My grandfather started The Fallible Club on Thanksgiving one year when my mom was a young girl. She had been given the very important task of carrying the Lemon Meringue Pie to the dinner table. She nervously approached the dining room, precious cargo in-hand, knowing her grandmother had devoted much of the day to perfecting this work of art. The plate was in her hands, and she timidly began to walk towards the dining room. Her tiny foot caught the edge of the area rug. She and the pie went flying, landing face-down on the floor. She burst into tears and ran to her room, devastated, certain she had ruined both the pie and Thanksgiving. 

Bill quietly followed her and kneeled beside her bed. He announced that he was officially forming a new club called the Fallible Club, and that she would be the founding member. It was a very exclusive club. Entrance requirements were strict: one must make a highly silly mistake, embark in a monumentally embarrassing incident, or create a quite unfortunate event. Unlike most clubs, the janitor was the highest position, the president the lowest. Her pie-flying episode squarely solidified her qualifications to become a member, and she was proudly anointed as the club’s very first janitor. To this day, my family still practices the traditions of the Fallible Club. It offers wonderful and life-long lessons in empathy—both for the self and for others—and grants permission not to take oneself too seriously when something goes awry. 

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This is a safe space to share embarrassing stories, laugh and learn from our mistakes, and embrace the fact that we are all devastatingly human. 

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With love from a lifelong member of The Fallible Club,

Sarah McQ

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