The Failure Board
Originally published at KarenVernon.net on October 17, 2020
In our little blended household, which is certainly much less interesting now that the last fledgling has left the nest, we were blessed with kids who could have held their own in Lake Wobegon. They mostly stayed on track, made good grades, and occasionally got recognized in school or in the local media for their accomplishments – whether marching in a presidential inaugural parade, delivering an exceptionally complex senior project, acting in a community theatre production or winning a cross country meet.
A large bulletin board in our hallway became the place where we’d display the evidence of this success – news clippings, photos and mementos we wanted to celebrate and recognize. Once the items were posted, we didn’t linger much over them, but there were still proud smiles when someone got to add a report card or a runner’s bib (I even contributed one of those myself!).
Then, something unforeseen happened. One of our kids (who shall remain nameless) failed the first attempt at getting a driver’s license. Shock, devastation and heartbreak ensued – especially as this was arguably the best driver in the household (sorry, other two – you know who you are!). The test could be retaken in a few days, but the disappointment and self-judgment remained. And there was an empty space on our bulletin board where we’d expected the passing score to be posted.
My husband has a knack for lightening any mood, and began telling stories of his less-than-illustrious high school report cards to reinforce the message that, despite some early failures, one can go on to lead a generally productive life. He said he’d actually found his old high school transcript recently when cleaning out some files.
He left the room for a moment before returning and heading straight to the board in the hallway to post his old transcript in that empty space. (He wasn’t kidding about his grades, though phys ed and history seem to have been strengths; Bible, along with speech and drama, not so much.) He made a hand-lettered banner, thus designating a section of our display “The Failure Board,” and challenging the rest of us to produce some prime examples for posting. Of course, the failed driving result was the next to go up, and even elicited the tiniest of smiles in the process.
Since then, the Failure Board has taken on a life of its own. I can’t say we’re happy about some of the things we’ve added – medical bracelets salvaged after ER visits, for instance, and even the disposable clothing one of us got on one such trip. But usually we take delight when something happens or is said that just screams, “Failure Board.”
I contributed a printout of the closed work order from my corporate IT department, declaring my issue had been resolved when they “instructed user to press the power button.” (For the record, there was much more to that story, and that was not the resolution – but I digress.) Though we no longer had the documentation, we posted a note reminding us of the time another new driver had two minor fender-benders in the space of one week – thankfully, a record unchallenged to this day.
We’ve got failed attempts at souvenirs we’ve collected, like the wrapper from the snacks we bought during a visit to Ford’s Theatre, which one child dubbed “Assassination Pretzels.” We’ve got quotes that bring a cringe and a laugh, harvested from many a dinner table conversation; among the favorites is the daily catch-phrase of the middle school principal, “It’s a beautiful day in the Valley,” which we’ve adopted and applied in the most ironic way possible. We’ve got the parking garage ticket that for several minutes stymied our departure after last year’s Christmas Eve church service, when someone (also nameless) was inserting it in the credit card slot by mistake.
Even the pets get into the act – we have the results of dear Savvy’s Wisdom Panel DNA test, which show she’s a tiny part miniature Fox Terrier, part Norweigian Elkhound, and about 65% “other mixed breed” (our money’s on “alien”). Speaking of numbers, we’ve got the losing lottery tickets I bought when the jackpot was too high to resist, and we’ve got samples of the enormous quantity of printed cards I ordered for a work project, clearly underscoring that I’m a words person, not a numbers person: I ordered more than 3,000, when the actual amount needed was about 200. Adding insult to injury, it includes the sticky note where I’d scratched out my “calculations.” But on the plus side, we have a lifetime supply of great note cards and bookmarks!
If you’re a visitor to our home, you just might earn yourself a place on the Failure Board, too. We’ve got a photo of the “press to retract” label from a hair dryer one of our guests borrowed. I guess this accomplished engineer missed that little instruction, and ended up taking the dryer apart and putting it back together when they couldn’t figure out how to retract the cord after using. See, failure happens to the best of us!
The year 2020 certainly should offer some great additions to the board – the White House’s postcard “Guidelines for Coronavirus” received this Spring has a prominent place. Here’s hoping the election results don’t end up there, too.
Last year during our Marie Kondo tidying up phase, I realized our bulletin board was itself in need of some tidying. There simply wasn’t room for all the successes, which had also continued to multiply, along with the failures. In fact, there were still exponentially more of the former than the latter. I didn’t think twice about it – I lovingly took inventory of everything, separating the successes from the “failures.”
The successes got packed away in a large box, to serve as mementos for the ages. The failures remain in pride of place on the Failure Board – visible reminders that none of us is perfect, nor are we expected to be. That laughter does heal the hurts, at least a little bit. That these are the precious moments we want to remember, and to celebrate. That home is where we’ll be ourselves and love each other, no matter what.