Das Pie-Eating Skandal

Hearing the recent news about Volkswagen admitting that it systematically cheated to make its cars appear to produce lower emissions made me recall a scandalous pie-eating contest I competed in as a child.

This memory came rushing back to me. I was walking to the train to commute downtown. I was listening to NPR on my headphones, and the report detailed how the giant carmaker equipped 11 million of its vehicles worldwide with “defeat devices.”

This clever software could detect when the car was being tested for harmful emissions, mask the actual results and produce “cleaner” results that not coincidentally corresponded with its “low emission cars” marketing campaign.

As the reporter described the scope of the scandal, my first reaction was – “Surprise, surprise…another big company breaking the rules in the interest of profits…” but then my pie-eating-contest memory surged into my head.

I was 7 years old, attending a summer carnival or “field day” event run by the local park district. The air smelled like cotton candy and fresh-cut grass. I was sweaty from running races. When someone announced the start of a pie-eating contest, I really had little interest, but I happened to be standing by the picnic table where the event was to take place, so I sat down.

Before I knew it, my rivals were seated around me. We stared each other down while a jovial park district official placed a white paper plate in front of each of us. On the plate was a rectangular Dolly Madison single-serving cherry pie.  We were instructed to hold our hands behind our backs, use only our mouths and on the count of “3, 2, 1….Go!!” begin devouring the pie.

Adrenaline kicked in. I was a competitive kid. I figured, what the hell? I could do this, just like I’d gotten honorable mention in the baseball throw and second place in the 50-yard dash in my age group, nosed out by a lanky Hugh Stallberg.

I was making solid progress consuming the pie. My nose and cheeks were covered in red pie filling. My chin was caked with the sweet, flakey crust. But just then, a hand snuck into my view, grabbed a chunk of my pie and tossed it away.

It was my friend Kevin – a boy at my school with a “devil may care” approach to life. He was a rebel. He had a mini-bike, occasionally used swear words and would tell me about girls he’d “made out” with. 

No one seemed to see him, despite the crush of adults and kids surrounding the picnic table. They were all screaming, cheering for us all to eat faster, eat the pie, to win!

I kept eating. Kevin grabbed another chunk, throwing it into the tall grass. I gobbled up the final piece, and just then the judge came up behind me, grabbed my wrist and thrust it up over my head.

My first reaction was that I’d been caught. Busted. The cheater had been exposed. I was prepared to blame it on Kevin, but I knew he’d smartly scurry away in the crowd, leaving me to take the heat. I knew though, I was just as guilty.

But instead, the barrel-bellied park district man yelled, “The Winner!”  The crowd erupted, chapping, smiling at me. I stood up – scraps of crushed pie bits stuck to my face. I managed a weak smile, ashamed, knowing that I didn’t deserve it. I was a cheater.

I glanced at Kevin – his stringy, shoulder-length blond hair covering one of his slightly reptilian eyes. He subtly smiled then winked at me – celebrating our winning “team effort” – as the blustery park district contest official pumped my hand in congratulations and thrust a pale blue “honorable mention” ribbon into my other hand (apparently they’d run out of “First Place” ribbons).

To this day, I still have the ribbon. It’s in my scrapbook. For some reason I kept it. Really, until now, I’ve kept this a secret – a deep, dark secret from the world. 

As I boarded the commuter train to ride downtown, I suppose I wondered about this pie-contest. While no one else other than Kevin knew the truth, I certainly did. And I’ve been carrying it around ever since.

It makes me wonder about Volkswagen. I wonder would would have happened if the EPA had not detected this smart software – this “defeat device” devised to trick emission-testing systems. What then?

Volkswagen car sales would continue to rise. The company’s low emissions marketing campaign would be a rousing global success. No one would know, except a few clever, tight-lipped engineers and the company’s top brass.

At the annual Sales Record Award Ceremony, the team of conspirators would covertly wink at each other, smile subtly and celebrate their “success.” They would be rewarded with praise, accolades, plaques and monetary bonuses. In truth, they cheated but just had not been caught.

(Cue the Vincent Price-like maniacal laugh sound effect….cut to a photo of 7-year-old Terry, face covered in the remnants of a Dolly Madison Cherry Pie, trying actively to suppress the shame amidst the spirited applause from the crowd around the picnic table.)

Learning and Paddle Boarding

I had never considered paddle boarding until this past week. During a visit to southern California, a friend asked me if I wanted to go.

I said yes. Why not? It sounded like fun. I don’t always say “yes” to new things, but I try to. As time has passed, I suppose I’ve been trying fewer new things than I used to. I’m not exactly sure why.

So, we took to the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Malibu, and the experience I had taught me two valuable lessons. (1) It’s important and interesting to notice how it feels to learn something for the very first time. (2) I really love paddle boarding!

Learning has been the primary focus of my professional career. My 25-year serpentine path has had learning as a steady theme. I’ve created learning experiences of all kinds for audiences ranging from children to adults.

What I value most about working in learning is the unique and amazing moment when someone realizes that he or she has changed. It might be understanding something previously not understood or connecting something that previously was disconnected.

Whatever it is, something clicks. The proverbial light bulb glows above their head. In learning lingo, we like to call this the “Aha Moment.”

What I love about these moments is the discovery and intrigue they bring. I love the confidence and excitement that comes with these moments. I love the idea that people realize that they are becoming more of the person they hope to be – in whatever small or big ways.

I love the buzz we all get when something suddenly becomes possible or clear. There is a distinct thrill to this. I also appreciate the courage and will that it takes for people to be open to learning something new.

Children are great at this. Maybe it’s become for them it’s instinctive and they don’t know the word “fail.” They just soak up new knowledge.  We adults are more complicated. Sometimes we think our “learning days” are over or that we know quite enough about everything, thank you very much. What’s the point of learning something new?

Paddle Boarding

As someone who had never paddle boarded, I ran through a range of thoughts and emotions as my friend and I drove to the beach. I felt excitement and curiosity. I had a bit of anxiety and some doubt. What would it be like? Would I be able to do it? Was I up for this? Why was I doing this? Would it be fun? Would I do it again?

At the start of my experience, there was a lot going on in my head. I don’t think this is uncommon for people who are doing something for the first time. 

I think of any profession and reflect on the reality that each must have had a flurry of thoughts and emotions the very first time they took on a key task – a lawyer’s first court appearance, a surgeon’s first surgery, a pilot’s first flight, a dancer’s first leading role, a salesman’s first sale.

I was fortunate. My friend was an experienced paddle boarder. He gave me tips – how to enter the water, how to kneel first, how to stand, where to look, how to hold my arms when I paddled.

Once I was actually in the water and standing on the board, my learning brain was in full gear. I wanted to do it right. I listened intently to his instructions. I watched my friend as he stood and paddled. It looked effortless for him, but for me it wasn’t.

My legs shook. The swells in the water caused me to constantly adjust my balance, shift my weight and change direction. I was getting tired.  I was getting it, and fairly soon my confidence grew. I was learning and it felt spectacular.

Now, it wasn’t flawless. Learning never is. It’s messy at times. I fell – twice. I fell once out in the water and another time trying to bring the paddle board to shore.  My landing featured a frantic paddle near the beach and then a clumsy tumble as I attempted to outrun a fast-approaching wave.

But I learned what I did wrong. There’s no other way.

Lesson Learned

The better we as educators can appreciate the swirl of thoughts and emotions that learners experience when something is new, the better we can design and the better we can teach.

I am always so deflated when I take part in a class that does not require that I take any risks or contribute any thoughts or ideas. Still, alarmingly, we call these “educational” classes. They’re generally a waste of time and, quite often, money.

The only way to learn is by doing. This is nothing new, but for me it’s a valuable reminder that for us to grow – to gain any type of new skill or improve a specific capability – the right conditions need to exist. 

The right conditions are never an accident. They’re intentional.

My conditions were a beautiful beach in Malibu on a calm, sunny 70-degree Saturday morning. They were ideal. Plus, my teacher was patient and knowledgeable. He offered clear instruction. He let me practice – and fail. He gave me informed and supportive feedback. I was motivated and kept trying.

If every class – every learning experience – followed this simple pattern, then light bulbs and “Ahas” would abound.