THE IT FACTOR [Su, 9-27-26]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of An Old Man—THE IT FACTOR [Su, 9-27-26]

 

[Remember that this column makes no claim to be anything but the personal reflections of an old man who is still trying to understand life.]

Q stopped by some while back, with his wife, Susan. We had not seen them for 15 years, and it was 45 years since we were both professionals in the same town. As they were leaving, he said something that has puzzled me greatly. I’m going to try to understand it by telling you…

Well, first, lest I seem too full of myself—which is undoubtedly true, anyway—I shall provide evidence to the contrary of what Q said.

When I was a seminary student, I was slightly older than most of the students, and a lot more experienced. Most of them had come to seminary right after graduating college. I’d had preaching appointments for five years. I had dropped out of high school to work in a factory. I’d been fired as director of a community center for letting black kids come in. I was married, with children. I was serving a full-time church while commuting four hours [round trip] to seminary each day.

Through all those experiences, I had learned that other people wanted to tell their stories, but they didn’t listen well to the stories of others. So I was used to letting everyone talk, while I kept silent, and then summarizing all the stories in an understandable form, so that we could move on. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing.

I did that one day in a Christian Education class. Can’t remember what we were talking about, but I remember the reaction of one of my classmates: “You do that all the time. You act like you have some prerogative to wrap up everything the way you want it. You wait while the rest of us stumble around and then swoop in with your deep voice and act like you’re the last word. You think you’re smarter than everybody else. Others of us are smart enough to…”

He went on at some length, rather indignantly. I waited for one of the others in the class to come to my defense. I waited for the professor. No one said anything. I was mortified. Mostly because I realized he was right. I apologized to him, and to the class.

I overlearned my lesson from that class. It was like the Catholic girl who was dating a Jewish boy. Her parents said she could not marry him unless he converted. So one night, she decided she would have it out with him. She came home crying. “Are you crying because he wouldn’t convert?” “No, because I overdid it, and now he wants to be a priest.”

I stopped acting like I was smarter than everybody else. I became humble Casper Milquetoast.

Ten years later, I was in a graduate school discussion group. At break time, I hurried to the restroom and was ensconced in a stall when I heard the others in the class coming in. [Yes, it was an all-male class.] They were talking about someone. “Where does he get off with this poor country boy bull?” “Yeah, he’s smarter than the rest of us put together.” “Yeah, he…” Whoever it was sounded like a real jerk. Oops. Once again, great chagrin; I realized they were talking about me.

I had switched from being smarter than everybody else to being just a poor, dumb country boy. Same thing, actually.

So don’t take what Q said too seriously…

Q was not a member of my church, or any church, but we knew each other pretty well, and respected each other greatly. He’d taught and coached my daughters in high school. We’d been involved in some of the same issues. As he was leaving our house on that recent visit, he said to me: “You were so important in that town, because they were so conservative, and you stood for so many unpopular causes, but you got away with it, because you have IT. Not the kind of IT my daughter has, but you’ve got IT. I can’t describe it, but you’ve got IT.”

[I’ve known his daughter since she was born, about 45 years ago. She is a sparkling blond TV personality whose smile lights up the room. I definitely do not have her kind of IT!]

Well, heck, we’re out of time. I guess we’ll never know why Q thinks I had IT, unless I take this up again in the next column…

John Robert McFarland