Click on 2015 in the index on the right of this blog. Next, click on the title of my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You." All my blog titles for 2015 will appear in the index.
As I sit here pecking out one letter after another, word after word, I am also watching a marathon broadcast of The (entire) Twilight Zone series of b&w television segments. Well, to be fair, this time around I have watched roughly 10, maybe 12 of the total of perhaps 150 half-hour segments which have aired on a 24 hour basis over the past few days.
One of my
favorites of all time just ran.
“The
Changing of the Guard”
In this
segment an aged professor (portrayed by Donald Pleasance) is given the shaft, I
mean involuntarily retired; having taught three generations of boys over the
course of half a century. As a result, after returning home, and finding himself unable to sleep, he stumbles out into the snow.
And as he
shuffles across the green, and into his old classroom, he speaks aloud.
“My life has
amounted to absolute nothing. I have taught a bunch of dunderheads who left my
presence with nothing more than a cranium full of air. I have taught by rote,
and my teaching has left little, or no impression upon the hundreds of boys who
passed through this classroom. I came here with nothing, and I am leaving
nothing of any import behind.”
I can
relate.
While I am
so often expectant, hopeful and encouraged, there are times when I feel morose
about my own value to the world, and whether or not I will leave anything of
any real substance behind.
(Though I have) I
like to remind myself, counseled thousands, taught hundreds and mentored
dozens. (But that is
not to say I have made all that much difference in lives, or that I have lived
a life of impact).
Lately, I
have felt very much like that elderly professor, (though allow me to avoid the details. I will leave it to your imagination).
But to
hearken back to the “Changing of the Guard” broadcast.
As the
segment ends, and as the professor contemplates his seeming lack of value to
the world, suddenly the empty room is filled with the ghosts of school days
gone by.
One after
the other steps forward, and introduces himself to their former professor.
“I’m Alan
Guthison. I never forgot the prose and poems you shared with us, and the
courage your words instilled in me. I died on the beaches of Normandy. I was
posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for falling on a grenade;
so that others might live.”
(and)
“I’m James
Bledsoe. You may remember me. I researched the properties of radioactivity, and
died recently of over-exposure to gamma rays. I can’t tell you how precious the
year I spent in your classroom was to me, and how you inspired me to do great
things.”
And one by
one, they step forward, and share their thoughts and thanks with the humble
professor.
And it is
because I am convinced that
… “My
students are living messages to a time that I will never see,”
(like the professor) my heart is revived, and I continue.
I am so
often brought back from the brink of a negative mindset and abject hopelessness
by the deeds and assurances of those whom I have counseled, mentored, and
influenced for good and for God.
One in
particular shared such inestimably precious words with me I could not help but
be inspired and encouraged.
“Dr. Bill, I
don’t want to disappoint you. I will speak for you when you can no longer
speak. I’ll go for you when you can no longer go. I will impact lives in your
name, after you have gone on to your reward, and raise up others to take our
place.”
In spite of
any emotion, and any evidence to the contrary I will stay the course, and I
will continue to plant seedlings under whose shade I never expect to sit.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending
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