A klutzy Dad’s reflections on aptitude, training, and skiing
Today I have a block of mostly uninterrupted time to write. With no Internet connection, but the laptop in tow, I’ve decided to depart from my norm and write something 100% original — and somewhat personal.
How do we discover our own talents – and those of others? To what extent are there even such things as natural aptitudes? When is it worth investing in training and educating yourself or an employee in certain skills, and at what point should one cut and run, focusing on other skills that seem to come more naturally or at least to already be more fully developed?
In many “liberal” circles, the very notion that people may have inherently different talents and aptitudes pushes hot buttons and can be considered extremely politically incorrect. A recent example being the furor over Lawrence Summers’ remarks about the shortage of females in the sciences (including this:”Summers said cutting-edge research has shown that genetics are more important than previously thought, compared with environment or upbringing.”) (I’m not taking a position on his remarks, except to say that the response to them illustrates the controversial nature of this issue.)
Personally I think that to assume we are truly all created 100% equal in this sense, while perhaps a socially useful construct, flies in the face of our knowledge of all the other variations among humans, many of which we now understand reflect genetic and biochemical realities.
Now the (perhaps strange) segue to skiing and myself as a klutzy Dad:
Believe it or not, half an hour from our home in St. Louis there’s a ski resort (real hills; usually fake snow). Ever since my older boy’s 12th birthday January 4, he’s been promised a ski outing in place of a birthday party. This event has been postponed repeatedly due to weather and activity constraints, including two weekends in a row of swim meets. (Which is crazier, swimming indoors in the middle of winter or skiing on fake snow when it’s 65 degrees out?)
Anyway, we finally made it out to the slopes today (Sunday). I’m writing this sitting in the ski lodge with a coffee while the boys ski. I just watched 7 year old Michael, who’s never skied before, negotiate a modest slope without falling — on his very first attempt. I’m not surprised. I’ve watched the ease with which he and his big brother have tackled every activity they’ve tried that involves balance and equilibrium –- including tumbling, flips off the diving board, rollerblading, ice skating, and snowboarding.
I credit this skill in large part to genetics — and definitely not mine. Their grandfather on my wife’s side was an ironworker. He had the balance, dexterity, and guts to do things like work on girders high above the Illinois River on bridge-building projects.
I, on the other hand, am a whole different story. I grew up convinced I was one of the most unathletic klutzes ever born — and not entirely without reason. Oh, I tried ice skating for a while when that was the Friday night junior high social scene in our town. I got to where I could circle the rink, slowly, without falling. But I never learned to stop –- except by crashing into the wall. My baseball career was cut tragically short when I flunked a Little League try-out in sixth grade.
The last balance-related activity I tried was roller skating with the boys a few years ago. The tenseness, anxiety, and constant feeling that I was about to fall on my butt convinced me I was simply made of different stuff than all those folks whizzing around the rink enjoyably and effortlessly, in sync with the music.
After that, I decided I’d reached the age at which I no longer had to torture myself with attempting such things, and would finally resign myself to the fact that while I have some other talents, such sports are definitely not for me –- or me for them. And that’s why I’m sitting here doing something I know I love and have been told I do quite well –- writing –- when instead I could be on the slopes with my boys slipping and sliding and feeling like a klutz. In 47 years, I never tried skiing; why do it today?
Now it’s true that I did learn to ride a bike. That requires balance. A ski-bum-looking fellow outside near the ski slope just advised me that learning to ski is just like learning to ride a bike. Sure, you’ll have a rough time for half a day or a day, he opined, but then you’ll get onto it and you’ll have a blast. Yeah, right . . .
I honestly don’t know who’s right. Hopeless klutz or trainable? Intellectually, I tend to be disposed to resolving either-or issues by saying the truth lies in between; I’ll do so here. I think eventually I could become a mediocre skier and derive some satisfaction from tackling my doubts and fears. But no way could I ever do better than my 7 year old; and skiing would never become a favorite hobby.
As employers and employees, we all deal with the varying skills and talents of ourselves and those we manage.
How do we decide when to work on improvement in a weak area and when to accept the weakness philosophically and instead work on making the most of existing strengths?
To what extent can a strong desire to pursue improvement compensate for a weakness?
How and when do we decide that the “fit” between the individual’s strengths and weaknesses and the job requirements is so poor as to be beyond repair through further training?
How can assessment tools be used to help answer these questions?
It seems that these questions, running through my mind at the ski resort this afternoon, strike at the heart of efficient use of human resources, as well as personal vocational success and satisfaction.
Closing note: I just went to the bar at the ski resort for a beer and ran into three young soldiers from Ft. Leonard Wood, one of whom has already done one tour in Iraq. Soldiers ski free.
If these guys are at all typical, we have some truly fine young people representing us.
Employers should consider the training, maturity, and leadership of this new generation of war veterans as potentially being a big plus when considering them for employment. I think I’d take a good military record over a middling undergraduate college degree for many jobs — including the Presidency ;-) .
You have had the joyous opportunity to watch your 7 year old’s physical (and I suppose mental) attributes for at least 5 of the last 7 years. You are making an informed evaluation, even if favorably biased.
A hiring decision (considering which candidates and how were they identified?)is not informed to that degree, and often biased. A performance evaluation (and thus promotion or pay increase) is (should be) much more informed but can be biased.
But I agree on genetics. Some of us are sprinters; some milers; and some are weightlifters. But few are all three! And how do we decide (and who decides?) which of the attributes is more important? On all jobs/projects, or on some?
And your relative may have had only mediocre skills as an ironnworker. He might just have had more “want to-must do” (cojones) than most.
Sometimes I’m not entirely sure whether a commenter intended to be agreeing or disagreeing with me. That’s the case with the previous comment.
Seems to me there’s mostly agreement. The questions raised in the comment are those I too was pondering. So I’m glad the point got across to that extent.
There’s also the self-knowledge aspect. Right or wrong, I’ve learned what I do and do not like to do and what I do well or poorly. How do we guide people as they grow through the educational system and throuughout life to aid them in making the choices that best suit their aptitudes? (career counselors)
How do we fairly and without bias determine what the job qualifications are and which candidates are best qualified? (refinement of prehire procedures, including testing and interviewing)
And yes, I agree completely that cojones (Spanish for “guts,” or more precisely, “balls”), motivation, and determination can more than compensate for relative weaknesses. How do you determine the presence of this vital character trait?