The Reunion Lesson

Earlier this month I attended my 35th high school reunion. As a paperboy living in a relatively poor section of metro DC, I received a scholarship to attend a New England prep school. St. Marks was pretty much straight out of the old Robin Williams film, The Dead Poet Society: coat and tie to classes, graduating class of 50, some very rich preppies. (Our year book categories included the typical "first to make a million" but also had "already has a million" - and included more than one name!)

My four years at St. Marks was quite an awakening for me on a number of levels. One of those levels was athletically. Though I entered 3rd form (9th grade) at 5'1", 97 pounds, by my senior year I was a starting defensive back on the football team, lettered in the sport, and was named honorable mentioned to the all-league team. My biggest claim to fame is that in our final game of the season against our arch rivals, I made two interceptions that turned the game around and led to our victory.

However, I couldn't tackle worth a lick. Looking back at it now, my basic issue was that I would hit people and hope that they would fall down. I never learned the important lesson of "tackling through" people by keeping your legs churning and placing your helmet in the right spot.

On the plane ride to the school for the reunion, I remembered a practice in which the then assistant coach, Mr. Large, lined me up in a one-on-one drill with one of our most bruising running backs. The drill starts on the five yard line. The running back tries to score, the defensive back tries to stop him. Usually every defender gets one chance and the drill is over. Some how I must have done something that had gotten Mr. Large upset that day, because he ran me through this drill about ten times. And each time the running back scored.

I don't remember the incident bothering me that much back then - other than the embarrassment of not being able to stop the running back. But thinking about it on the plane ride, I found myself getting angrier and angrier at Mr. Large as I put two and two together and came out with seventeen. Listen to my mind as it did its ego math.

"Mr. Large never believed I belonged on the team. From the beginning he thought I was too small and not tough enough. Instead of taking the opportunity to provide me instruction in how to tackle, he tried to humiliate me by setting me up to fail, again and again."

I saw Mr. Large at the reunion. He was retiring and he gave his "last lecture" that weekend by telling his moving story of coming to the school, sharing his gifts, and some of the lessons he learned along the way. I talked with him about our time together, but didn't mention the tackling drill.

On the flight home, I could still feel that twinge of outrage that tells me I feel I have been treated unjustly. I made a half-hearted attempt at using the forgiveness tools, but I clearly wasn't ready.

When we forgive, we give a heavenly interpretation for our earthly experience. We see that what we think others did to us never occurred because this earthly experience is just a dream of separation.

This morning was different. While meditating on the Forgiveness Principles, Mr. Large and the tackling drill came to mind. I envisioned Mr. Large and felt his sense of guilt about the incident. I saw myself saying to him, as I have envisioned many times J saying to me, "It is nothing. I am spirit. You can not hurt me. It is nothing." I saw myself giving him the gift of forgiveness, releasing him from his own guilt.

And as I helped him release his guilt, my own anger and sense of injustice seemed to dissolve into nothingness. (The gift I give, I give unto myself.) I may have to repeat this exercise in the future should this sense of outrage about the tackling drill reoccur. Yet my sense is that the desire to release others from their guilt (whether they feel it or not) may help me remember to see them as they really are and release me from my own.

Give gifts this day!

In Joy,

Michael