On Preparing

Tonight a dear friend of mine—a mentor and a teacher—retired from CSUSM. Sue Fellows, a professor of Literature and Writing Studies, bid farewell to a long and productive career. Fortunately, she has lots of friends to join her in toasting a remarkable career spent fostering creativity, critical thinking, and literary advancement.

Many of the readings tonight were quite moving. Some brought me nearly to tears, and each was a reminder of the mark Sue has made on some many lives. It has been my privilege to work with Sue not only in a student-teacher relationship, but in a professional one as well. Her input and dedication to Perigee have been instrumental in its success: though she often, selflessly, redirects the credit onto me, without Sue I doubt Perigee would have made it to the level it enjoys today.

All of which I failed to say. It isn't that I stumbled over my words. It isn't that I forgot them—perse. It's just that I didn't prepare.

I wasn't, in fact, scheduled to speak. Ha. That was my first mistake: Trusting that not being scheduled meant I wouldn't have to.

The words I wrote on my card to Sue were personal and heartfelt. When she discovers them, she will no doubt see this. Even without them she knows the esteem in which I hold her.

The words I spoke—when prompted by Jensea, my fellow Perigee editor and friend—were fine. They were succinct and emotional and entirely appropriate. Do I sound like I'm trying to convince myself?

What I mean to say is, they weren't prepared.

In this there is always a kind of electric spontaneity: an "Oh shit, is this really happening to me? Am I really here?" feeling. It's the kind of thing that makes you know you're alive, as my brother-in-law would say.

I'm not very good at the spontaneity thing yet. My father—whom I consider to be the smoothest, most enjoyable and naturally talented, orator I know—has got it down.

Then I think, maybe this is how he got his start. Maybe it isn't always about preparing; maybe preparation is a safe mediocrity. Maybe you have to burn your feet before you can cross the coals.

Mostly I think—listening to the convergence of appreciation—this is what can be done. These are the lives that can be touched, when we remain true to ourselves and true to each other. This is what life should be about.

And I am thankful.