I read Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. How sad I became when Gus McCrae died. I walked with my head facing the ground. If I found a pebble on the road in front of my home I kicked it. I forgot when it was time to fix dinner and was late in doing it.
“Why did Gus die?” I asked myself, “Why?” The children nudged one another at the dinner table. I looked at my plate and stirred the food around. Then absentmindedly I placed the dishes in the dishwasher.
The other part of my brain said, “It’s just a book. He is just a character.”
But why did he have to die…I kept asking. All to no avail. He was so kind to Lorena. Kind to the boy. Tough with mean folks. And reasonable with others. He took care of everyone.
Then Larry McMurtry came to town. No sooner had I settled in my seat in the small auditorium than a man raised his hand…”Why did you kill off Augustus McRae?” He asked.
The author answered something like, “It was time for him to go.” And then he opened his hands like there was no alternative. He didn’t feel the pain the man with the question felt or the ache in my heart. And time passed on.
However, that is when I learned this: to make a fictitious character real, the reader must hurt when the demise of the character occurs in the story.
And to this day, I still hurt.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Oprah's Last Show
I just finished watching the last Oprah show. She has given so much to the American public her influence shall be felt for many years to come. Oprah is like a wonderful teacher whose contribution to the betterment of her community is experienced by children who grew up and had children who were taught by the same teacher, and the goodness goes on and on.
And she never fails to tell you through word, action, inspirational talks…if I can do it, you can, too. Be yourself. Do your best. Be kind. Forgive because in forgiving you will be a better person. All true.
Her behavior and attitude impressed the people in high positions and the folks with little self-esteem. And that is best part of this lady, the way she treats her fellow man or woman, for as she and others have said, the years will pass and people will not remember what you wore but they will remember how you treated them.
It’s true. Your diamonds and big car may make you feel good, but if you want others to feel kindly toward you, treat them well, with respect and with interest in their well-being. They will rarely forget you.
And she never fails to tell you through word, action, inspirational talks…if I can do it, you can, too. Be yourself. Do your best. Be kind. Forgive because in forgiving you will be a better person. All true.
Her behavior and attitude impressed the people in high positions and the folks with little self-esteem. And that is best part of this lady, the way she treats her fellow man or woman, for as she and others have said, the years will pass and people will not remember what you wore but they will remember how you treated them.
It’s true. Your diamonds and big car may make you feel good, but if you want others to feel kindly toward you, treat them well, with respect and with interest in their well-being. They will rarely forget you.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Influence
When I first came to teach in this city a friend took me to a high school football game. Having just graduated from a university I had seen many a halftime show at football games during my four years in college.
However, this halftime show surprised me. A band appeared on the football field running and moving their white gloved hands in a vertical fashion. The spectators rose and loudly cheered. I, too, became excited.
A voice on the loudspeaker wailed, “The Miller High School Buccaneer Band.”
More cheers. The band performed and the crowd yelled and clapped enthusiastically.
I asked about this band, and that was when I first hear the name Eddie Galvan, the band director at Miller High.
Years later I heard his name again in the form of testimonies: A young man told me, “I was going down the wrong path when I was in high school. Mr. Galvan took me aside and told me to join the band. That was when I straightened out my life.”
A grandmother told me, “He was our musical father. He took us-many students didn’t have much-and he told us if we worked hard, we could win contests and earn awards. We believed him and it happened. I can’t even put it into words.”
I also heard the following terms: “teamwork; working hard; aiming high; we were a family.” What I was hearing was that Eddie Galvan, through his role as a band director, was teaching life skills, attitudes, and approaches that would help them succeed in the future.
Unbeknownst to us, the spectators, Eddie Galvan was doing much more than entertaining us. He was preparing the marching students for life. Thus his influence will never end.
However, this halftime show surprised me. A band appeared on the football field running and moving their white gloved hands in a vertical fashion. The spectators rose and loudly cheered. I, too, became excited.
A voice on the loudspeaker wailed, “The Miller High School Buccaneer Band.”
More cheers. The band performed and the crowd yelled and clapped enthusiastically.
I asked about this band, and that was when I first hear the name Eddie Galvan, the band director at Miller High.
Years later I heard his name again in the form of testimonies: A young man told me, “I was going down the wrong path when I was in high school. Mr. Galvan took me aside and told me to join the band. That was when I straightened out my life.”
A grandmother told me, “He was our musical father. He took us-many students didn’t have much-and he told us if we worked hard, we could win contests and earn awards. We believed him and it happened. I can’t even put it into words.”
I also heard the following terms: “teamwork; working hard; aiming high; we were a family.” What I was hearing was that Eddie Galvan, through his role as a band director, was teaching life skills, attitudes, and approaches that would help them succeed in the future.
Unbeknownst to us, the spectators, Eddie Galvan was doing much more than entertaining us. He was preparing the marching students for life. Thus his influence will never end.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Picture
It was spring and the ice and snow were but a memory. Daddy came home from the service station he owned and announced, “Mrs. McCrary is having a photographer come to her home to take her picture; since he will already be in her home she said we could send one of the children for a picture. Let’s send the youngest.”
In our small town we didn’t have a photographer. The only person I had ever seen taking pictures, besides my brother, was a man who visited our school once a year and took pictures of all the students. So it was an exciting thought.
“Esther will take Mary Helen,” Daddy said. “The photographer will be at Mrs. McCrary’s home next Wednesday at 2:00 P.M.
Mother combed Mary Helen’s hair in pigtails. Then she crisscrossed them on top of her head. Lastly, she placed two little round combs right in front of the pigtails. My little three-year old sister wore an aqua colored taffeta dress Grandmother, an excellent seamstress, had made. With her white Easter shoes on her feet, we were ready to go.
We arrived at a beautiful two-story home. I knocked and was told to come in. Down the stairs walked an elderly woman. It was just like in the movies. She greeted us warmly and asked us to sit down until the picture-taking occurred. The furniture was dark and covered in flowers. A beautiful floral rug lay on the floor. I was in another world for a moment.
In a short while the photographer asked my sister to sit in a certain pose while I waited. He snapped the picture. And we walked back home. It was much later I found out Mrs. McCrary was the mother of the famous Tex McCrary, a WWII correspondent, and later the originator of the phrase, “I like Ike”.
My sister still has the picture.
In our small town we didn’t have a photographer. The only person I had ever seen taking pictures, besides my brother, was a man who visited our school once a year and took pictures of all the students. So it was an exciting thought.
“Esther will take Mary Helen,” Daddy said. “The photographer will be at Mrs. McCrary’s home next Wednesday at 2:00 P.M.
Mother combed Mary Helen’s hair in pigtails. Then she crisscrossed them on top of her head. Lastly, she placed two little round combs right in front of the pigtails. My little three-year old sister wore an aqua colored taffeta dress Grandmother, an excellent seamstress, had made. With her white Easter shoes on her feet, we were ready to go.
We arrived at a beautiful two-story home. I knocked and was told to come in. Down the stairs walked an elderly woman. It was just like in the movies. She greeted us warmly and asked us to sit down until the picture-taking occurred. The furniture was dark and covered in flowers. A beautiful floral rug lay on the floor. I was in another world for a moment.
In a short while the photographer asked my sister to sit in a certain pose while I waited. He snapped the picture. And we walked back home. It was much later I found out Mrs. McCrary was the mother of the famous Tex McCrary, a WWII correspondent, and later the originator of the phrase, “I like Ike”.
My sister still has the picture.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
A Mother's Ears
A mother’s ears have to be attuned to many things. As she makes her way through her home she must listen for the timer in the kitchen, which will tell her the cake for the church dinner is done. She must also listen for the baby who will cry out when she wakes up from her nap. The mother listens also for the dryer buzzer, which makes an irritating sound when the clothes are dry.
Then there is the doorbell for it is the end of the month. The paperboy may be there to collect. The telephone may ring and remind the young mother of the cake she promised for the cakewalk to be held at the Halloween Carnival at the elementary school where her second grader attends.
If the door to the front bedroom opens, that might be the three year-old waking from her nap. The mom will need to rush over there to make sure she gets her to the bathroom before it is too late.
And before she knows it the young mother and wife will hear the back door open and her husband will come home for he will be through at work. Oh yes, the sounds a young mother must listen for, the sounds which signal a change or a need, call demanding her attention until the day is done. Then the house is quiet and few sounds, if any, are heard throughout the home. Time for the young mother to rest so she can begin the routine all over again tomorrow.
Then there is the doorbell for it is the end of the month. The paperboy may be there to collect. The telephone may ring and remind the young mother of the cake she promised for the cakewalk to be held at the Halloween Carnival at the elementary school where her second grader attends.
If the door to the front bedroom opens, that might be the three year-old waking from her nap. The mom will need to rush over there to make sure she gets her to the bathroom before it is too late.
And before she knows it the young mother and wife will hear the back door open and her husband will come home for he will be through at work. Oh yes, the sounds a young mother must listen for, the sounds which signal a change or a need, call demanding her attention until the day is done. Then the house is quiet and few sounds, if any, are heard throughout the home. Time for the young mother to rest so she can begin the routine all over again tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Friends
When you become old and gray you start talking about friends you have had for thirty years. That is a long time and it is normal. However, one of my sons has had a friend for thirty years, and they are just both thirty-three years old.
I remember when they used to call each other after pre-school. “You’ve got a phone call, Matt.” The other children, all teenagers, would ask me who in the world was calling their three year old brother.
“I friend from school,” I answered. Well, the years have passed and the friendship continues. College is behind them and they are doing what they love in their respective careers in different parts of the country.
But thirty years is a very long time. Imagine when they are both in their sixties and they are in lawn chairs in the backyard belonging to one of them. Perhaps they will say to their grandchildren something like: we’ve been friends for sixty years. And the grandchildren will stand their amazed at a friendship that has lasted so long. It is a pleasant thought.
I remember when they used to call each other after pre-school. “You’ve got a phone call, Matt.” The other children, all teenagers, would ask me who in the world was calling their three year old brother.
“I friend from school,” I answered. Well, the years have passed and the friendship continues. College is behind them and they are doing what they love in their respective careers in different parts of the country.
But thirty years is a very long time. Imagine when they are both in their sixties and they are in lawn chairs in the backyard belonging to one of them. Perhaps they will say to their grandchildren something like: we’ve been friends for sixty years. And the grandchildren will stand their amazed at a friendship that has lasted so long. It is a pleasant thought.
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