Honor

The photograph above is from Arsenal Technical High School Friday morning. It is a picture of the National Honor Society at that school. Our son, Conor, was inducted into the group this morning (second from the left, front row). Kathy and I are quite proud of him of course. I would never have been considered for such an honor in high school...but he joins his mother in membership of this good society.

I loved hearing the names of the young people in the National Honor Society this morning -- they included: Pankita, Vinh, UnoBlessed, Maire, Teigra, Itavia, Allias, Skye, -- and last names as diverse as Oldfather, O'Connell, Adams, Dao, Pandya, Arteaga, and Mather-Licht.

Conor is a terrific young man. We are proud of him, not because of the awards he gets, but because of the person he is. Years ago Kathy signed up Conor and herself for a study through Purdue University on mothers and sons. The interviewer came and talked with all of us initially. Conor was 5 years old and I remember being asked what we wanted him to be when he grew up -- she gave us a list that included everything from doctor to teacher to lawyer to gardener to sanitation worker to construction to business. I wrote on the form "I want him to be a decent human being." (A couple of years ago I was talking with Mari Evans about this and she said to me, "I thought that was all that I wanted to...but I know now that they also need to know how to make a living!") The interviewer seemed a little thrown by that. Oh well.

I can't help thinking about Brennan today as well. And his parents Harry and Mickey. There are of course no words that are worth anything at such a time. But I remember my mom, years ago, talking to me about what happened after the death of their stillborn son, Mark. She told me that she doesn't remember anything that anybody said to her...but she remembered that people were there and said something. She said that there were people who didn't come because they didn't know what to say or because they were afraid of death. I didn't know what to say to Harry and Mickey - but I remembered Mom's words and I called and choked out a few things and soon enough we were talking. I doubt if either Mickey or I will remember what we said -- but I think we'll both remember that we talked.

The principal at Tech spoke to the young people this morning about being people who make things happen. I hope they will be. I hope that they will pay attention to the lives of their classmates and their families and find ways to support what things they want to make happen. I hope that they will help create, grow communities that will not waste one single person -- but see that everyone has a gift, something to offer for strengthening our common life.

I can't help but think about how much poorer the community is when Brennan is gone. His easy smile -- his willingness to tell you when he had been hurt by something -- his expectation that people would be their best selves. Those are gone.

Except this. We remember him. We remember his graciousness, his peace, his kindness. His friends and family, his young daughter, are all blessed because we knew him. How do we celebrate a life in the midst of such senseless brutality and death? We do it by being thankful for his life and presence in this world -- and not forgetting that. We do it by reminding ourselves to pay attention to the young people in front of us, not take them for granted, and find ways to magnify and share their blessings with the rest of us who are around.

I can't help but think about how much richer the community is because Brennan was present.

Back in the summer of 2004 I heard Marjorie Procter-Smith give a lecture that I hope I never forget. In it she advised us to listen to the voices of the very young and the very old and poets and artists. Today I hear that in a way that I hadn't heard it before. I need to listen to the voices of Brennan and Conor and Allias and Skye and Kirk and Grace and Nigel and Montel and all those young people who surround me. Today, as well, I also think of listening to the voices of the very old, of Clone who is moving to hospice and of Shirley who complained to me that doctors don't pay attention to old folks. Listening to the lives of all these people and finding ways to build up and share what they have to offer -- will remind us of the riches and abundance that surround us all the time.

Now THAT'S Honor.