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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 Bill McDonald, PhD
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