His Winning Formula? Always Try, Try Again

The Boston Globe

The 20-month-old lived here for a week in December. The last time he and his family visited was August. Then, Euan, my youngest grandchild, was a brand-new walker, his steps unsteady, and he fell down a lot. But he didn't let falling down get him down.

This was his routine: He'd crawl to a couch, a chair, someone's knee, pull himself up, then, very deliberately, let go, wobble a little, steady himself, take a step or two, wobble some more, fall over, crawl for a while, pick himself up, and start all over again.

We spent a lot of time mesmerized by him.

Four months later, he came back to visit and, I swear, the boy swaggered.

Children are like that. They practice, practice, practice. They pile those stacking toys again and again. They try to stick a round piece into a square hole at least a million times. They practice coloring. They practice their letters. They practice their numbers. They practice cartwheels and headstands and holding their breath underwater and bike riding and roller blading until, in time, they get it right.

My granddaughter Charlotte spent an entire summer trying to master the monkey bars. Every time she tried to swing from one bar to the next, she fell.

Then one day she didn't. She let go of her hand, swung her body, grabbed on to the next rung, and what do you know? She was still two feet off the ground. Now she is Tarzan on those bars.

Someone I know and love got a guitar for Christmas. He's taking lessons. He's taken three. But he wants to be Buddy Guy right now. He practices for a half-hour, once, twice, three times and is frustrated that he can't play much more than the scale. He says, "Maybe this isn't for me." He has to be reminded that learning is a slow process. That you can't do in a day or a week or even a month what someone has been doing for a lifetime. Part of him realizes this. But a bigger part of him fights it and asks, "Why not?"

Maybe it's the whole "Buy now, pay later" culture we are immersed in that makes so many of us think we should be able to have what we want when we want it. It works for most things. Click, and we can buy almost anything and pay for it later. We can drive around in a new car for money down and a monthly bill. We can live in a house we won't own for 30 years. We don't have to wait and save up to afford even our educations. So doesn't it make sense that we should be able to ski or ice skate or play the piano or guitar right now and practice later?

I've been taking singing lessons for five years, not once a week but at least once a month. You would think that by now I could sing any song I wanted.

But I can't. I can't even do justice to some of the ones I've practiced 100 times. Because with some songs even 100 times isn't practice enough.

Euan worked on talking during this last visit. When he left he could say "Mommy" and "Daddy" and "more" and "please" and "thank-you" and "hi" and "bye-bye" and "Mimi" and even "G-Diddy," clearly. But with most words he was like Trixie in "Knuffle Bunny" — "AGGLE FLAGGLE KLABBLE!"

And yet, his inability to get it right, to say, "Daddy, I want to go with you," didn't prevent him from trying to say these words. He babbled and pointed. He grabbed his father's legs. He babbled and pointed again. And when his father walked out the door without him, he wailed.

"AH! You want to go with Daddy," his daddy exclaimed.

And Euan said, "AGGLE FLAGGLE KLABBLE!"

But that was then.

Now? At home? Five weeks later? "Go with Daddy!" he says. "Go with Mommy!" "Go to store!" Every day there are new words. Some he gets right. Some he gets wrong.

But he never stops trying.