Among my favorite attributes are those
of Humbleness, Encouragement and Servant-Leadership.
The latter of the three speaks to
the quality of setting aside the time and care to mentor another human being;
the wherewithal to add something valuable to a life representing a third, and
altogether crucial variable in the mix, of course.
The other day I was scrolling
through a social media site, and ran across a video which was posted by a
friend in the Atlanta area. The film footage ran all of 12 or 15 seconds, and
depicted Lynn’s conductorial work among the youth of that area. For over many
years, she has mentored literally thousands of adolescents and adults in the
inestimably wonderful genre referred to as “Song.”
Following is a response I left
beneath the segment:
“Lynn,
when I played this short video, tears sprang to my eyes, and an involuntary sob
sprang up in my throat. I have served as a formal mentor to numerous young
people over the years, and therefore I can relate to what I viewed here in an
especial way. You have learned well from one of your early mentors. As I have
inferred in the past, Miss Clark would be inestimably proud of you, my friend.”
Miss Clark was, in the terminology
of our era, an “old maid.” She graduated from the same school in which she,
ultimately, taught. I was blessed to “sit under” her tutelage, as was Lynn, a
full half century after she walked across that familiar stage, and received her
“sheepskin.” (As a matter of fact, her faded diploma still graces the school
trophy case).
As I finished my 11th
year, and began my 12th, Miss Clark was forced to retire from
teaching, as the result of a terminal illness, and was replaced by a much
younger choral director. Though Mrs. F. was personable and adept in her chosen
field, the students who had known and loved Miss Clark were left with a
proverbial hole in their hearts, and it apparently showed in the music they
generated.
For while Miss Clark’s Summerlin
choral group had consistently rated “Superior” in the annual state contest, the
first year we were without her, we received an “Excellent” rating.
And reminiscent of that scene in the
movie, “October Sky,” in which Homer Hickam visits his teacher, Miss Riley, in
her hospital room, and shows her his prestigious science award, it is said that
in the closing weeks of Miss Clark’s life a similar thing occurred.
It seems one of our aged conductor’s students was visiting
her at home, or in a hospital room, and Miss Clark asked the inevitable
question; which begged to be answered.
“So, how did ‘we’ do at state
contest this year?”
Whether that student had prepared
herself in advance for that proverbial “elephant in the living room,” or
whether she merely possessed the insight to answer in the way she did, I cannot
say.
However, it has been reported that
“Grace,” (at least this is the name I have chosen for her) responded with,
“Well, Miss Clark, of course we
rated all “Superior’s.”
And with that, I like to think our
beloved musical mentor smiled, and that the little white lie momentarily
assuaged her pain, and helped usher her from this sphere to the next.
I have recently been exposed to a
couple of wonderful adages; (which I have made my own).
“I am planting seedlings under whose
boughs I never expect to sit.”
(and)
“My students are living messages to
a time that I will never see.”
The inestimable privilege and power
of mentoring. The indescribable wonderment of wrapping one’s mantle around the
shoulders of a younger someone, and entrusting him or her with all the future years
which have not been afforded to you.
One of my interns once gave me a
gift, among the greatest treasures I have ever received on this side of heaven,
when she said:
“Dr. Bill, I don’t want to
disappoint you. I’ll go when you can no longer go. I’ll share your message when
you are no longer able to share it. I’ll speak for you when all your speaking
is done. I’ll continue to impact lives, and teach others to do the same, long
after you have gone on to your reward.”
For there will come a time, (as it once
came to Miss Clark) when they who refer to me, and people like me, will do so
in the past tense,
“He was.”
But until then the privilege and
power of impacting those who come after us
… continues.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright Pending
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