It happened last night. As I reflect, I realize it has happened all along. Each day, in most every moment I have an opportunity to look at life and learn. Yet I become consumed with more immediate concerns. He said. She said. The system, situation, or some other entity supplants a deeper assessment. Years ago, I came to understand that I create my own chaos, calm, or shades of what will be. As an Educator, I speak of this often. My students often quote me on the subject of choices. Yet, until yesterday, I never fully grasped how true my words might be. I am unsure why the events of the evening took me where they did. I share the story.
All of my life I have been a dreamer. Don Quixote is my adopted name. Happily, I tilt at windmills. I do the impossible. Nothing deters me, that is, unless my lack of ego strength is involved. Then, unlike Susan Boyle, a contestant on Britain's Got Talent, I falter. A being, whose energy, enthusiasm, and personal story brought her to stage, has the courage I lack. Might it be a fear of failure, or perchance, success scares me. I know not with certainty. For now, as I reflect on the woman who wows the world, I think of how I too have dreamed, and what I did to damage, defeat, or even destroy my own ascension.
I also wonder. Will the tears I shed as I listen to her sing and watch her gracefully move through her recital wash over me. Would all that I felt, as I immersed myself in Ms Boyle's performance, be gone before I acted on the audacity she radiates, or might these emotions help cleanse me of my own deep-seated apprehensions. Oh, how I crave to come out into the light, to as Susan Boyle stated, be given a "chance." Indeed, for me, I know the one who never seems to provide me with what I need to succeed is me.
As children, many of us decide we wish to help others. When asked what we want to be when we grow up, we typically respond, I will be a Teacher, maybe a Doctor, or a Nurse. I wish to serve society as a Social Worker, a Fireman, or a Law Officer. As a Librarian, I can truly help people grow intellectually. What they read will advance emotional enlightenment. Even food servers and those who prepare the fare, experience pleasure when he or she interacts with the connoisseur of sustenance and spirits. The builder provides shelter from the storms. We each wish to make a difference.
The land is scorched. Flames flair. Embers whip about in the wind. We, as a nation, are witness. The woes of a reporter cause us to weep. Larry Himmel watches his beloved domicile burn to the ground. As a nation we recall other disasters and we grimace. What will become of the many that no longer have a place to call home. How might the children recover from what they hoped was but a nightmare. People, pets, the plant life, all are changed forever.
My heart aches. Of course I mourn the passing of the thirty-two Virginia Polytechnic University students, as do we all throughout the globe. Nevertheless, I cannot forget how my heart hurts for the thirty-third victim, the one the media never seems to count among those killed, Seung-Hui Cho. On April 16, 2007 thirty-three lovable and fragile individuals passed.
In the last sixteen years, I have only used the word in my writing. It just does not seem apt for me anymore. In 1991, my Grandpa passed, or as some say, he died, although he never did. I am reminded of this today for someone I knew from afar for many decades, and met face-to-face only a year ago on this same date, took his last breath this afternoon.
It is a somber day; yet beautiful. Phillip, is gentle man, a giant. His heart is, to coin an expression, more golden than gold. His spirit is softer than the yellow metal is in its purest form. Phillip's goodness is great. You may think it odd that I presume to know so much about this man. After all, we only spoke on a few occasions in the past year. However, I am closely acquainted with Phillip's family. I have, by extension been apart of this loving circle for generations.
On March 11, 2006, I spent hours chatting with Phillip. We discovered all that was between us. Until then, we never understood that we were truly connected. Without communication, there is much conjecture. When we open our hearts and minds much is realized, at least Phillip and I thought so.
Valentine's Day is truly my favorite holiday. It always has been. I have heard the complaints. The day is too commercial. These objections have been expressed for as long as I can remember. I understand the grievances, although I have always felt the celebration need not be all about calculated consumption. However, as with all else I fear today, our rights to individual expression are slipping away. Perchance, some are gone. Possibly, the potential of being unique has been supplanted. In homes, schools, and on the city streets throughout the countryside most everything is standardized.
Decades ago on October 16, I was born into a family that admittedly wanted no more children. My mother was not working; nevertheless, before and after my birth she was rarely home. My natural father did not wish to entertain the notion of a newborn. With my birth, he decided to focus on life far from the family house. During my youth it was thought, parents spent time with their progeny. However, mine did not.
On October 16, 2006, a report was released, "Married and Single Parents [are] Spending More Time With Children, Study Finds." This too, is not as expected. New York Times Journalist, Robert Pears reveals, "Mothers are spending at least as much time with their children today as they did 40 years ago, and the amount of child care and housework performed by fathers has sharply increased."
He was young, relatively speaking, and old, so old, he had already given up on his future. Nevertheless, the flame flickered brightly as he shared what he wished it would be with me. He stood close. He was turning in his project. He was not the first to complete his work. Actually, he was among the last. The students had been working on this assignment for days. It was due in ten minutes. Work not turned in on time, would be considered late. Grades could drop. Yet, that was not his deepest concern. In that moment, he worried about my future.
Subscribe to Site [RSS]
