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Cadwell NOT Caldwell
Mental Health
What could you be?
[ 7 minute read ]
I blame the parents (and maybe me)
My neighbour, Jim, such were the difficulties he had, had problems with social interaction and, I suppose, general knowledge on how things work. Things that are obvious to most of us he just didn't seem to understand.
'Jim, you will have to cut the grass with shears before you use a push-mower on it'. The grass was eighteen inches tall (45cm) and it was wet from recent rain. Even dry, the front roller on the mower would flatten the grass and the cutter would not connect with it.
'I have!' He hadn't. The grass was eighteen inches tall, and wet. Eventually, he left the grass and, months later, bought a cheap electric hover mower, which he almost never uses. He doesn't have much of a lawn now anyway. The previous residents had a green and manicured lawn.
He also bought a strimmer; to cut the grass growing against the washing line posts. He thought it was a good idea to put the rotating hub of the strimmer right up against the posts. The strimmer line, or cord, inevitably kept snapping. It snapped as soon as the hub got too near the posts. He would pull a bit more line out and then do exactly the same thing, and break it again. What should have taken about three minutes took him over an hour. I knew that nail scissors would have been more effective. I didn't tell him because I know he would have, in his embarrassment, said, 'I know, I used them!' The annoying thing is, the strimmer has a noisy internal combustion engine and he never considered 7am too early to use it for an hour, on and off.
'Finally, he has finished!'
'Oh! No he hasn't'.
One day, I joined him in his garden, to dismantle a shed. He had no clue how to effectively do this and, impatient, I asked if he had a cutting tool of some kind. His competence with a screwdriver was, to my mind, on par with a four year old. He fetched a battery powered hand-held circular saw. When I pointed out where to cut, he, true to form, just jammed the saw against the wood. It stopped. He tried again; it stopped. I asked to have a go and made the cut.
'Sometimes, it just doesn't work and other times it does,' He said, puzzled. The teeth of the saw have to be introduced to the cut gently and slowly. Even heavy duty cutting equipment has a maximum speed at which it can advance. He had no clue about this. By this time, I was convinced that he was a fool.
A few years went by and a Canadian woman moved in with him. It doesn't matter what Global North nation she comes from; we, in the Global North, all have comparable kinds of background and approaches to life. I suppose, her nationality would only be relevant if she brought a wholly different approach and culture to the story, such as might be found in Global South countries, where I suppose they have a much more practical aspect to their lives; I imagine they make and mend as they go along a bit more than most of the Global North does. Anyway, a woman from a Global North country moved in with him. Her name is Avril.
The post-person delivered a 'Do Not Bend' package addressed to Jim's live-in girlfriend, through my letter-box. I waited for her to leave her home to give it to her. I didn't knock on Jim's and Avril's door to give Avril the package because, when Avril's parents previously visited from Canada, I had occasion to chat with them, and I felt that Jim would not have the social grace to give them a gift, or souvenir of England, so I decided to give them a gift. You can buy souvenirs for yourself but being given a gift from a local has so much more weight, I feel. Jim, I considered, wouldn't think of this. I had been given a published cookbook written by one of my neighbour friends. It was all I had of any worth. It was still in its shrink-wrapped plastic covering; brand new.
To give this cookbook gift, I knocked on Jim's and Avril's door. Incidentally, Jim thinks it is only his door. Jim answered and I said I wanted to speak to Avril's mum.
'I will see if she will talk to you.' Weird, I thought but I decided that Jim was just being Jim. She came to the door and opened it wider to talk to me, but not before I saw Jim's leg withdrawing to behind the opening door, which instantly told me he intended to eavesdrop. I was tempted to mention this to Avril's mum, 'Does he always do that?' but pushed the idea away.
'Here is a gift from our village; a cookbook. My friend wrote it. She lives just up the road, there. If you can't take it to Canada then I am sure that Avril and Jim might be able to use it.' She thanked me and shut the door, nonplussed.
So when the Do Not Bend package addressed to Avril came through my letter box I was certainly not going to make Jim hide behind the door among their coats again. As she left for work: 'Avril, I have something for you.' She, of course, jumped because I inadvertently sprang up from behind a separating hedge; I had been sitting on my doorstep. She thanked me and took the package. Jim followed her out of the garden onto the drive.
'The delivery person is just lazy and selfish and couldn't be bothered to come to my house', Jim exclaimed.
'Jim', I said, 'You have a continental style letter box stuck to your wall that won't allow items to get in without being bent'. I took the package from Avril to demonstrate the size of it. I apologised to Avril for just snatching it from her hands. She, of course, smiled and brushed it aside because she recognised that I did not intend to be rude. I gave it back to her and they left in Jim's car.
The Pygmalion Effect
Jim used to allow his spirit to loom over me while I slept.
'Who are you and why are you here?'
'Jim's spirit, I live here, and have done since before you came here.'
What with his seeming inability to successfully and happily interact with the world, I had, after a couple of years decided he was a fool. Something wasn't right. We all have something weird about us. It is no 'biggie'. (What? If we can use the Australian 'no worries', surely we can say 'no biggie'!). Look at those punctuation marks; four in a row!
It is really quite hard to ward off wandering spirits. What can you do? You can't grab hold of them and shove them out your front door. They can't hear you speak your native tongue in the human world. Only magic language or the language of your own spirit can converse with them. The trouble is, when we wake up our brains start to focus on real life threats like bears and tigers and things, and we are programmed, through modern interaction in our societies, to use our 'mother' tongue.
Jim never used to go out. He ordered shopping deliveries and never seemed to socialise beyond, I suppose, going to his parents for Sunday dinner. For at least two years, even when Avril moved in, he and Avril wouldn't go out. They went on holiday once or twice; a new thing for Jim, I am sure.
After, I think, four years of Avril living with him, they go out most weekends and even stay away overnight. She, being a school teacher, has many periods in a year during which she does not need to go to a workplace. Jim has a job using a computer. Theoretically, he can work anywhere in the world. They now stay away from home about four or five times a year, for days or weeks at a time. I think they have two holidays a year, somewhere.
Avril saw something in Jim that, as a teacher, I suppose, she felt she could draw out of him. I think she knew that he just needed his hand held a little, and needed to be introduced to new experiences to build his confidence. There is nothing like being loved to build confidence and trust.
The Pygmalion Effect is when individuals tend to perform up to a level that others expect them to perform at. Jim wasn't really aware, I suggest, that I considered him to be incompetent at a lot of things, but he was bothered that I saw him fruitlessly trying to cut his grass; he accused me of being nosy. To his mind, I should never look out of my windows, it seems.
Avril, being a teacher; and perhaps being Canadian is relevant after all, would have had, I think, some training to deal with autism and learning difficulties alike. She, unlike me, can see potential in people that can be nurtured, and knows how to do it. Good Crikeyness! She has some patience!
I miss Jim, the looming zombie that, in my imagination bumped endlessly into the walls in his home and aimlessly bounced off them with no clear thought in his head. I don't think his spirit is troubled anymore. I think he finally trusts someone, and feels safe, and doesn't want to claim a spiritual space.
'Why are you here? Go away!'
'Jim, I live here!'
I will tell you why I miss him. I, like most of us, measure myself against the people around me to give myself some idea of how well I am doing. I suppose I have been aware of a local social hierarchy but I have never bothered to subscribe to protocols to secure any position in it. Now that Jim seems comfortable, I cannot help but think the see-saw has tipped the other way. I am, by my thoughts and deeds, a fool.
'The Pygmalion Effect is a tendency named after the protagonist of a Greek myth. Pygmalion was a gifted sculptor who created a statue of a woman so perfect he fell in love with his creation. After Pygmalion desperately prayed to Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, she took pity on him by bringing the statue to life.' (Josh Kaufman, 2010).
Josh Kaufman, 'The Personal MBA', Portfolio Penguin, 2010
Josh Kaufman goes on to say that the Pygmalion effect explains why all of our relationships are, in a very real sense, self-fulfilling prophesies. In other words, we benefit from what we put into them.