New Series: Lessons from Bone

Connection

One of the most fascinating aspects of the microscopic structure of bone is the interconnectedness of the cells.  Canaliculi, or channels, appear as thin black lines separating the individual units, or cellular communities, of which bone is comprised.  The primary cell types, osteoblast, osteocyte, and osteoclast all contribute the maintenance of bony architecture.  The healthy, functional bone is, of course hard but, it is also malleable.  This is possible biomechanically, because at a cellular level each of the cell types is performing their specific function.  Osteocytes acting as the choreographer, or conductor, sending signals to the other cells, telling them what to do, where to go, how to respond to stress.  Osteoblasts laying down new bone where needed, creating, strengthening, responding to stress by making the bony community stronger.  Osteocytes, cleaning up the microfractures, taking bone away when necessary, so that bone isn’t too hard, brittle, or breakable.

What we learn from the cellular structure of our skeleton is that communication is key. Signals must be sent and received for communities of cells to function as an organ.  Organizational or personal leadership is similar.  We may find individuals with similar functions, goals and missions, with whom we might forge close relationships, or functional relationships. Then, there may be starkly different types of people we work with, live with and co-exist with.  They, too, have a purpose and function.  Part of the challenge is finding ourselves, while at the same time playing our designated role as a part of community.  It is in this way that families, organizations, communities, states and nations exhibit resilience and simultaneously strength.

Just the Two of Us

Childhood friendships sometimes show us the nuances of connections.  Same, different, affinity, tribe- even children grasp the meaning of these qualifiers to our personal connections.  As leaders, we should explore how we amplify or diminish others by amplifying or diminishing these concepts in our communication.

When I first met Wendela Gomez, she rescued me from being the ‘new girl’.  Jet black hair, thick, but cut short in a Joni Cunningham feathered bob, she was like a sprite.  Bright smile and gapped teeth, she was my own personal Tinkerbell--- quick, energetic and smart.  In a flash, she stood in my place as the newest member of the kindergarten class at Chula Vista Christian School.  About five miles from the San Diego/Tijuana border, on Palomar and 2nd Street, there were no modern playgrounds with resilient, yoga mat-soft recycled rubber surfaces.  We stood at the monkey bar whose edge was a mere 2 feet from a sidewalk curb.  One year later, I would take a tumble, hit the curb, and find myself with an Easter egg-sized bump over my left eyebrow, sitting in the nurse’s office waiting for my mother to pick me up.  But on this day, when we first met, my new best friend looked into my eyes and extended her hand.  “I’m Wendy.  What’s your name?”  “I’m Erica.”  She smiled, “Let’s go! What games so you like?”

Affinity

On my first day at Chula Vista Christian, I didn’t grab a hand and offer a vivid, “Let’s go!”  I stood by myself on the playground and watched.  I thought I’d make a new friend when Carmen Martinez, one of my classmates asked me, “Are you black?” while we stood by those same monkey bars.  Indignantly, I placed my hands on my hips and clarified for her, “No.  I’m not black… I’m brown.”  Pointing to my bare arm, I dared her to dispute my claim.  At my previous kindergarten, my teachers irked me by giving me worksheets with pictures instead of words.  But, at least no one there asked me what color I was.  Many of my new classmates lived in Mexico and commuted across the border to school from the affluent hills of Tijuana every day.  I soon learned that Wendy’s Mexican father had recently separated from her American mother, “I think he’s going back to Mexico.”  I could tell she was missing him already.  She never stopped smiling, though.

Different

Gap-toothed smiles- my fondness for them might have started with Wendy.  She used hers like a superpower.  Crooked smiles, wide smiles, double dimpled smiles, courageous smiles, knowing smiles.  She was magical, like a sprite.  That first day, Mrs. Bowlby, our teacher gave our class a quiz.  Wendy scored 100%.  I couldn’t help but ask myself, “Could I have gotten 100%, too?”  Mrs. Bowlby, with a tone of pride, announced Wendy’s perfect result.  I fell from the #1 spot to #2, earning a wink from Mrs. Bowlby.  Wendy was not only fearless, she was wicked smart.  It was Wendy that showed me my competitive streak.  Friendly competition was a great motivator.  By Wendy’s sheer presence, she showed me that I could be the best and go far, if I really tried. 

Same

As friends and academic rivals, we played each other tough.  We wore denims, or cords- Sears Toughskins.  In our cotton collarless shirts with stripes, or without, we could swing freely on the monkey bars.  We didn’t worry about scraped knees or revealing one’s underwear.  On the concrete during recess, we never realized it was just the two of us.  We had one another for a plus one and didn’t feel the need for a buffer, or accessory friend.  We spoke harsh words often, argued and forgave one another, unconditionally.  “Your mother’s booty is so wide; she has to sit on two chairs!” “Your mother has so much acne, her skin looks like it’s full of gopher holes!”  Wendy and I made up our own games, created our own stories, and motivated each other for three and a half years.

Tribe

When the time came for her to leave San Diego, I didn’t even know we were sharing our final days.  After we were separated for the first time in third grade, I was with Mrs. Daniels and Wendy was in Mrs. Bowlby’s class, we still played together during recess and had lunch together.  Wendy was a little quieter, and I sensed her nervousness.  Then one Friday, Wendy’s mother picked both of us up from school.  At Boll Weevil, in the dark, over burgers, Wendy’s mom explained that they were moving to Utah, to be closer to her grandma.  I could tell Wendy was unhappy about the move.  I tried to cheer her up while we watched Lady and the Tramp.  Just like we missed The Rescuers, the movie we wanted to see, we were already missing one another. 

Two weeks later, recess came, and I had to find a new playmate.  Where Wendy and I would make up our own games, alone four square was my game of choice.  After waiting to enter the 4th square, the goal from that position was to survive and advance to the 3rd square.  I loved being the server in four square.  Once I was the server in the 1st square, I couldn’t be beaten.  I never wanted to leave the server position. I was feared as the server because I was fearless, and I chose to win.  Rather than take the risk of making a new friend, I chose fifteen minutes of power.  Wendy could not be replaced.

One night, I called to my mother, “what’s a wet back?”

“What did you say, Erica?”

“Wendy called.  Someone told her that’s what she is, a wetback.  She was really upset, but I didn’t know what it meant.”

Qualifiers that diminish others

“I don’t want you to use that term.  It’s not good.  All you need to know is that some small-minded people say that about Mexicans.”

Why was my mother so vague?  I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling in my chest, wishing I could do something, but not knowing where to begin.  I couldn’t return the favor and rescue my superhero.

The nuances of childhood connections.