CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD. Pt. 1

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My wife and I decided to use one of our Christmas gift cards at ‘Red Lobster’ today. As we were escorted to our booth, we walked past an older lady with the most shocking blue hair imaginable, sitting with two people whom I assumed to be her husband and adult daughter. 

After we were seated for a few minutes, and the waitress had taken our order, we heard a retching sound coming from the general area of the ‘blue lady’s’ table. However, a partition separated us from them, and I could not be sure who or what was emitting the noise.

Suddenly, I heard a female voice saying, “No, no, no, no, no.” (And “no, no, no, no, no”). 

And after the ‘no’s’ continued, off and on, (mostly on) for the next 6-8 minutes, I was just about ready to tear my hair out. (If I had possessed any that I might have torn out).

Of course, I wondered about the status of the ‘blue lady,’ and the two who sat with her, and I surmised that one of the two women was mentally ill, and the other was her care giver, and involved in some semblance of correction. 

In years gone by I would have immediately asked the waitress for my bill, and a box for my uneaten food, and made my way out the front door of the eating establishment. And it occurs to me that the two variables which have offered me some degree of patience and understanding in such a case are my decades of work as a family counselor, and (on a slightly more personal basis) my experiences with, and empathy for my mentally-ill daughter. 

Speaking of experiences, following are a couple of poignant stories to which I have been exposed during my tenure on the good earth.

(to be continued)

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

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CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD. Pt. 2

It was during the mid-90’s that my daughter, Mary, was placed in the G. Pierce Woods mental facility in Arcadia, Florida. The background is far too long and tedious to enumerate here, but suffice it to say that Mary had been exhibiting some bizarre symptoms and behavior, and had previously been diagnosed with Schizophrenia. 

My wife and I would drive the hundred miles to Arcadia once a month, and spend time with her. We’d sometimes drive off campus, as Mary would get a day pass, and we’d frequent a particular restaurant there. Curiously enough, in this town which “boasted” a large mental facility, every painting was askew; hanging crooked on the restaurant wall.

One weekend as we drove up Mary was standing on the parking lot curb. But she was not alone, as she normally was. No, alongside her was this great hulk of a fellow, obviously another mental patient, well over six feet, and rather overweight.

My first inclination was, “Oh, no. I didn’t come here to entertain, nor spend any time with this guy,” and the anger seethed within me. My wife and I dismounted the car, and walked the few steps towards Mary and “Bob,” (as in “What About Bob”)? You would have to know the movie.

Mary introduced me to Bob and he immediately proceeded to share the most heart-rending little story.

“No one ever comes to see me. Not my daddy, not my mother, not my friends… Would you hug me?”

Uh!!! Never in my life had I heard such a sad plea. And as the result of that poignant plea… everything changed. My entire mindset metamorphosed. 

And right there before God and everybody, as the phrase goes,

… I wrapped that big lug of a fella in my arms.

And I think for that one moment in time, Bob realized that someone took time to care, to love and empathize with his plight, and for that one moment of time I think that Bob must have experienced the smallest measure of peace and contentment.

(to be continued)
 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

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CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD. Pt. 3

The year was 1975 and I worked as a manager for a nationally known shoe corporation. The State was Alabama and I managed a lease unit in a large department store.

My shoe department happened to be in the back of the store, and I usually found myself either waiting on customers or putting out stock. One day a middle-aged man, and his almost grown son walked up as I was walking towards the front of the store. And the father asked where he could find a bathroom. I motioned towards the back wall, and said something innocuous, and went about my business.

If I had conjured up a thousand possibilities, I would have never dreamed up what happened next. I finished my chore, whatever it was, and headed back to my shoe department. I remembered something I had to do in the stockroom, and entered through an open doorway.

Suddenly before me, in all his glory, was that same retarded young man…urinating on the floor of my stockroom. Well, it didn’t take me long to scream at him… “Stop, what are you doing? This isn’t the bathroom!”

Apparently, the boy’s father had directed his son towards the back of the store, and the young fella headed towards a door he thought was the bathroom.

I scared the young lad badly. Of that I’m quite sure. He lost no time “zipping up,” and getting out of there. And I was left to clean up the yellow, liquid mess.

I’ve thought of that incident many times since then. I’m afraid I wasn’t very charitable to the boy. And I’m a little ashamed of my words, and actions that day.

That young man is bound to be pushing fifty now, and I think of him sometimes. If I could speak to him again, I’d apologize for my sharp admonition. He was just “doing what comes naturally,” and, considering his mental challenges, he had made an honest mistake.

In an age in which a controversy exists about where one should properly "do their business" this particular story adds an historic personal twist to the matter. At least this young fella didn't know any better.

There are those among us who don’t function, who don’t operate as we do. It pays to be charitable. We have so much of which to be thankful.

(to be continued)

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin

CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD. Pt. 4

Several years ago, when I served as staff counselor of a large church in an adjacent town, I was seated near the back of the sanctuary during the Sunday morning worship service. The congregation was singing “Crown Him With Many Crowns” or “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” or a similar hymn, when suddenly a middle-aged woman, a couple rows in front of me, stood up from her pew, laid down on the aisle carpet, and began rolling sideways. 

Left and right. Left and right. After a full minute or more, she got up and proceeded to run in circles around the inside perimeter of the sanctuary. As I recall, a couple of deacons caught up with her, and escorted her out the door. The pastor missed the entire scenario, as he hadn’t yet walked in.

A week later, ‘Sally’ began bringing a baby to church with her. She would sit on the right hand section of pews, center and on the aisle. She was a very attentive mother. Sally would occasionally look down at the infant, rearrange the small cover, and smile. Strangely enough, the baby never moved, nor emitted the slightest sound during the worship service.

After perhaps three weeks, and near the end of the service, our pastor invited anyone with a need for prayer to come forward. Sally was quickly on her feet, and carrying her baby towards the front of the sanctuary. I watched with interest, as the pastor, and an accompanying deacon, made their way down the line of people stretched across the altar area. They stopped in front of each individual; extending their hands and praying. They finally reached Sally. 

I noticed the lady mouthing something to the pastor, and dropping her eyes to look at her precious child. The pastor reached out and took the baby from her, and then… he grinned a broad, almost quizzical grin, but quickly suppressed it.

Even from where I sat, I could see the baby was a

… doll. 

It was obvious that the minister didn’t want to unnecessarily embarrass Sally, (if indeed she was capable of being embarrassed). And with this, he breathed a short “baby healing prayer,” and quickly moved to the next supplicant. 

Having done her maternal duty, the attentive mother appeared relieved, covered her ‘daughter’s’ face with a pink baby blanket, walked back up the aisle, and out the door. 

I never saw her again.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

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RED & YELLOW. BLACK & WHITE. Pt. 1

After high school I attended a small parochial college, and a full four decades later I was privileged to join the faculty of the same school; which had, by now, metamorphosed into a university with a student body that had grown by a factor of 10, and a faculty which had grown at a proportionately higher rate.

As part and parcel of one chapter in our textbook, I was called upon to teach a segment on “The American Melting Pot.” The implication of the chapter was that ‘the good ole USA’ is, among the nations of the world, the most diverse country on the face of the earth. Every race, nationality, religion and creed exists here. As The Great Seal of the United States and our coinage attest, “E Pluribus Unum.” Out of Many. One.

Since my tenure as an adjunct professor at my alma mater something has come to light which has offered me a whole new perspective on that “Out of Many, One” adage; so familiar to anyone who has ever pulled a penny from their pocket.

While I had always been very much aware of my European heritage, as the bulk of white Americans hail from such ancestral lands as England, Ireland, Scotland, France and Germany, since my mother and I received the results of our recent DNA tests a wealth of unexpected information has come to light.

It seems that in addition to each and every nation I alluded to in the previous paragraph, my ancestral lineage includes a small representation of (drum roll) Spanish, Arab, Jewish and Sub-Saharan (Negro) bloodlines. 

(to be continued) 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin

RED & YELLOW. BLACK & WHITE. Pt. 2

To say I was surprised, (and pleasantly so) would be an gross understatement. For you see, as a student of not only genealogy, but history, I found myself reflecting not only on my geographical origins, and the myriad of people groups from which I sprang, but the assorted histories of the lands from which my ancestors hailed.
Any number of historical circumstances and consequences immediately spring to mind.

The Fall of Jerusalem and the Diaspora. The Roman Conquest of England and surrounding territories. The Crusades. William the Conqueror. The Magna Carta. The Slave Trade and the subjugation and forced exportation of millions of hapless native peoples. The Potato Famine. The IRA and their decades old rebellion against the British. The 3rd Reich and the wholesale slaughter of the Jewish people.

They are me

I am them

I am the living, breathing, moving incarnation of multiplied billions of my multi-ethnic grandparents. I am the exquisite combination of each and every one of these who preceded me, the receiver of their legacies, and heir of their hopes and dreams. He in whom they have invested their expectations for the future, and the entity by which they have any further potential to ‘leave something behind.’

(to be continued) 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin

RED & YELLOW. BLACK & WHITE. Pt. 3

I was just watching the closing 1985 segment of Richard Dawson’s final appearance on the game show, “Family Feud.” 

He has set aside five minutes to speak to the audience and the viewers at home. Richard proceeds to thank his producers and directors and the staff who operate so diligently behind the scenes. He makes a reference to some who have felt it was a bit tacky for him to have done all that kissing of the female contestants over the years. I admit, I was one of them. (The opinionator, not the contestant). 

As he closes, our very British game show host says something that ‘rings a bell’ with me.

“We have tried to throw open this program to all kinds of people. When I came on board I was determined that anyone who could play the game was welcome on this show. Your common, everyday folks. Those in wheelchairs and the blind. People of all colors and creeds. 

And I think of something my mother once told me back in the 40’s. England was mobilizing for war, and as a little fellow I recall seeing men and women of different colors going off to the front. It hadn’t occurred to me ‘til then that my country was so diverse.
And when I mused about this to my mother, she said, 

‘Well now Richard, have you ever seen a rainbow?’ 

To which I responded, 

‘Yes, of course, mum.’ 

And my mother continued, 

‘And isn’t it made up of the most lovely colors imaginable?’ 

To which I again responded with an affirmative. 

And I will never forget her closing shot. 

‘Well, I’d never presume to tell the One who made the rainbow what color to make little children.’”

And our very British game show host closed with,

“What she said to me that day changed my whole life.”

Needless to say, the results of my DNA test, (and Mr. Dawson’s poignant reminder) put a whole new spin on E Pluribus Unum. Out of Many, 

… One.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin

WILL THE REAL VON TRAPP FAMILY PLEASE STAND UP. Pt. 1

Who among us hasn’t seen, “The Sound of Music” starring Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews? I must have viewed it eight or ten times over the last few decades, and it just never gets old.

I recently became aware of the passing of the oldest of the cinematic von Trapp children; who literally a billion of us have come to know and love. Months later, I learned that the actress, Charmian Carr, who was 23 at the time of the filming, had authored a book about her experiences in the making of the award winning movie entitled, “Forever Liesl.” I just recently purchased it. From the first page the book has been nothing less than compelling. 

The following passage highlights where I hope to soon take you.

“It was December of 1998. We were all in New York to be honored by the State of Salzburg. The von Trapps were to be awarded the Golden Decoration of Honor for the many ways in which their family had helped Austria, and we seven were to receive the Mozart Medal for our part in spreading the von Trapps’ story worldwide.

In all the years since we made the film, I had never met our real-life counterparts, only their step-mother, Maria Augusta Kutschera von Trapp, whom Julie Andrews portrayed in the film.

I never saw the real Maria again before she died in 1987. Now that the moment had finally arrived that I would meet the ‘children’ we’d portrayed, it was daunting. It felt as if we were imposters. For more than three decades, the seven of us had been applauded for being von Trapps, and suddenly we were faced with the real ones.

We all retreated to our hotel rooms surprised at how awkward that first moment felt, and wondering why we found it so hard to speak to them.”

(to be continued) 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin

WILL THE REAL VON TRAPP FAMILY PLEASE STAND UP. Pt. 2

“At midday, the seven of us who’d been in the film were invited to join the vice-governor of Salzburg for lunch in the hotel’s restaurant. As we were led to our table, we passed by the von Trapp (now aged) children sitting at their own. Once again, we all glanced at each other, but no words were spoken.

Finally, Maria von Trapp, the younger Maria, now 84, strode across the room to our table. I looked into her eyes, afraid and hopeful at the same time, as she reached out her hand to me, saying, ‘I felt I should come meet you at last.’

I jumped from my seat. ‘I’m so glad you did!’ I gestured towards my film siblings. ‘We’ve all been so nervous.’ 

 

‘We have too.’ She grinned. Suddenly her arms were encircling me, and my arms instantly went around her. The embrace overwhelmed me. 

‘You are beautiful,’ she said to me, smiling. ‘It means so much for me to meet you.’

‘And I you,’ I whispered.

One by one her brothers and sisters joined us. The awkwardness was past, and now we were huddling close together, talking and laughing, reveling in the connection between us, as if at a family reunion-which in a very true sense, is exactly what it was.

I hadn’t expected the sensation. I hadn’t expected to feel I was coming home. For the first time, I realized how much I owed this lovely woman and her family.

‘This is incredible,’ Maria said, reaching out to hug me again. As I held on to her, I could not help wondering about the forces that had brought us together. We were strangers, born thousands of miles apart, separated by generations and events, yet we were bound to each other, like relatives long lost. I tightened my embrace and thought back on how it all began.”

(to be continued) 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 48. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include the credit line, above 

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 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin