Grumposity

And the "elephant"

an elephant on the road ahead

Folklore assigns different roles to different age groups. People my age are told to exhibit grumposity (my word for the combination of pomposity and grumpiness). Actually, not a difficult role to play.

Let me illustrate by an old favorite of mine, the story of the blind men on the road and an elephant blocking their path. Each goes forward in turn to find out what object halts their progress. Each of course experiences a different part of the beast and returns with a different answer. A spear, a wall, a tree trunk, a rope, etc. They then fight among themselves as to what it is.

Throughout life, on the road ahead, we experience “reality.” By an advanced age we have poked, kicked and caressed a good part of the beast. We might be excused for suspecting that we’ve got a better understanding than those who have touched but a small part. We might resent not being respected for that knowledge. We might then withdraw into grumposity.

Reality check. I know that the beast has changed with the years and some of my earlier “touches” may no longer count. Also, it is possible that I have carried into my 80s more arrogance than kindness, although the lessons of life do teach the opposite. If arrogant enough, I may be dismissive of the beginner’s experiences on the road. I must not let that happen.

The whole point of education it seems to me is to undergo similar experiences with others and then share different reactions and interpretations. It happens inside and outside the classroom. It should happen long after I have ceased being a teacher. I assign my students an historical text to read, maybe from the Federalist Papers #10. I read it. They read it. And we share what each of us got out of reading it. I might initially have more to say. If I am a good teacher, however, I’m going to help my student(s) share with me how it affected them. The same with a poem, a piece of music, a mathematical solution, or an business strategy. There is a truth to every single person’s engagement with “reality.” And we must speak these truths without arrogance and listen without cynicism.

The burden is borne by all of us if we are to avoid this folklore trap. The young speak to the old; the old speak with the young. Through honest conversation, after reading or visualizing, when listening to music or studying a painting, together we can expand our knowledge and test our dreams. The beast on the road is not an illusion, unless we view it so; it is not an enemy until we make it so.

All experience, Tennyson says, is “an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades / Forever and forever when I move.” We are neither old nor young, we are guides for each other on that common path.