broke in two as it were, exploding in a wild buckinghorse fit that harpooned the poor ol' gal into the areana dirt with such an awful violence that the crowd leapt to its collective feet and dashed to her rescue. She sat up and emitted this horrible groan such as old people do before the . She collapsed againgasping their dying breath. Then, she collapsed like a dead lady. Since she was an old cowgirl from Montana she didn't even break a hip, but she did need a little rest before riding agian. The clinician said, "Wheres that Rawlins kid?" And I happily volunteered to ride the wild beast because I fancied myself a young bronc stomper and also because I was stupid.

I climbed on the mares back and waited and listened while we were givin instruction. Before long she decided to blow up again into another bucking fit. In my typical fashion I rode her to a standstill much to the amazement and awe of the appreciative crowd. It was a spectacular bucking display if I do say so myself but because the old gal had topped her off for me before hand this ride contained one element that most of my bucking horse rides did not, which was that I didn't fall off. The crowd, which consisted of horseman and my family and pretty girls and basically everybody who I could have hoped to impress in the world granted me a lively ovation much to my delight. To top it off, when the crowd quit clapping the experienced reveired clinician turned to his hapless assitant and sayed, " Alan, that kids got more talent in his little toe than you have in your whole body!" Compliments like this did not happen to me often or maybe ever but I will never forget the encouragement I get everytime I think about it. I dont know about poor Allen. I guess I should burry the hatchet and write my old writers group and see how he's doing.