I get the feeling she has never told that story in its entirety before. I feel a little honored that she’s sharing it with me. “What about you?” I ask. “What have you been up to?”
“At first, when he left for the Air Force, depression kept me from doing much of anything,” she says, looking down. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. In high school, I had focused only on him. I hadn’t really thought about me, what I wanted other than being married to him and having kids down the road. My mom pushed me into getting a job, which brought me out of my isolation and depression ditch. I started as a hostess at Healthy Choices Dining, which had just opened up at the time. I’ve moved up to waitress and made new friends.”
She adopts a less robotic, more intent voice. “I ended up hanging out a lot in the kitchen, watching the chef. He noticed my interest and ever since he’s been awesome, teaching me all kinds of things about the nature of different foods, how they go together, how to bring out the flavor, on and on. Next fall, I’m starting at the community college in their chef program.” Looking satiated, she says, “Enough about me. What are you doing these days, Chelsea?”
“Well, I have a boyfriend who’s a senior at Stone Creek and wants to farm and refocus the Farmers’ Co-op to a real cooperative and expand it to distribute local farmers’ products. I’m living in Charlottesville right now.” I want to be “real” with her, not just share the superficial stuff. “My most exciting activity is learning to dance, whirling dervish style. UVA classes haven’t been too motivating, until the last month. A professor is encouraging me and I’m developing an interest in psychology.”
Glitz shows no interest in the whirling dervish stuff. “I heard about the whole King Corn thing,” she says. “Good they were chased out of town. My friend the chef is very excited about the new possibilities of fresh food from local farms, sold at a reasonable price and conveniently delivered. As for you, psychology is not a surprise. At Hilltop you were always so good with people, helping them by listening to them.”
I couldn’t even help myself; how is it possible I helped anyone else? Laughing, I say, “You know, the big joke is people major in psychology to figure out their own problems.”
“It would have helped us both to do some of that figuring out in high school, huh?” She sighs. “I have one more thing to tell you.”
My fear antenna goes up. I have no idea why.
“After graduation I ran into a girl who dated a jock at Hilltop when we were there,” Glitz says. “When the girl realized what a self-absorbed loser he was, she broke up with him. Before that, though, he was really high one night and started crying, mumbling some story about a queer named Adrian. He said he and a couple of buddies followed Adrian and his golden retriever one day when he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail. At an overlook they caught up with him. After hassling him, one of the other bullies grabs the dog’s collar and Adrian lunges toward the guy, trips on a rock, and falls off the ledge. The dog jumps off the overlook after him and lands next to him way below. The three bullies panic and run, saying nothing to anyone.”
I’m holding my breath for a long, long time.
Star Tech
“I was accepted to MIT and roomed with my best friend,” Star Tech tells me first thing.
“Sounds like your dream come true,” I say.
“That’s what everybody says. But, lately, I’m not so sure.”
“Why’s that?”
“I haven’t really told anybody, even my best friend, but I’m not really happy.”
I’m surprised. “What’s going on?”
“The classes at MIT are really hard. Turns out I’m not as smart as I thought I was. There’s a lot of pressure, constant work. And for me, it gets confused with my personal life. I really want to look good to my friend. What he thinks of me matters, a lot. He thinks I just get lazy sometimes and pushes me to snap to. But I’m not as good as he is, can’t do what he can. And, lately … I wonder if I really want to be in the circuit of next-stage elite computer design. Maybe it’s not for me.
“So, you’re taking some space to figure it out?”
He shakes his head. “Not enough space, or time, or focus. I’ve developed pretty bad stomach ulcers.”
“Ouch! You remember Adrian? He felt confused in high school. Hilltop just boxed him in more and was no help to him. Seems like maybe you’re experiencing that at MIT.”
“You mean the gay guy who was constantly bullied and committed suicide? I’m definitely not like him.”
North Face Dude
“Hey, Country Girl, heard you’re at UVA. What sorority?”
“I didn’t pledge.”
“Too bad.” He looks genuinely disappointed. “My KA brothers are my world.”
“How so?”
“They’ve got my back. Help me with everything, like meeting girls, knowing what the ladies like …” He lifts an eyebrow. “Also, how to totally chill, into a zone of totally letting go—induced by the spirits, of course, and sometimes uplift via script.”
“And academics?”
“Oh, yeah, they help with that, too. We have huge computer files of previous tests, organized by professor, for most every class. Also, notes taken by frat brothers in previous years, so we don’t even need to go to class.”
“Your grades …?”
He rolls his eyes. “They’re fine. Not super, but I get by. Besides, that’s not the important thing for my future. I meet KA alumni who are successful in all kinds of businesses. They tell me I have a job at their firm, if I want, when I graduate. I am all set.”
“Is there a particular area of business that interests you?”
“Not really. I’m flexible. Management jobs are pretty much the same, regardless of type of business.”
He had no questions for me beyond the tribe I pledged.
After those interviews I revert back to patterns I thought I had outgrown. Like holing up in my bedroom at my parents’ house eating a quart of cookie monster ice cream in one sitting. As always, my dogs comfort me in my pit of despair. They’re much better than pills, cuddling up to me, letting me pet them until I realize the numbness in my hands has dissipated. I can only hope the numbness of my heart will dissipate soon as well.
I want to talk with Sean about Adrian and what Ms. Carter and Glitz told me. But I’m not ready yet. I need to feel more centered first. Not just regarding whether I think what Glitz said was true or not but in terms of how Adrian impacted both of us.
I make a special trip to Charlottesville for a “turning” lesson. On the drive there, the radio station plays that iconic high school graduation time song, “Time of Your Life.” I always hated that song because to me it sounded so nostalgic for the good old days in high school. Listening carefully to the lyrics now, however, I realize the depiction is full of conflicts: changes and choices vs. time directs you where to go; don’t ask why—lessons are learned in time; unpredictable things happen that are out of your control so just make the best of things; there are the good memories of friends but also the scars you keep from the experience. I couldn’t hear or understand any of that when I was in the fog of Hilltop, but it resonates now.
It’s a relief to arrive at the Charlottesville community center and be among my grounded whirling dervish companions. In the midst of dancing, I feel a tingling at the back of my skull and hear myself silently saying, “Uncover goodness and love everywhere.”
Remembering the moment, driving home, I think, But I don’t know how. Shifting to beginner’s mind, I realize, I can learn. I now have a purpose. Not unlike my young days building a community by peopling dirt villages and caves or, later, uncovering past civilization in Italy and signs of meaning in their lives. I am a listener who wants to find the goodness in me and help other people find it in themselves.
CHIEF
First Tuesday in June, graduation week, I have to deliver the hardest message of my life. Actually, there are no have-tos in life. I choose this approach in order to earn resp
ect for what I preach. I need to be open, for my benefit as well as that of this graduating class, which has brought such joy into my life—not through their antics but their courage to grow into themselves.
As I approach the auditorium stage to address the seniors first thing Tuesday morning before graduation, I hear music from an ad hoc band of seniors—they’re singing “Hail to the Chief.” Everyone stands, laughing and finger-snapping. Then comes a chant of “S-C-H, S-C-H, S-C-H,” to the rhythm of the more traditional “U-S-A” chant. Okay, maybe it’s their antics too. They have such a profound aliveness.
I step to the microphone grinning. “How can I top that welcome? Maybe by saying, you got it wrong. You folks are the ones to be hailed today, the rest of the week, and at graduation Saturday.”
A trumpet plays a few bars of “Time of Your Life.”
I laugh. “Seriously, I hope you’ve had an opportunity to analyze the lyrics of that song. It’s a meme for growing-up conflicts in high school.” I take a moment to look out at the sea of students before me, intentionally changing the mood in the auditorium. “On behalf of all the staff here at SCHS, I want to thank you for the time of our lives. We believed in you, all of you individually and together, and you demonstrated by rising to expectations that our faith was warranted. Your enthusiasm has revitalized us in our chosen profession. You have increased our moral certainty that young people want, and deserve, to take charge of their own learning and life.”
The students all start finger snapping, and it goes on for minutes. Some stand and add a new gesture, raising a real or imaginary hat off their heads and gesturing toward me.
“I could go on and on with instances of your inspiration to us,” I say when the snapping dies down. “As you know well, I often go on and on when speaking. Not today, though. So, let me just cite one example of your spirit inspiring an old man. Your recent field day at the middle schools showed your joyful compassion to those kids and warmed my heart. The force awakens.”
More finger snapping. I motion hats off to them, in all directions.
“This is the last time we’ll gather together, just us. I’ll miss our time together. And out of respect for the openness you have displayed with me these last four years, I want to tell you directly some hard news. I have cancer.”
Gasps and looks of alarm spread through the audience.
I blunder on. “It is a serious kind that can be treated, but will likely be terminal.”
Now there is total silence and intense focus on me.
“For a time, I can continue on in the work I love. I wanted to deliver my news directly, honestly, to thank you all in person for making my life worth living during these years we’ve spent together. I definitely want to keep in touch with the great adventures you folks will have in the coming years. Please keep me posted.” I feel tears coming, and I breathe a couple of times to keep them from surfacing. “I need to leave for a bit so I can tell the other classes my news. I want as many people as possible to hear it directly from me. But I’ll be back in a little while to check in on what I’m sure will be a joyful planning for graduation day presentations.”
I quickly exit the stage.
Later, I’m told by a counselor who remained at the senior meeting what transpired after my departure. Sean went to the microphone and suggested they all move to their senior “home,” the library, so they could move around and be with each other instead of being restrained by auditorium seating. Some students went to the outside courtyard between the library and cafeteria. It seems the informal discussions, not entered by staff, revolved around sharing experiences students have had with me.
Many students asked teachers and counselors if they knew any more than I had announced at the assembly. The staff replied honestly, saying I had told them the exact same thing yesterday afternoon, adding only some logistics for next year. I will work half time with the two middle schools to align expectations for their students with what we are doing at the high school. Ms. Jordan is to fill in half time at the high school, assuming some of my responsibilities.
Sean’s presidential advisory committee gathers and makes a decision for altering the schedule of activities for the rest of the day.
I return to the auditorium after speaking with the freshman, sophomore, and junior class meetings, and the seniors all reassemble there. Then they present me with a gift that has apparently been in the works for months. Seniors have been knocking on doors of businesses, the colleges, community organizations, and a few individual homes of people of means. The result of their work is an endowment for a “Chief” scholarship, which will be awarded each year to a graduating senior in pursuit of a dream.
Sean recognizes Daniel’s special efforts, who trained seniors in salesmanship. Seems his major training advice was, “Speak from the heart.”
Thunderous finger snapping.
Later, the seniors want to attend club/lunch, to show leadership in dealing with my hard news.
The seniors use the rest of the day, and three subsequent days and apparently nights, to work on their small group performances. I have a feeling, despite their pledge to finish class projects and senior tests before working on performances, they have been working on their performances via websites for months. That was one reason I made my announcement today, knowing they had compelling activity to throw themselves into.
Carol, the Superintendent of Schools for the county, drops by to see me this afternoon, aware of my agenda for the day. She recruited me for this job, knowing from a twenty-two-year friendship what she would get—someone driven to do the right thing for kids, negotiate through the difficulties, for little pay.
“Hey, boss,” I greet her when she walks through the door. “You’re a welcome sight at the end of a rough two days. Since you can’t pay me more without an act of Congress, how about a hug from an old friend?”
The hug lasts much longer than usual.
I worry Carol may lose her composure. I rush to direct the conversation, saying, “You haven’t dropped by in a long time. Let’s see … the last time was during the King Corn drama. You told me to keep supporting the students, and let me know someone important had my back and was working to see I didn’t get fired.” I raise my eyebrows in “do tell all” fashion as I settle into my beaten-up but comfy office chair.
“You know I was working with the school board to prop them up,” Carol says, taking a cue from me and sitting down as well. “If any firing was going to take place, they were the ones who would have to do it. I wasn’t worried about them unless some other power really leaned hard on them—someone who could make it miserable for school funding or whatever.”
The last statement surprises me. “Like state funding for the schools? The governor leaning on the school board?”
She nods. “The governor was wavering at one point. Want to know who came to your rescue? Our newspaper editor. Frank organized regional bigwigs in the governor’s political party to say they would not support the wannabe guy running to succeed the governor unless talk of firing you stopped immediately. This region is too important in elections for a governor to bet against the local power brokers. But you know, Frank would never have stuck his neck out unless he knew he had a broad base of support in the community.”
That comment gives me a deep feeling of accomplishment, sorely needed to keep me going in these difficult days.
“The real turning point in Frank’s eyes was how you reached out to the Hardee’s eight. Everyone knows those guys are die-hard traditionalists. And he was amazed how you brought everyone into the school—Pastor Moore inspiring students to do community service work; county people working on school planning groups; parents observing classrooms; the push for sustainable farming; and even getting Frank himself to advise the school newspaper staff.”
“I think the whole community turned a corner standing up to the King Corn threat,” I say.
Nodding strongly in agreement, Carol laughs and says, “I was amazed at how restrained you wer
e in taking no position. Remaining neutral is not your usual style, my friend.”
“Just proves I can shut up when required,” I say with a laugh.
“Switching to a related subject,” Carol says, “things are looking great with getting an expedited School Administrator degree for Ms. Jordan. She has impeccable academic credentials. There are a couple more layers of university bureaucracy to work through, but I’m positive it’s going to work out.”
“Thanks, Carol. Her leadership will be important for continuity.” I lean forward in my chair. “The faculty reaction to my news yesterday afternoon was very supportive. Rather than panicking about their positions or the chaos that could ensue under a new leader, they were quick to reassure me they are never going backward. All the changes we’ve made here have brought their teacher instincts back to life. They expressed confidence in Stone Creek’s future without knowing who might be principal down the road. Of course, my announcement that Ms. Jordan will act as principal half time hinted at what kind of transition will take place, and I’m sure that helped. They seem genuinely happy about her new role.”
“I’m so glad people are responding in a compassionate way,” Carol says. “You deserve it.”
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