We learn from each other

The Boston Herald

Beverly Beckham

She is always teaching me something. The other day it was a word.

"I was leaning against the lintel," she said.

Lintel? What's a lintel?

"It's the molding around a door. The beam that supports it."

My 82-year-old mother-in-law knows so much. But not just about words and facts and things you can learn in books; she knows about life.

"There's no use crying over spilt milk," she says, and the words from her are more than pap. She has had heart surgery. She has lost the sight in one eye. She has problems with the other. "But all the tears in the world won't change what is," she says. "You just have to go on."

And she does. And it's the going on, with verve and tenacity, that is the lesson.

She has taught me many things over the years. She's tried to teach me to balance my checkbook, and make the bed first thing in the morning, and put the dishes in the dishwasher and not the sink, but I have failed to do all these.

And yet I have learned from her, other, more important things. I have learned to listen, to bite my tongue, to let my children make their own mistakes, because she has allowed me to make mine.

"If you would only do it this way," she would sometimes say, and I would yes her to death and go right ahead and do whatever it was my way. And when I finally realized - and admitted - that she was right, that I should have listened to her, she never said, "I told you so." And because of her, neither do I.

I learned from my own mother, too, so many important things: To say please and thank you, even when I don't want to; to not slam a door in someone's face; to vacuum under the cushions; to never iron anything until you need it; to begin each day with a song; to plant seeds and watch them grow; to follow rainbows, to wish on every first star, to live life while you can.

We learn almost all of what we know from one another - from the way we act, the things we do. We are all each other's teachers.

My friend Anne sends thank-you notes. Thanks for the Christmas gift, the birthday gift, for coming to hear Peter sing. Before I knew her, thank-you notes were not part of my life, now they are. It's an important lesson learned.

Rosemary, my friend since childhood, taught me, when I was 7, to do my best, to dream the impossible, and to pump until the chains on a swing quiver and never mind worrying about falling off. And because she did these things with spunk and with style, and because I wanted to be like her, I did them too.

We live, we absorb, we imitate and we learn. Caryn has taught me not just to knit and to sew but to be patient in getting things done. Father Coen has taught me that there is goodness in everyone and in everything. He sees it, and so it must be. Beth has shown me true honesty and love.

Mrs. Galvin never misses anybody's birthday or anniversary. Because of her, I've made an effort at remembering. My husband finds humor in even crisis situations. Because of him, I look for the bright side, too. My father is thoughtful, so I try to be. My children brim with joy and because of them, joy brims in me.

There are some people, of course, who teach us not what to do but what to do, how to act. How not to snarl into a phone, even if you're having a bad day. How not to scold your child in front of his friends. How not to snap your fingers for a waiter or waitress. How not to combat rudeness with rudeness.

Kids think you go to school, you study, you graduate, and presto, you know everything. It doesn't work that way. You never stop learning.

You read, watch TV, travel, and you grow. But you absorb the most from the people around you.

I want to be like Debby never just fine, always great.

I want to be like Manny. I want to always have a smile for everyone.

I want to be better than I am. And so I look at other people and learn.