If you’re feeling snarky, skip this post. It probably won’t do much for you.
That said, take a look at this video:
Edward Boches pointed to the video as a reminder to be patient with one’s parents. I was reminded of something else–someone else. A mentor I had named Marla.
We had almost nothing in common. She was 65 years my senior, wore polyester with pride, and mentioned her dead husband at every turn. Marla also had a thriving case of Alzheimer’s. It was as if her memories had been strung together like tiny beads on an 84 year-long necklace only to scatter in gleaming rivulets when the string was cut. The disease wasn’t content to just cut the necklace. Before Marla had a chance to recover her memories most of them disappeared.
Not all the memories were lost though. If you’ve ever broken a necklace or spilled a bag of rice you already know that tiny things can be hard to clean up. Alzheimer’s had difficulty swiffering up all of Marla’s memories. There were still a few to be found and I was often the one listening when she found a memory. It was through those shared memories and the time around them that Marla taught me so much.
Why do I mention a little old lady with a failing brain in a post about mentorship? Because we are all, at this very moment, struggling with something. Each of us also has something to offer. True mentorship, in my estimation, connects people with complimentary strengths.
When I knew Marla, I was an insecure kid with a strong mind while she, in spite of her failing brain, knew how to be content. Marla didn’t stop trying to make great memories even though she knew they’d be gone as soon as they’d appeared. She never gave up. I continue to find her strength inspiring and her sudden bursts of thought entirely memorable.
One time, Marla asked me if I was seeing anybody. I said that I was but didn’t think it would work in the long term. Her response: “Is she missing a leg or something bad like that?”
Sometimes mentorship is just about gaining another perspective on something.
Marla always gave me that.
Just a few thoughts on a quiet evening. What’s your take?
July 30th, 2009 at 7:21 pm
Someone must be peeling onions nearby… got to be…
“t was as if her memories had been strung together like tiny beads on an 84 year-long necklace only to scatter in gleaming rivulets when the string was cut.”
Beautifully said.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:21 pm
“we are all, at this very moment, struggling with something”.
Wow. The timing of this post is truly uncanny. I had an enlightening experience this morning which led me to speak words to the same affect. I believe we can learn something from everyone we come across, yet its up to us to be open to that. Let that in front of you be your teacher- for the person before us is either a mirror, a crystal ball or an angel.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:36 pm
Brilliant, humbling, evocative…. I could go on Seth, but I think you get the picture.
Mentors come in the strangest forms and at the strangest times. They may not even be the classic image of a mentor. I had a dog that was the unfriendliest sucker around. He didn't like petting; he wouldn't play fetch; he only wanted to be near you when you fed him; and he was an all-round miserable sod.
Yet if anyone came near you in the park when walking him, he'd run to your side, nudge you back and growl at the newcomer. Taught me you can never judge a book by its cover, and that loyalty is everything.
PS – I learn from you every single day, Seth. Thanks for being my mentor.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:44 pm
Thanks, Seth. Just what I needed today. Play to your strengths and let others play to theirs; as a team we can deal with anything — alone, we're screwed.
July 30th, 2009 at 7:54 pm
At least they were only peeling onions near you. My sister watched it and said people were chopping onions near her! =)
Thanks for your kind words. Go enjoy your vacation!
July 30th, 2009 at 7:56 pm
An angel, eh? I keep running into people claiming to by crystal balls only to reveal themselves as mirrors for me to watch my frustration well up in.
Blessedly, there are those who come along and offer all three in true form. You've been a delight. Thank you!
July 30th, 2009 at 8:07 pm
Your dog was still a pain in the butt though!
Loyalty means a lot. Most of the world runs on the stuff, second to money.
You're building a supremely robust community. I'm glad to play a small role whenever I have the chance.
Thanks!
PS – I'm still not switching to Headway. =P
July 31st, 2009 at 10:50 am
This makes me wonder how many people take the time to mentor (or be mentored) anymore… Thanks for sharing your story with us and letting us see how having some share their perspective with you has stayed with you throughout your life. I find my 86 year old grandfather telling me the same stories over and over again…and I love it =)
July 31st, 2009 at 3:29 pm
Thank you, Seth. I can relate to both sides of this post and so appreciate the timeliness of it.
July 31st, 2009 at 3:42 pm
My Mom is 78. My Dad passed suddenly last year and my step-dad the year before. I realized how many memories had never really been documented. So I spent an entire morning interviewing my Mom on video, having her tell her stories, recall her childhood, growing up on a Jewish ghetto, anti-semitism, my grandfather working hard as an immigrant, all that kind of stuff, and of course the years of raising three kids. I don't look forward to the day that I might want to play it, but it's a reminder to do things like that.
As for mentoring, it may be one of the most rewarding parts of a career. Though in a funny way like parenting. Do it well, and those you teach will grow to no longer need you, perhaps thinking they know more than you and wanting determinedly to prove it.
August 4th, 2009 at 7:02 am
I think a lot of people get excited about mentorship without realizing the personal side and all that entails.
I've never minded when people share interesting stories repeatedly. The WWII types always have good ones. =)
August 4th, 2009 at 11:22 am
Beautiful post! My Marla was my grandmother who was the only person to patiently read, review and gush over every single little story I wrote when I was little- it was frustrating for other people because the whole “punctuation/ writing legibly” thing took me a while to figure out
. Incidentally, one of the most memorable gifts she ever gave me was a necklace made of stones she had collected over time- a necklace that I very clumsily tripped and broke into “gleaming rivulets” when I was about eight. It was extremely sad for me and I collected as many as I could find (though granted a number were still lost) and put them into a little pouch I now monitor religiously next to my bed 
.
Going back to the concept of mentorship- and there's no real non-corny way for me to say this, lol
- but as I've experienced being both a mentor and mentee over time, this incident and bag of rocks has come to be a personal metaphor about mentorship for me. Specifically, as a mentor, there were so many times I wanted to transmit a very specific string of my “gems of knowledge” 
but was disappointed when the interpretation of what I was trying to convey was altered or when only pieces of it were understood. Likewise, as a mentee (and especially in the cases where mentors of mine have passed away), I've wanted to be able to hold on to everything they were and had to teach.
And in a sense, this comes back to your idea of complimentary strengths. Basically, the way I see it, mentoring in not necessarily about efficiently transmitting some set of knowledge, but is more (as you mentioned) about an exchange of perspectives. I don’t think it’s really possible to truly and wholly see things from another person’s perspective. However, in a mentor’s message there will likely be ideas and thoughts that are new and novel to your own understanding about a subject (ideas and thoughts that thus compliment your own understanding) and these are the ones that will stand out at the time so that you can easily “bag” and hold on to them forever
. Lol, I warned about the corniness 
.
August 4th, 2009 at 11:28 am
Thanks Nat,
I think the best we can hope for is to pass along a few bits for others to
treasure and to do our best at collecting all we can ourselves. You'll never
recreate the original necklace but you can make something entirely your own
and just as beautiful with the information and memories you've collected
over time.
Your thoughts would only be corny if they were stupid. They're not at all.
I'm glad you took time to stop by and share!
=)
August 5th, 2009 at 2:11 pm
I'm sorry to hear about your losses. I'm glad you took the time to capture all those memories! I could make an excuse about my parents being too young to die. It's a terrible excuse though. A good reminder for me to get the 'rents in HD while I still can!
As a mentorship develops, isn't there a need for grace on both sides? From what I've experienced, (And I'm still a youngster–can count biz mentorships on two hands) the mentor often has as much difficulty with not being needed as the mentee does with the notion of independence.
The mentors I've been lucky enough to have who were also friends continued to be friends once the questions dwindled and I no longer needed my hand held. I remember one time, after handling a crisis entirely on my own, a mentor took me aside and simply said, “Well done, truly.”
Underneath the cloud of adolescent bravado and attempts to prove independence, I think it's likely that most mentees, like the teenagers they remind us of, just want to hear “well done.”
September 4th, 2009 at 7:44 am
Seth,
“Because we are all, at this very moment, struggling with something. Each of us also has something to offer. True mentorship, in my estimation, connects people with complimentary strengths.”
Somehow I missed this post…guess I wasn’t supposed to find it until today. Having recently received the news that my 83-year old father has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I am particularly touched by your post and the video. Patience, never a virtue of mine, will undoubtedly be called into play more and more during visits out west to check in on my parents. And the role of mentoring them will now likely shift to me as well.
Treasuring the memories of times we shared and supplying remembrances of those faded memories will be cherished opportunities to stay connected to those I care about most. Funny how as a member of the sandwich generation, I find myself not only the mentor to my adult daughters and now my parents, but also as the connection between the past and the future. Being in this “middle” place is a privilege.
Thank you for your thoughtful post…