REMEMBER, YOU HAVE PEOPLE HERE. Pts. 1-4

I first visited Washington, D.C. and New York City, New York in 1967; as the result of my high school senior trip. I, subsequently, lived and worked near Washington, D.C., but it could be said that my visit to NYC was “the trip of a lifetime;” (unless, of course, I manage to make it back there again. If so, I will be forced to characterize it as a different kind of “senior trip”).

I admit to a couple of ancient and modern connections, respectively, to New York. (The state not the city). You see, my 2x great Grandfather spent a little time in the prison which once “graced” the fair city of Elmira. As a transplanted Yankee “born and bred” in Maine, he’d taken up residence in Georgia before the war. Finding himself in the midst of the Confederate States of America, he was compelled to fight for a country and cause which it is doubtful he supported. Ultimately, old Isaac R. was captured and spent the duration of the conflict in an 8x10 cell. (I can only imagine how popular he must have been among the Union prison guards; every time he opened his mouth and that Maine accent rose to the fore).

A century and a half later my wife and I celebrated our 25^th wedding anniversary, and we chose to celebrate it in Niagara Falls, NY (and) Niagara Falls, Canada. Need I mention, it was an absolutely wonderful visit, and one which we will never forget.

Much has changed about New York City since I drove its streets and walked its sidewalks. Not the least of which, the property surrounding the World Trade Center. For you see, in the late 60’s not even the foundation of those massive buildings had been laid in place. And, of course, who will ever forget the infamous day in September, 2001 when this same location was laid almost as bare as it had been when I first visited the city. Of course, an impressive, new building has recently climbed its way upwards to the remarkable height of 1776 feet; perhaps the most significant number in our young democracy.

From that time to this very moment, I have maintained an almost ethereal connection to “The Big City.”

For you see, within a scant five years of my graduation I met him. Luis Pagan. Luis was a private in the Marine Corps and stationed at Quantico, Virginia. I was an Air Force reservist at the time, the young Marine attended church with my wife and me, and our military background and Christian profession became the rich loom of a close-knit friendship between us. Before we moved from Virginia to Alabama, however, Luis received orders for Japan. I have often attempted to remember from whence location in NYC the young man sprang, but to no avail.

All I can tell you now is we have long since lost contact with one another, and I am sorry for it. At this juncture, Luis would be almost as old as me, (and hopefully as content with the life he has lived).

Pt. 2

About the time the mid-90’s rolled around, I was on the verge of completing my Master’s Degree, and my daughter, Kristen, was finishing high school. And speaking of “the trip of a lifetime” her high school band was invited to march in the Macy’s Day Parade. And amazingly, wonderfully the Winter Haven High School Band was afforded the privilege of leading the Christmas Parade of all Christmas parades; as it made its way down the streets of Manhattan.

While we have long since misplaced that old VHS tape, we will always remember our heart-felt pride, as we watched our dear daughter high step the streets of New York; her trusty clarinet in hand and the reed tucked firmly between her lips.

A decade later I met Jane; a precious young Jewish girl who attended my old alma mater, Southeastern University, and whom I had the privilege of serving as a professor in Educational Psychology. It was my first of seven semesters at the school. Three memorable years, but few students as memorable as Jane. And I will always recall one outstanding day during that first semester which out shown every day which followed it for its uniqueness.

At this stage I cannot recite every detail of the experience, but I suppose I had asked Jane to either open or close the class in prayer. Suddenly, as my dear student slowly began, her slightly accented English metamorphosed into what seemed to be a heavenly language, (or unknown tongue). To be sure Jane may have been speaking in Hebrew, one of her native tongues, and though I don’t speak that language, having heard it in the past I think I would have recognized the sound of it. (I recently conferred with my former student and she recalled having prayed a long prayer that day, doesn’t remember having lapsed in ‘tongues,’ but acknowledges it is certainly possible).

Years passed, and as with Luis, I lost all contact with my former student, and though I reached out to her by way of the only email address I still maintained, my attempts went unrewarded.

Until…

I ‘played’ with any number of spellings of her surname on a particular social media site. For you see, her moniker was unusual and the spelling difficult.

And then a full decade after contact was broken,

…There she was again.

Pt. 3

At the top of her social media page, a silhouette of a dancing girl; surrounded by any number of birds in flight. And beneath the photograph, a homemade maxim.

“A Jewish girl who's  been forever captured, and set free by God.”

There could be no doubt. I had found her again.

Of course, I expressed my joy with having renewed our friendship, and Jane reciprocated in kind.

And it was through Jane that I met her friend, EM, a lovely African-American girl.

Odd, that even as the result of social media, and having never met someone, spiritual (and altogether platonic) connections are formed; connections which have the potential of lasting a lifetime.

Both Jane and EM are involved with teaching art in an elementary environment. I have to believe this is how they met and became fast friends.

The latter of the two and I have interacted about a multitude of things, but it seems we always come back to the topic of genealogy. We are both avid amateurs and have often dialogued about our mixed ethnicity. (As the result of a DNA test my mother accomplished two weeks before she went on to her reward, I discovered the presence of a small African-American lineage in, apparently, my grandmother’s bloodline). From my youth I have always the complexions of my forebears on our Native American heritage; an oral tradition which seems to have been a fabricated falsehood to mask the existence of “something else.”

EM has almost made me homesick for a place which I have visited, but one time in my life.

“New York, New York is an amazing place to live. There are so many people, so much to see, and so many cultures. People think it's over crowded, but that is why I like it. I don't like the feeling of walking down a street and not seeing people.”

I’m under the illusion that I might like to live there, though at this writing the possibility seems rather remote.

Pt. 4

In the past couple of weeks I was chatting with EM on the instant messaging feature of the social media site to which we each subscribe. It was at this point that my newfound friend presented my wife and I a standing invitation to visit her; should we ever find ourselves in her “neck of the woods.”

The words she used were remarkable for their tenor and construction.

“Remember that

…you have people here.”

I don’t mind saying that I was almost dumbfounded; not by the invitation, per se, but as the result of the words with which the invitation was proffered.

Have I mentioned that Jane and EM and I are Christians? (Well, we are). And I think, no, I am sure, that the bond which exists between us, (and between every other child of the Most High God) is chiefly the result of the relationship which we have previously established with His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

“Remember that you have people here.”

How absolutely precious.

How absolutely amazing.

How absolutely inviting.

Whether I come, or whether I go, or whether I ever manage to make it to New York City again in the course of my lifetime, there is one thing I know, and of which I can be sure.

My friends, I have people there.


by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 54.

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