It was Friday afternoon. It was the end of my first week in nearly
four months
since I had been on campus and in the classroom. I was in the office. I was
getting
ready to head over to the General Faculty meeting. My cell phone rang. It was
Sally.
She is a first year student. I had met her less than a few times in class.
She was
sobbing. She could barely talk between her heaving snivels.
I sat back down in my chair. "What's wrong?" I urgently asked.
"I can't stop crying."
This being the day after the first Thursday party night of the
semester, I thought
the worse. I said again, but slower and quieter, "What's wrong."
"It's the story you told of Kim and your painted pinky. It really hit
home. It's
gotten to me and I stop thinking about it.....My half brother was shot and
killed six
years ago today. He inspired me to change and go on just like you did with
Kim.....Then,
I thought of how we went around in class on those treasure hunts, introducing
ourselves
and telling each other why we each are a treasure....I lied to them. I don't
feel like
any treasure. I feel like a shit--ugly and cursed. I fucked up fucking around
and didn't
do that great last semester. I'm afraid I'm going to do the same this semester
and have
to leave.....I don't belong here....Why am I here and my brother is not anyway?
Can you
tell me? I need you to tell me."
I didn't answer. I let her talk. It was like she was having the
emotional vomit
she needed to have to get out all that acid on her soul that was giving her
spiritual
indigestion. She talked of being sickly as a child and teenager, of being in
and out of
hospitals, of getting in with a bad crowd, of drive-by shootings, and never
telling her
mother of being constantly molested by family members. "I don't know why I'm
telling you,
a stranger and all, all this personal stuff about me. I never talk about it
and tell
anyone, but I can't seem to help it.....It was like someone else was dialing the
phone...It was my brother who saw me as a special treasure. He inspired me to
change and
go on just like you did with Kim. Because of him I graduated high school and
came to
college. Why isn't he here? He should be here, not me. I don't deserve to be
here. Why
wasn't he a miracle. Why didn't he survive the bullet like you did with cancer
and your
brain hemorrahage? Please tell me why!"
All I could answer was, "I can't tell you why...Do me a big favor. Read
Ecclesiastes 3:11. I think it says something like 'He has made everything
beautiful in
its time' Your brother is beautiful. You're beautiful. You've got to see
that to see
in yourself what he saw. You'll see it in your time if you look."
"Me beautiful? A treasure?"
"Your brother thought so. Your mother thinks so. Didn't you just tell
me that
you were special to him and to her? Didn't you just tell me that your mother
had you
after five miscarriages, after the doctors told her she couldn't have any
children, and
that two months after she gave birth to you she went into menopause?"
"She always calls me her 'miracle child.'"
"You are. You're here. Your brother is still here whispering "you can
do it" in
your ear. As you see your brother as a treasure, you'll see how he saw you and
how you
should see yourself. Be thankful for your brother, that he was there for you
when you
needed him. Make your life a monument to him. Be that special sister he knew
you were
and be that miracle child your mother knows you are. You'll free yourself to
accomplish
so very much."
"She and my brother always said that I was put on this earth for a
special reason.
It's not easy to find that reason."
"The important things never are. Keep listening to them every day.
Keep reading
Ecclesiastes 3:11 as a reminder every day. Everything around you will be as you
see it.
Everyone around you will see you and you see yourself. If you, me, she take
the time, no
matter how crazy or troubled we feel, to have faith in ourselves and hope for
ourselves
and love ourselves, we'll find something to be thankful for, something
beautiful,
something special.. And, then, you'll find that reason....."
After about 45 minutes or so, she said, "I gotta stop talking about
this cause
(sic) I'm crying my guts out. Thanks for caring and being like my brother and
mother."
"You couldn't have given me a greater compliment. Have great weekend.
See you
next week."
I never got to the faculty meeting. It was raining when I stepped
outside Ashley
Hall. I knew why I missed so much being on campus. As I slowly strolled home
for that
glass of wine and piece of cheese with my Susan, thinking of Sally, I
understood that one
of the most calming and powerful actions a teacher can do in this stormy world
is to stand
up, show her or his soul, and light up the place. As a teacher, my life belongs
to
something greater than myself and as long as I breathe it is my privilege, my
honor, to do
for each person whatever I can do, to do whatever it takes to help others help
themselves
become the persons they each are capable of becoming. In that way, and that is
the only
way, I can help myself become whatever I am capable of becoming. I have found
that the
harder I work at serving others, the more I live. The more I live, the brighter
my flame
burns and the more I rejoice in life for its own sake. Unlike Macbeth, a life,
and the
teaching that is a part of it, is no 'brief candle' to me; it is not a walking
shadow for
me; it is not a poor fretting and strutting player for me; it is not a tale
told by an
idiot. No, for me, life signifies everything. It is sort of a splendid,
blazing torch on
which I have a tight hold, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible,
to light
other candles.
Struggling souls such as Sally want and will catch light from other
souls who are
lit and willing to cast light on the beauty around them. And, if I can help
Sally and
others like her feel that she or he can accomplish any goal or task she or he
decides
upon, she and others will. Then, I will have succeeded as a teacher; I will
have given
her or him the greatest gift I can bestow as a teacher; and, I will have
offered her or
him the true blessing of an education. Shaw was right. The truest joy in life
is having
a mighty purpose, of being a force of nature in the service of others. That's
the truest
joy in teaching as well. Damn, it's good to be back on campus.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier
http://therandomthoughts.edublogs.org/
Department of
History http://www.newforums.com/Auth_L_Schmier.asp
Valdosta State University www. halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
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