Getting Along Well With Others

While home in Texas these last four months I’ve had plenty of reminders of who I am and from where I come. Isn’t life great that way, if we just pay attention? In the wake of our mother’s death a year ago, my sisters and I have been opening and closing closets and drawers, causing each of us to shine a light on our personal history. We’ve shared some of what we’ve rediscovered, but I’m sure we’ve guarded  some of these memories because they’re just too personal. At least, I have.

Among the mementoes that I had long ago forgotten is a slight, soft-covered yearbook of one of my years at Arnold Jr. High and a book for high school bands and choruses, sort of a who’s who, but one in which I’m sure just about any school could have paid a fee to be included.  How long ago had I abandoned them to a desk in my parents' house, to be lost among canceled checks, old holiday cards, and school art of my middle sister’s children, the only grandchildren continuing our family line?

Tucked inside this book was a letter written to my parents in 1961 by my high school journalism teacher, Mrs. Ruth Long. How strange and touching it was to read all of these years later what would be a treasure to anyone. Mrs. Long didn’t have to write that letter, but she wanted my parents to know her prediction of my future success. Harold writes well, gets along well with others, and is a good organizer. He would be an asset to his college newspaper. It could have been something written for the boy in knee pants at Ben Milam Elementary in Houston, Texas—Harold plays well in the sandbox. In either case I would be smiling in appreciation. While it may be true that we have only one chance to make a first impression, we can say a big, old THANK YOU that at least some times we have the opportunity for our merits to be observed and documented by those with whom we share this journey, those who are not family and don’t have to love us just as we are.

I taught public school for several years after graduating from college, and maybe I wrote or said something to a student or a parent that left an impression to be embraced, and to be recalled at those times when life takes a kick at our shins.  We all need those modest reminders of our value. I’ve needed it today, one of those days when I wake up, seemingly having chosen unconsciously in the night to make some poor choices. It’s been a banner day for doubting and judging, and for someone who pales at the thought of confrontation, even speaking out my distrust. As penance then for days such as these I lie awake in the middle of the night recounting the menagerie of missteps that have a hold on my ankles. They’re always worse in the middle of the night.

My maternal grandmother used an expression, “if you can’t listen, you have to feel.”  I should have a t-shirt printed honoring this truth, worn in the same spirit as one I’ve been wearing for a couple of years that gives voice to another of my claims of late, FOR SALE—ALL MY EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. Perhaps if I documented into apparel all the life lessons that would serve me well, at least I would have the opportunity to be reminded each time someone says, “I like your t-shirt.” “Isn’t that great,” I could reply, and maybe they’d want to know the story, although it may need no explanation.

As I walked back home from the movie theatre late this afternoon, choosing a longer route through the neighborhood, one I had explored earlier as a way of mapping new scenery and opportunities to get some exercise now that I’m back in Santa Fe, my old friend, the Raven, perched on a utility line as I made my way. Before I could locate his whereabouts, however, he made his presence known—KWAAK-KWAAK. Surely he sensed that I would be eager to find him and catch him with my digital camera. He’s done that to me before. I don’t know why Raven makes me smile. He is beautiful, but perhaps it’s his insistence to be noticed, really, a little bit smart-alecky. As he announces his intentions to others of his kind, perched high for any who would look to see, I like to think that he wants to remind me that I just need to be paying attention. First impressions are lasting impressions, but one can always hope for redemption.

Getting Along Well With Others—Santa Fe, New Mexico (May 3, 2008)

R. Harold Hollis