My grade school report cards surfaced during a recent cleaning at my childhood home.
The yellowed paper told the story of a good student, with mostly As and some Bs, but she had trouble following instructions.
In the section for teacher observations, the line, “Listens well to instructions,” sometimes was noted with a minus sign rather than a satisfactory plus sign.
It used to annoy me, but it was true.
I was a good test taker, and when a quiz landed on my desk, I dove right in. There was nothing quite like the sharp point of a lead No. 2 pencil on a freshly mimeographed sheet of paper.
There are many life circumstances when this enthusiasm has served me well, but teachers insist that we also learn to follow instructions.
One sixth-grade teacher drove home the point with a simple 10-question quiz.
I whizzed through questions one through six, but when I was part way through question seven, I noticed many of my classmates had long ago finished and were waiting for direction.
I was embarrassed to discover that an overlooked sentence at the top of the page had instructed us to skip questions one through nine and answer only question 10.
It was, of course, an exercise to illustrate the importance of being thorough and following instructions, and in failing that test, I had learned an important lesson.
One that I’ve painfully recalled in adulthood with recipes and product assemblies.
Many failed entrees and defective products could have been avoided had I read instructions before launching into assembly.
Apparently failure to listen well to instruction is a genetic trait. My youngest and I attended a half-day college orientation last week to prepare for the fall semester.
“Do you have everything you need?” I asked the kid on our way out the door.
“Yep.”
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“Yep”
After failing to research the specific building on campus where we would check in, the kid and I arrived late to find a roomful of students dutifully parked at tables with laptops open in front of them.
We had no laptop with us, having somehow overlooked that detail in the instructions for the day. Without a laptop, our participation wouldn’t be necessary and we were instructed to return — with a laptop — for the Friday session.
The drive home was a bit tense, and my child sincerely apologized for the wasted afternoon.
Was I upset? Yes.
But not for reasons I blamed on the kid.
Not only were we the only ones in the room without a laptop, I was the only mom in the room.
I assumed an orientation involved parents. I assumed. … Rather than seek confirmation online or by phone call.
Welcome to college, students. Good luck with your coursework, and don’t forget to read the instructions.