McCullough High Class of '82

 

Hayter’s article for Oct 30, 2022

“The way we were? I don’t think so.” 

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t care for High School reunions. I found that out when I attended the 20^-year reunion for Pasadena High School’s Class of ‘67. After they had matured, I didn’t care so much for my friends.   

I did agree to attend three reunions for some of the kids I taught. The most recent one was last week. It was for the McCullough High School  Class of ’82. 

Some of you may not realize it, but in 1982 McCullough was still a high school. Later it became a junior high and now it’s a 9^th-grade campus. During my first two years as a teacher, I had junior high students. While I remember what it was like being a seventh and eighth grader, I don’t understand the kids now any more than I did when I was one of ‘em. The temperament of junior high kids changes daily. I’ve come to the conclusion that their teachers are God’s gift to humanity. Fortunately, He chose not to bless me with the soul of such stalwarts.    

During my third year, I got to teach high school seniors. High School aged students resemble real people. Oh some of ‘em were wacko, but most of ‘em were sensible, good-natured, and had a great sense of humor. The Class of ’82 was my third year of teaching seniors. Each one of them was a treasure, except for the few who weren’t.As previously mentioned, I think my students should remember me the way I was. And visa versa. However a few weeks ago, one of my ex-students was all over my case. Teri Bono kept pressing me to attend the 40^-year reunion of the aforementioned class. 

I was Teri’s teacher when she had ninth-grade American History. She was exceptional for a ninth-grader. Serious when she needed to be and pleasant at all times. As a senior, she was in one of my government classes. The perfect pupil. She is now a teacher and has been in contact with me for the last few years. Bottom line, she talked Kay and I into attending the 40-year reunion for the Class of ’82.

My biggest concern was not remembering anyone’s name. That was stupid. After 40 years, I couldn’t even recognize any of them. I wisely brought along my ’82 yearbook. That thing is heavy. It’s like carrying a handleless suitcase full of nickels. 

When someone told me that I taught them, I handed over my yearbook and asked that they find themselves. It is just phenomenal how much a 17 or 18-year-old boy or girl changes by The time they hit their late 50s.   

It was an awkward gathering. Enjoyable but awkward. You would not believe some of the things I said and did when I taught those old people. Without a doubt, they had allowed their minds to accent the improbable. I remember trying to apply humor to my lectures. You know, the usual. Walking into the wall whenever I couldn’t make my point. But I was never crazy enough to do some of the stuff they “remembered”. Evidence that by the time you’re 57, your warehouse of memories has been toyed with. 

At the reunion, I did light up, when someone would tell me that they learned a lot in class. When I attended my 20-year high school reunion, I remember bragging on my teachers. He was the only teacher I knew who attended the reunion of the Pasadena High Class of ’67. The man was a good teacher, but I couldn’t remember much of what happened in class. But, I did brag on him, in the same way my ex-students did with me. 

The sad thing is, I never knew how much I enjoyed teaching while I was teaching. I felt okay when I was in front of the class, but the preparation for each day was a bear. I remember early one morning when I was driving to school on one of the two lanes of I-45 heading south. The traffic was usually horrible on the drive to school. I would occasionally turn to look at the drivers next to me. It’s hard to find a smiling face during a drive to work. Equally difficult to wear one. 

I made myself a promise, that when I retired I was going to make a trip to school as if I were still teaching. However, when I arrived at the exit, I would keep going until I reached the Galveston seawall. It had the makings of a great experience. 

Each school year, I’d played it up big in my mind. When the moment arrived, it was rather depressing. By the time I got to Galveston, the sky was overcast and the tide was high. The waves were slapping at the huge granite blocks at the base of the seawall. A couple of tourists on rented bicycles passed by as I sat on the wall. Neither of them was smiling. I likely wasn’t either. 

As I sat there staring beyond the waves, I thought about the teacher who had taken my place. He or she was teaching in my classroom, hoping that the lesson they had prepared would be a worthwhile experience. You’re never certain until you get there. 

I eventually exited my perch atop the pot-marked concrete wall and crossed the street for a breakfast at Denny’s. On my way home, the freeway wasn’t nearly as crowded. 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

Lost Moment

 

Hayter’s article for Oct 23, 2022

“A lost moment”

Yesterday, I had an epiphany. I’m not sure what Webster calls one of those things, but I consider it to be an experience that allows you insight into something that you would not have recognized otherwise. 

It can be something wise, intelligent, or just ridiculously simple. My insight involved two of those things. It all started with “Thomas Aquinas”. – Hey, don’t leave yet. This is going somewhere.

A couple of days ago, one of those odd factoids popped up on my computer as I was trying to find something about a college football game. All of a sudden, the name and supposed likeness of Thomas Aquinas appeared in the side margin of my screen. Being a historian of sorts, it caught my attention. What I know about Aquinas could fill a small post-it note. All I knew was that he was one of those Greek philosophers. Likely a friend of Aristotle. I was close. Aquinas was a Theologian, born into a wealthy Italian family in 1224 AD. 

At an early age, he ran off and joined an order of Catholic friars who swore an oath of poverty. His oath was trashed after his parents sent his brothers to kidnap him from the friary. With his passion for poverty being averted, Thomas became a popular figure in the Roman Catholic Church. The man wrote volumes. His works were a mandatory read at schools for priests. 

He had been working to complete his greatest work, “Summa Theologica”. We know it as “Theological Summary”. In it, he explained, to the Church’s satisfaction, the relationships between God, Jesus, and humans. 

He had been working on the tome for several years when he gave up on it. Though being pushed to finish the work, he said that he had a moment with God that made all of his writings as valuable as straw. He chose to write no more. He died at the age of 49 in 1274,  yet his incomplete "Summa Theologica" was transcribed by hundreds of priests, without the author’s blessing. 

Aquinas was allowed to see something that, to him, made his life’s work of little value. While I’m not a Catholic, I likely wouldn’t agree with much of his work. One thing of which I am aware, though, is that I am not worthy to shine that man’s sandals. 

Here, I’ve been a writer for over 40 years. I’ve written an article at least once a week since 1980. I’ve written and self-published two books and am editing my third. Over the years, I’ve started four others. There is a good chance my mind will quit working before I delve into any of them again. 

The “epiphany” I mentioned earlier was first planted by the story you just read about the great Theologian. Thomas Aquinas laid the groundwork for an old teacher and writer to interpret one recent incident as being an epiphany. It has to do with my rush to meet Brad Meyer at the gym to play racquetball. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Brad has a low tolerance for lateness.   

As I was running across the parking lot of the recreational facility, I noticed a blind gentleman near the entrance to the gym’s lobby. He was holding a thin metal walking stick nearly as tall as he was. I was watching him try to punch the appropriate buttons on his cell phone. As I approached him, I asked how he was holding up. An awkward greeting to a person with or without sight. 

The man smiled and said, “Not real well at the moment.” I was ahead of him at that time but turned to deliver a response. The man was still smiling and appeared to be at ease, so I told him to “Hang in there.” Then I hurried to the racquetball court. Brad didn’t show up for another five minutes.  

I have been thinking of that gentleman ever since my too-brief encounter. Why did I refuse to stop to help him? A desire not to be late to play racquetball. Had I stopped to help the man, he might’ve said, “Thank you, but I was joking. I know how to do this.” No epiphany there. 

That event took place two days ago, and it continues to hit me hard. The situation that I ignored was more important than any priority I had already established. Hope, dreams, ideas, recognition, fun, racquetball… none of it was nearly as important as me physically stopping to see if I could assist a person who didn’t know his exact location, nor could see the phone in his hand. My priority superseded every thought I had concerning that man’s situation. 

Thomas Aquinas realized that everything he had written was not nearly as important as what he had learned in a brief moment. He was allowed to witness something that made his life’s work appear as valuable as straw. Why was he allowed to witness the epiphany so late in life? 

Me? I was given a chance to see a gentleman I may never see again. Perhaps he was an angel experience. --  ^“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” 

I had been made aware of the lame priorities I had placed on so many of my life’s actions. It’s by no means the first time I’ve neglected to do the right thing. The latest event just managed to hurt more than the others. And, I can’t do a thing about it… except share the story with you.

end