I
have always had an intuitive sense of the dialectic at work in my life.
At
this point, after 68 years and ten months on the planet, with thousands of
books read, hundreds of articles and books written, and with a propensity to
think all the time, I have a more formal sense of the dialectic producing a
sequence of experiences, my awareness of which has given enormous continuity
and cohesion to this, my one earthly sojourn.
Thus,
I now have a better scholarly, intellectual comprehension of the dialectic.
But
I have always been aware of the dialectic:
the
impact that multiple forces have on my life trajectory and the advantages of
being aware of those forces and the integration of them into the evolving
circumstances of life.
Take
the Hardy Boys; Mike in grade 5; witnessing segregated pools in Dallas; the seriousness with which I took the message
of th Gospels; the vision of knowledge
that came to me through my particular lens at Memorial High School and at
Southern Methodist University;
having Dennis Weltman and Bob
Cooper and J. Claude Evans and Brad Carter and Ronald Davis and Barbara Reed
enter my life; moving seamlessly from coordination
of SMU Volunteer Services tutoring and mentoring programs into two formative years teaching at
L. G. Pinkston High School--- an amazing
flow of experiences of which I was aware at a highly conscious level, living,
learning, thinking, integrating, deciding and feeling impelled toward future
courses of action.
The
Hardy Boys detective series of my
youth was not the librarian’s favorite.
Considered formulaic and repetitive in style and plot, librarians at Dan
D. Rogers would urge us to explore other reading material. I did.
I loved stories, novels, and historical accounts of Native American life
and heroes. I loved books about horses,
both fictional and nonfictional. Here and
there I read truly classical children’s literature: Winnie the Pooh, Uncle Wiggly, the Grey Mouse
saga, Beatrice Potter stories.
But
I most enjoyed reading about the adventures of the Hardy Boys in books turned out by the scores by an author I later found out was actually a collective of
authors writing under the name, Franklin W. Dixon; this collective also produced the Nancy Drew series, but under the
authorial name of Caroline Keane. The
Hardy Boys books must number 65
or so now; by the time I was ten years
old I had read most of the series that had then been cranked out, books
totaling some 35 or so at that time.
Joe
and Frank Hardy were respectively the
younger and elder son of accomplished professional detective Fenton Hardy. They idolized their dad and began to emulate
him. Frank and Joe got into all kinds of
scrapes seeking to solve mysteries that loomed before them in their very
exciting lives. They were mid-late adolescents
able to drive a car; they could pilot an
airplane and speed along rivers, lakes, and oceans on a motorboat. I loved the combined intellectual excitement
and physical challenge of the lives of Joe and Frank: I helped them solve their mysteries and,
always a very physical person and lover of the outdoors, I thrilled at their
mobility.
Which
brings me back to the dialiectic.
…………………………………………………………………………
I
never wanted to be like other people.
This
was not because I wanted to distinguish myself via peculiarity for the sake of
being peculiar. I just did not care what
other people thought and I did find most other people’s lives notably admirable:
There
was the treatment of physically challenged Mike in grade 5 and the segregated
pool along Central Expressway in Dallas, two of my earliest introductions to
human moral coarseness and brain-boggling stupidity. By contrast, there was the radiant example of
Jesus, preaching a startling new message, whether well-received in a given
place or not, with the hutzpah to walk into the Temple, turn over the tables of
the moneychangers, and rid God’s House of those who would make it a den of thieves.
With
these indications of a life best led with individual integrity rather than according
to societal prescription, came the positive vision of a life suffused with knowledge
created by my experiences at Memorial High School and Southern Methodist. And there was Dennis Weltman, with his humor
and satirical but mirthful take on life;
Bob Cooper and J. Claude Evans with their visions of the Love of Jesus
active in the world; Brad Carter and
Ronald Davis with their intellectual drive to communicate the importance of
knowledge; the dramatic entrance of
Barbara Reed into my life; the seamless course taken from SMU Volunteer Services
to Pinkston High.
While
those experiences and conclusions drawn of my childhood and adolescence launched
me into the world, the accumulation of experiences and the entrance of so many
stellar people during the SMU years is astonishing. I drew from and carried forth with these in
all the reading, teaching, and living I did during the two academic years at
Pinkston:
My
personal and professional journey was in rapid motion, powered by the
dialectic.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Barbara
graduated from SMU with in degree in mathematics in May 1974. She soon got a job as a computer programmer
for a tax service company named Fast-Tax,
then operating in Dallas close to LBJ/I-635 and Marsh Lane in Far North Dallas.
Barbara
and I had no use for the traditional institution of marriage and to this day
relate as life partners transcendently in love with one another, rather than as
a married couple as conventionally understood:
In
August 1974 we wrote our own ceremony, complete with musical selections Greensleeves and Morning is Broken. Bob Cooper
presided in his singularly loving manner.
Al Deright was in attendance and an usher, as was the Ol’ Dene. Barbara’s family came from Albuquerque, mine
from Houston; sister Jan, by then a junior
at SMU, was present. Many of those who
had been on our Living and Learning floors when Barbara and I were Residential
Assistants during academic year 1972-1973 were in attendance. We had arranged for the SMU Food Services
staff to provide simple finger sandwich and soft beverage fare at a post-ceremony
reception. On the evening prior to the
ceremony, Mom and Dad had asked to host a few of us (Al, Dennis, Bob, and the
families) at a catered meal (Dennis still remembers the "flaming bananas") in a reserved room at the Hilton; otherwise, Barbara and I paid for our celebration,
at a cost to us of no more than $200.
Mom
and Dad would never be happy that Barbara kept her own surname, nor would
they be elated fifteen years later when we gave our very remarkable son Ryan
the surname Davison-Reed.
I
would persist in explaining my life decisions to my very conservative parents
until their deaths in 2011 (Dad) and 2017 (Mom). My approach has always been to go my own way
but to jettison or repudiate no one who has been a towering presence in my
life:
Dad
and I had tremendously warm experiences together during his last years, but he
went to his grave not really understanding my life commitments and
convictions. Mom had started at a
similar place as did Dad but grew tremendously as a person. She settled into her own position six feet
under with a genuine appreciation of my life and a much greater openness to life’s wondrous
diversity. I loved Mom and Dad equally and
judged my great efforts at communication no less or better spent for my ability
to convince:
In
life, the victory is not in the result but in the quality of the effort, for
the result will come in time.
Thus,
I loved Mom and Dad equally and treasured my time with both of them in their later
years. But in Mom I could see the fruition
of my efforts, and I took satisfaction in her personal growth. She went to her grave a much happier person
for her willingness to grow.
…………………………………………………………………………………..
By
May 1975, I had decided to pursue graduate studies in Chinese and East Asian
history. Barbara loved mathematics and
had the vision of becoming a university professor but opted not to train to
teach math; instead, she decided to
follow an evolving interest in non-Western religions and to focus also on East
Asia. She and I had traveled very
different routes in our decisions to study East Asia: I, as an overcompensation for not having the level
of knowledge regarding the budding power of China that I considered important; Barbara, as an extension of her exploration
of non-Western traditions as an undergraduate:
Serendipity.
But
my sense of youthful adventure dating from those Hardy Boy’s days had induced in me a desire to travel the United
States for a year before going on to graduate school.
Barbara
readily agreed.
The
dialectic was in high gear.
No comments:
Post a Comment