My Life – Page 20

Final Little Hallway Walk and GSU Retirementville

Posted on June 21, 2012September 9, 2012 by Neal Saye

Office 2225B on the second floor of the Newton Building on the campus of Georgia Southern University. A second home. For a long time.

But my office is cleared out now, books all boxed and removed. Quieter than it has been in eons. Computer-humming quiet. My office phone suddenly shy, afraid to ring and disturb emptiness.

I’m retiring from full-time college teaching.

This evening, after my last set of finals is turned in, I will walk out my door and down my little hallway for the final time as a professor at GSU.

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The Walk.

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Goodbye, goodbye little hallway! Goodbye, goodbye GSU!

Hello, hello ….

Walking in Beauty

Posted on June 21, 2012March 19, 2013 by Neal Saye

I spent my undergraduate years basking in the incredible natural and manmade beauty of Berry College in Rome, Georgia. I will never forget the JOY of studying on the world’s largest campus, surrounded by sites so breathtaking that occasionally, even as a green freshman, I would stop in my tracks on a journey across campus and stare, openmouthed, at the afternoon light shimmering off of Swan Lake or, on a cold February morning, gaze entranced out my Dana Hall second-floor, frosted dorm window into the ordered courtyard below and smile as deer delicately ate holly leaves and startling red berries in the snow. I can still hear my young footfalls on the ancient wooden floors of Berry’s gorgeous chapel (modeled after Christ Church in Alexandria Virginia). And here’s where I ate my meals, the Ford Dining Hall:

What fond and HAPPY Berry memories I have. Oh my gosh, that place was magical!

So, of course, I never thought that another school could compare with Berry.

But for the past twenty-four years, I have taught English at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro. When I first arrived, my limited vision focused, uncomfortably, on sand, 100 degree summers and beyond-belief pesky gnats. (Why is that “g” there? Why are gnats ANYWHERE?) “Who could live in this desolate place?” I wondered. But slowly the tall pines and the amazing spring azaleas and (inexplicably) even the hot, humid summers wooed me, and I gradually fell in love. As I adored beautiful Berry as a student, I came to cherish GSU as a professor. The school and the land have been so very good to me.

I have watched GSU’s campus grow and develop into an enclave of living beauty. But far too often, in my busy business of teaching and grading and conferencing, I would forget what thrived outside my office window. So recently I decided to take a leisurely walk across my campus home. Come with me.

Let’s begin at the Akins Blvd. entrance off Veterans Parkway:

The RAC (Recreational Activity Center) where I spent many an hour trying to hold back the belly bulge.

Let’s ride over to the two eagle statues.

Now let’s climb a tree.

Look, I’m an Olympic hero.

Did you know that the “S” in GSU also stands for my last name, Saye?

When I sit down and think about it, I realize how much I have loved this school and this beautiful land.

Georgia Southern University has allowed me to enjoy a great career of helping young people progress and mature into their greater lives. I’ve been involved in a wondrous building process!

I’m so happy that both Berry and Georgia Southern are part of who I am.

Encouragement

You Raise Me Up

Posted on May 8, 2012May 8, 2012 by Neal Saye

I love students. They’re so “learny” and all. Well today I gave my first of three finals of the week here at Georgia Southern. My Everyday Creative Writing class is such a wonderfully cool and fun group of students. (Although I could easily say the same about each of my classes this semester.)

Here they are at the beginning of class today, writing the reflection portion of the portfolio:

Such hard workers.

And here they are, soon after I began a little lecture comparing taking a final exam to running the race of life (Lesson 42 of my Listen to Neal and Learn series):

And, look, here they are when I stood in front of the room and asked them the first fifty-point exam question: “Who is the best professor in the universe?”

They REALLY are a SMART group of students! I’m just so very proud of them.

And, look again, here they are when they received the second fifty-point question: “Who is wearing the coolest shirt in the room?”

I have to say that some of their facial expressions got on my nerves a bit. Like THEY had on hip shirts!

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One of the most incredible benefits of being a professor is that students teach the prof SO much about life: about being excited and interested and vibrant. About believing that all things are possible. (I forget that from time to time.) About taking risks. About taking naps. About being happy. About enjoying NOW. About enjoying hot, fresh french fries from McDonald’s. About living life with fervor.

Simply put, my students lift me, they raise me up.

(Can you tell I’m sort of horizontal there?)

I dedicate this song to all my WONDERFUL students who daily lift me up. Thank you. You add much joy to my life.

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The Viewing & The Circle of Life

Posted on March 18, 2012March 18, 2012 by Neal Saye

As I mentioned in a previous post, my father-in-law passed away earlier this week. Death, of course, is difficult for anyone to cope with, but perhaps especially so for young children. Because they are still so close to birth, little beings of the morning, and because their life experience has been with newness and fresh discovery, with joy and giggles, death must seem unfathomable, foreign, outside of understanding.

But like most kids, my four-year-old grandson Daniel likes to understand: “Abu, why can’t I sit on top of your car? I could see a whole lot better.” “Abu, my teacher won’t let me bring my sword to school and fight like the blue Power Ranger. Why not?” “Why can’t I say potty words?” “Why do we have to wear clothes when it’s hot?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?”

When his parents arrived at the funeral home north of Atlanta the other evening, they told me that Daniel had, as usual, been plying them with questions about the current subject which went beyond his grasp–his great-grandfather’s death. “But if Papa is in heaven, why will everyone be sad?” “Where IS Papa?”

I played with Daniel and his little brother Gabriel in the large kitchen area of the funeral home, where friends had brought mounds of food. Their mom and dad, Amy and Orte, walked through large white windowed doors and down a narrow hall that eventually led to a sitting room where the family received guests who came to pay their respect and offer condolences. Papa looked pre-cancerous in a striking gray suit, snow-white shirt, and brown and gray tie patterned with tiny crosses. He had been a Methodist minister in the North Georgia Conference. A large United States flag, achingly resplendent in red, white and blue liveliness, lay across the unopened lower half of the coffin. Papa was retired Air Force.

Every few minutes, Daniel ran over to tiptoe and peer through the windows of the white doors, gazing down that long hallway which twisted and turned but allowed no view of Papa. “Where are Mama and Daddy? I want to go too.” A few minutes later: “Why can’t I go in?” “Is Papa in there? Where?” “Let’s go in there, Abu.”

A while later, when we were eating lasagna in the kitchen, Daniel was still asking, asking. I made a decision, a decision you may not have made. I asked Daniel’s mom and dad if I could take him in to see Papa. They agreed, mainly (I think) because they trust me, and they know how much I love D.

I picked Daniel up and asked him if he knew what had happened to Papa. “He died,” came the quick answer. I told him that yes Papa had died. “And he’s in heaven,” Daniel added. His confusion centered on who or what was down that hall that everyone kept traversing. He wanted understanding, answers. He wanted to walk down that hall.

So we did.

The kitchen had been noisy with visitors loudly talking, eating, reminiscing, and occasionally laughing at the past. Its tiled floor amplified the clicks of my boot heels as we walked, Daniel in my arms, toward those doors, dividing doors which in my grandson’s mind led to answers. As we passed through them, my heels, like everything and everyone on that other side, grew quieter on the deep carpet.

We entered the viewing room, and walked past adults talking in hushed tones. Daniel kissed his Nana (Donna is the oldest of the four daughters of Papa), then his Great-Grandma, who sat regally next to the coffin. But his eyes were looking, searching.

Not expecting Papa to be lying down (why didn’t I think to tell him that detail?), Daniel finally found his great-grandfather.

He looked for a while, and finally asked quietly (Daniel doesn’t usually do “quiet” very well), “Is Papa sleeping?”

“No, not really sleeping. He died, remember?”

We stood there for about a minute, Daniel getting heavy in my arms.

“Are you ready to go, baby?”

“No.”

Other folks waited patiently for their turn behind us. Daniel started to lean over toward the coffin, paused and looked at me for permission (and like “quiet,” D doesn’t always do “permission” well). I nodded, and Daniel touched the white satin edges of the liner and then Papa’s right arm.

Giggling just a bit, Daniel said, “It tickles.” I smiled.

“You ready now?”

“Yes.”

We walked back through the hall, toward the kitchen. When we got to the doors, I saw through the windows my daughter Amy and Orte, waiting. I put Daniel down, and he pushed open the door. His dad asked him, “Are you okay, Daniel?”

But he was already off, running on the noisy tile, chasing his little brother. Doing “loud” once again.

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StereoStopping

Posted on March 4, 2012May 5, 2022 by Neal Saye

My father, Harold Saye Sr., 87 now, taught me the single most important lesson of my life when I was a child. He taught it primarily through living the lesson out day by day, year by year–through a lifetime. He also imparted the lesson to me in simple words: “Neal, treat every person you come in contact with as if they are the most important person in the world. Because when you are with them, they are.”

I learned from my dad, for example, that old people should be respected, revered even, for the years they have lived and learned. For the truth they know. He showed me how to love his mother, my Mama Saye, by just listening to her talk as she neared her death.

My father taught me to smile kindly at Joe Junior Watkins, the man/boy in ever-present overalls who wasn’t quite right, who grew older but remained a child. “Don’t ever make fun of people, Neal. They’re doing the best they can.”

I learned from my daddy that if you allow yourself to hate somebody because he or she is different from you, the next step comes easy: you can ignore them or fight them or kill them even. “Don’t let that happen to you, Neal.”

He taught me that different is not bad. It’s just different.

I grew up in the tiny North Georgia town of Ball Ground, where there were no blacks. Not one. But my father had black co-workers in his job as a machinist in nearby Canton, and he would invite his black buddy and his family to our house. I learned early on that skin color is … skin color.

My father taught me to do whatever I can in my life to …

I certainly have not been 100% successful in this endeavor (probably not even 50%), but I am SO glad that I had such a wonderful model.

Now I try to teach my students that college should be an opportunity for them to embrace a diverse mix of people: different ethnicities and cultures, sexual orientations different from their own, different age groups, faiths, sizes, personalities, etc.

I want to ask you to do something. Watch the video below. Its a bit hard because it’s fairly long (about ten minutes) and it’s difficult to understand all the words of the speaker (but in a way, that difficulty is part of the lesson of today’s post).