The Demonstration Gist

There are people who like gist.

And then there was my younger brother.

This boy did not merely enjoy gist. He loved gist.

Tell him one thing and he would lean in.

“Then what happened?”

You answered.

“And then?”

You answered again.

“And after that?”

At some point, you realised you were no longer telling a story. You were hosting a press conference.

He had an appetite for details that could have powered a newsroom.

So, one day, I decided to teach him a lesson.

Not a cruel lesson.

Just a small lesson in the dangers of asking too many questions.

I told him I had some gist for him.

But this was not ordinary gist.

I called it Demonstration Gist.

He was excited.

Unfortunately for him, he did not ask the most important question:

“What exactly is demonstration gist?”

He simply kept reminding me.

“Brother, that gist you said you would tell me…”

I would smile.

“Yes. I have not forgotten.”

He would return another day.

“Are you going to tell me that gist?”

“Of course.”

The anticipation was doing half the work for me.

But there was one small problem.

I could not give him the demonstration at home.

Not with my parents around.

There are certain demonstrations that are best conducted outside the parental jurisdiction.

So I waited.

Then one day, we were sent on an errand.

Perfect.

I asked him to come along.

He came happily, probably believing that destiny had finally scheduled his long-awaited gist.

Barely had we left the house when he remembered.

“Brother, what about that Demonstration Gist?”

I told him, with all the seriousness I could muster:

“Oh yes. Today is actually the best time to tell you.”

His face brightened.

Finally.

The gist had arrived.

We started walking.

I began the story.

There was a disagreement.

Then another part of the story involved some pushing.

I explained.

And demonstrated.

A shove.

He looked at me.

I continued.

There was also some slapping.

I demonstrated.

Another shove.

Another demonstration.

At first, he was confused.

He thought I was merely getting carried away with the storytelling.

Then it happened.

That beautiful moment when the brain catches up with the body.

His eyes changed.

The penny dropped.

There was no gist.

The demonstration was the gist.

He had been waiting for a story.

I had prepared a practical.

And because I am a responsible storyteller, I believed in immersive learning.

That day, my younger brother learnt a valuable lesson:

Not every gist should be accepted on the strength of its title.

Sometimes, you must ask for the methodology before committing yourself to the programme.

Because “Demonstration Gist” may sound like an interesting story.

Until the storyteller becomes the actor, director and stunt coordinator.

And you become the unwilling prop.

From that day, he repented.

Well...

Mostly.

He did not completely abandon gist.

That would have been too much to expect.

But he developed a new and very important habit.

Whenever somebody promised him gist, he wanted to know the details first.

“What kind of gist?”

“Just gist.”

“No.

What kind of gist?”

A reasonable question.

Experience had taught him that some stories come with supporting materials.

And some storytellers believe in practical demonstrations.

I think that was the day my brother stopped being a mere consumer of gist.

He became a risk assessor.

And honestly, I cannot blame him.

The man had been traumatised by experiential learning.