I Said a Dumb Thing

I said a dumb thing the other day.  While teaching a class, I twisted up some details on grounding and bonding.

Let’s review for a moment.

As of this year, I have been involved in the electrical industry for forty years.  I can honestly say—for the most part—I loved my work.  Within a few weeks of starting my electrician’s apprenticeship, I knew I had found an honest career.

I took my work seriously.  I wanted lights to turn on when I flipped a switch.  I wanted appliances to work.  I wanted my conduit runs to look pretty.  I wanted zero mistakes.

Question: How did that “no mistake” stance work out for you, Mitch?

Well, the answer is: About as well is a boat made of screen material.

I made mistakes.  Lots and lots and lots of mistakes.  Thing is, I would often get angry with myself for making mistakes.  Sure, I fixed everything.  I eventually made all the stuff that was supposed to fling rocks fling rocks.  All the refrigerators soon enough refrigerated.  But I almost always walked away from my mistakes a bit miffed.

Then I started teaching in the IBEW/NECA apprenticeship program.

If you want to make mistakes, there is your perfect venue.  My default mode is pretty much one of misspeaking.  I can spare you the zillion details of my mistakes, but can clearly illustrate by telling you about a simple habit I developed.  I would see apprentices in classes for a week at a time.  I soon developed a habit of writing on the whiteboard, each morning, a list of any wrong information I dispensed the previous day.

Early on, I filled the whiteboard with big mistakes, little mistakes.

In the morning, before we started to review our scheduled material for the day, I would work down through my list of mistakes with the entire class.

And a funny thing began to happen as I detailed my mistakes on the whiteboard: I began to accept my mistakes without the anger.  Sometimes, I even laughed at myself.  The apprentices were not angry.  I was not angry.

The other day, I realized a said a dumb thing almost as soon as I finished speaking.

So, I stopped speaking.

“No,” I said, “that’s not correct.  I think I am confused here.  Scratch that.”    

I feel so much better now.

I don’t think that’s a mistake.

--Mitchell Hegman