As I was a balmy walk this morning. The air was warm and there was a
warm glow
inside me. I was thinking of something my friend, Don Fraser, would have said
of a
surprise telephone call I received and a brief conversation I had last night.
"Louis," he
would have said, "you just passed the 'Five Year Test.'" Let me explain.
Last night, I had just gotten off the telephone listening to and
quietly batted
away each of a student's litany of paper thin excuses, rationales, and
explanations for
not having taken advantage of the ample time I gave and for not having been
prepared
yesterday for the presentation of the semester's last project, the scavenger
hunt. I kept
telling her that the only limits she has are the ones she imposes on herself,
that her
excuses were accusations of self-disrespect, and that no one ever excused his
or her way
to achievement. It wasn't but a few seconds after I had hung up that the phone
rang.
When I picked up the receiver, I heard a strange voice. Our conversation went
something
like this:
"Is Dr. Schmier there?"
"I'm he."
"Hey, Dr. Schmier, you're still alive and kickin'. I haven't heard
your voice in
almost twelve years. I hope you're not retired yet. You're not the retiring
sort as I
remember."
"Who am I talking with?"
"This is Al Moore (not his real name). I was thinking about you and
thought I
pick up the phone to thank you."
Man, that triggered a string of questions. "Al Moore? Thank me? For
what? I
have to be honest. Do I know you? If I do, I honestly don't remember. What
did I do to
deserve this call and your 'thank you'?"
"Well, I really don't expect you to remember me. Our paths crossed
briefly and I
wasn't the type to be remembered back then. I blew the class, dropped out of
school,
worked some, finally went back to a community college, got serious, and then
went on to
law school. But, that doesn't matter. I sure do remember you. I think about
you all the
time. It's as if you're hanging over my shoulder making sure I don't slip. If
it wasn't
for you, I wouldn't be the professional I am.
"We were in the same class? You've got the advantage on me."
"You and I were in a freshman history class together just as you were
beginning to
change how you taught and looked at us students. That would be 1994. Spring
quarter.
Room West 140. I was in the class with Julissa. Remember her? My triad was
next to
her's. You were experimenting with triads, no lectures, getting away from
tests, starting
projects, and getting us to journal. It was quite a class, but I have to admit
that I
wasn't memorable because I didn't feel memorable until that one day towards the
end of the
quarter."
"That one day?"
"It was the quarter you were first trying out daily journals on a
voluntary basis.
That was the luckiest experiment for me. For some reason I felt I could be
honest with
you through the journal. I was right. You had read in my journal about my
father being
an alcoholic, abusing my mother, being sent off to rehab, and hating us for
doing it.
After class, when you handed the journals back to us, you called me over and
just said,
'How are you doing.?' I felt it was an invitation to dump everything on you.
We walked
to some steps, sat down, and I told you about the fear I was experiencing,
about the
difficulty I had concentrating, about how I just couldn't get into the school
scene, how I
was wishing the pain would go away, about the fear I had for my mother, how I
was mad as
hell at my father for putting us in this situation and not appreciating that we
got him
into rehab, and how I felt it was all my fault for letting it get that far.
Then, all you
did was to speak about what you were going through with your son and how it had
been hard
for you to focus, about the fear you had for him, about all the time and energy
and money
you put into fighting to save his life, and that it didn't really matter
whether he
appreciate it at the time or not as long as he was saved. It felt nice, very
nice, and I
never forgot it. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me. You weren't
too busy
for me. You made time for me right then and there. You made me feel I was
worth caring
about even though I didn't care to be there any more. And, even though I was
screwing
around and screwing things up, you didn't treat me as a screw up. You still
cared and
believed I could do anything I put my mind to. And even though I didn't pass
the course,
I never could stop remembering how valuable and capable you made me feel on
those steps.
It ate at me until one day on the job. I was brooding. I hated what I was
doing; I
didn't like me, and I was resentful of my father although he was patching
things up with
my mother. I suddenly thought about you on those steps and heard you say once
again,
"Dammit Al, you're valuable. You can do anything you want if only you can
believe it.
Have faith in yourself. Don't waste yourself." I got this feeling that you
were right
and how tragic it would be to loose something so valuable and capable as
me....I decided
at that moment that I had to take the risk of believing what you believed about
me and
looking for what you saw in me, and not letting myself down any longer, and I
haven't
since. So, I just wanted you to know what you did for me. Once again, thank
you."
"Thank you. But, first thank yourself," I quietly stumbled. "You did
it for you.
You made the decision to change your attitude about yourself, not me. Tell me
more about
you and about how your folks are doing."
"See you're doing it again," he said. "You're being nice. Thanks for
asking."
After telling me about himself, he went on. "Dad's been sober for the past ten
years and
the two of them are like two love bugs. And, recently I finally have forgiven
him. Maybe
that's why I'm calling, to tell you that you were right. I didn't know how
right you were
until a few months ago. Remember what you told me?'
"Honestly? No."
"You told me about your grudge against your parents and brother. You
told me that
part of your epiphany was to learn how to let go because you began to
understand that the
longer you held a grudge, the heavier it got and the more it hurt and held you
down, and
that forgiving is a form of freeing change. But, that it's not for the weak of
heart.
It's a sign of strength, not weakness, to break the chains and to forgive, and
that
forgiving is giving up the right to hurt yourself and to hurt back someone who
has hurt
you."
"I said that? Damn, I sound like Thoreau, Ghandi, and Martin Luther
King wrapped
up into one," I chuckled.
He chuckled, too. "Yes, you said it, and I never forgot it. Boy, were
you right.
The second I forgave my father and told him so, I felt this huge weight lift
off my
shoulders and got that feeling that I could stand up straight and nothing could
stop me
from doing anything I wanted to do. And your son?"
"Thanks for asking. Got through a lot of his stuff. Married to a
wonderful
woman. Has one of the three most beautiful children in the world. Is an
artist with
food. And, is now the Executive Sous Chef at the downtown Doubletree Hotel in
Nashville.
I am so proud for him that I could burst."
"Glad to hear that we all came though, stronger and better for it.
Well, just
wanted say thanks. Take care."
"You, too. Keep in touch, please."
I still can't picture Al. That doesn't matter. He taught me one hell
of a lesson
I'll never forget. We teachers are futurists. So many of our greatest and
most lasting
impacts are far beyond the reaches of the assessor's or evaluator's
instruments. They so
often happen in the future, life-long aftershocks of what proves to be
deceptively small,
seemingly passing, almost imperceptible, often unknown, earth-shaking moments
of just
plain old fashioned, sincere caring.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__/\ \/\
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ \
/\
//\/\/ /\
\__/__/_/\_\ \_/__\
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" -
---
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