Trust and the Torch

I punched in Cherise's number. She answered and asked how I was doing.

"Fine," I said, then thought, "no, I wouldn't be calling you if I were fine." Seventeen years ago, could I have dreamt of a moment like this, telling my troubles to the shy young lady who sat in my sophomore honors English class? Never. Not at that time anyway. At that time, my job was to teach her some English, and as the teacher who loved to see kids blossom, I made a personal effort to encourage her past some of that painful shyness.

Yesterday, I hardly took time for small talk before telling her about my horse who'd had eye surgery three years ago. His third eyelid had been removed because the veterinarian feared cancer. All turned out well. No cancer cells appeared in the sample sent to WSU, but Casey's eye is looking suspect again. I've been sick with dread, thinking about the possibilities and have been reluctant to talk about the situation to anyone but Bill.

Knowing I had a busy three days of running back and forth to town early in the week, I let the thoughts set in and planned to call Cherise yesterday. Today would be the first chance to have her come and check it out. As I told her the story, a reassuring voice calmed me down at the other end.

"I think there's reason for optimism," she told me. "If it wasn't cancerous before, we may be able to just snip it out [the suspect tissue on the eyelid] and move on." Cherise is a realist, though, and so am I, but her reassuring words to her old English teacher were the perfect antidote to the awful feeling I've been experiencing every time I look at Casey's eye. Today, when Dr. Cherise Neu, confident and outgoing veterinarian, comes for a visit, we'll know more.

The torch has passed.

It has often struck me lately how often I'm relying on people whom I once knew as students for expert advice, for guidance, for reassurance and for their professional skills. It also strikes me how I've been able to cast aside the images I had of them as painfully shy, boisterous, unpredictable, sometimes even a bit arrogant. Those images have been replaced by thoughts of respect and confidence in who they are and how they play a role in helping me make it through my daily challenges.

I did not teach Billie Jean Plaster when she went through Sandpoint High School in the mid'80s, but I knew of her. After all, she was the Cedar Post editor. Over the past few years, I've worked with Billie Jean as a freelancer for Sandpoint Magazine. Now, she's even one of my new neighbors.

For the past few weeks, Billie Jean has been entrusted with one of my babies---my third manuscript. She's working for Keokee as its copy editor. The other night she brought it by, and we sat down and discussed some of the issues that concerned her, which were fairly minor--- contractions, style rules, and spellings. I spent the weekend going over her work and then spent two hours sitting beside her at Keokee as we discussed my responses to her comments and any minor changes I'd made.

We talked as one professional to another, with respect. Once again, I realized the torch has passed. I'm relying on her expertise to help me through the book publishing process. And, believe me, a book is like a child. So to grant that trust with confidence in someone I once knew as a somewhat quiet and shy high school student is a monumental step.

I talked about Scott Barksdale yesterday. When I drove my car into his shop Tuesday, I knew I was in good hands. I did truly marvel at his perspectives on life and what's important in one's career.

I accompanied my mother to an appointment with another professional yesterday. To see the unlimited trust she places in this individual whom I knew as somewhat of a rebel in high school, is striking at the very least. I've seen her interact in business dealings with several other students I've known and can happily say that they've all served her well.

Thinking of each of these situations and a host of others reminds me once more that we can never judge or assume an outcome when we observe young people in restricted, often one-dimensional situations, especially in the high school setting. Once out of the protective nest and when they're allowed to spread their wings, explore the possibilities, take action where opportunities exist, who knows their bounds? And, who will reap the benefits of their successes? We all do, and for that we can be thankful.

At this time in my life, it is comforting and even more satisfying to have been a teacher and to know and trust so many individuals who've matured, blossomed, and grown both intellectually and professionally since the days of their carefree youth.

The torch has passed, and I think, for the most part, we're definitely in good hands.