After returning home from the Annual Constructivist Conference at St. Lawrence University I did what many teachers do each summer...got out the home repair list. Before leaving, I'd painted a few ceiling spots, oil sealed three runs of oak railing, and tiled the fireplace hearth; now it was time to move outdoors. Our deck needed a make-over.
Since we live in an Historic district, projects need approval from two city agencies. After a quick meeting with the city of Troy Planning folks, I sketched out the proposed modifications and showed them to my wife Carol...who promptly asked where the changes would be. Puzzled by her question, I pointed to the drawings and said, "The old joists are in red, the new ones are in black. It says so in the key at the bottom of each page." She replied calmly that I should probably write a more detailed description, because not all people had the skills to successfully decode my complicated drawings. I hate it when she does that. She was right, of course.
However, she made an excellent point: each of us senses, sees, and learns differently, relying on our own strengths to help us comprehend the world around us. And, it's up to those of us tasked with instructing to communicate to EACH person in the manner he/she learns best. A tough task? Perhaps...but if it's worth doing, it's worth doing well. My dad taught me that.
So, I added a text page to the application, explaining how the changes we proposed would not only keep the original "historic" appearance but improve the design so that the rebuilt deck complied with the current building code. The addition of a few dozen words created a much stronger application without having to change my drawings...and I appreciated that.
Before walking downtown to pick up the building permit, I stopped by my wife's office to show her the application and to thank her for helping me make it better. Being the great coach that she is, she acknowledged my progress. She said the application looked great. And, I thanked her again. You can't thank people too much. My dad taught me that, too.
