A Christmas present to share

Mark Sheaman didn’t realize it when he penned an email to me about a month ago but he gave me an early Christmas present. The hope of all teachers is to see their students surpass them in the field they teach. When I read Mark’s writings, I believe that is the case with him. And it makes me feel good.

Mark was a non-traditional student, already in his 30s, when he showed up in my journalism classes at LCCC in the mid 90s. I believe he graduated with a perfect 4.0 average. He edited the school newspaper, The Outlook, of which I was advisor. Here’s how good his newspapers were: the speaker at graduation that year was Ann Compton of ABC news. When she arrived at the Kingston Armory the first thing she said was, “I have to meet Mark Sheaman.” She spent almost an hour talking with him after the ceremony.

Mark’s recent email was a comment on a column I had written. I wrote back and asked him if I could share it with my readers. The column that moved him to write was titled “Fresh eyes.” When Mark wrote back to give his permission, he wrote this:

I remember when I was a kid, how my mother loved tea. Well, at some point when I was about 10 years old, Tetley or Lipton or one of those companies started putting little sayings – nuggets of wisdom – on the little paper fob on the end of the string. I remember I’d reach over to my mom’s cup and turn the little paper tab over to read the saying, and the one that has stuck with me every single day of my life since I read it was one attributed to Abraham Lincoln. To paraphrase: “I’ve found that most folks are exactly as happy as they make their minds up to be.”

At ten, I can recall at first wondering exactly what that meant. But I do remember asking my mom if I could have that little tea thingy. Kept it in my wallet, too, as I got older. Had it in there for a lot of years. At some point in my life, I lost track of that little fob. Probably thrown out with an old wallet or colored on with a crayon by one of my kids or something. But I’ve never forgotten that little saying, and I think it’s pretty much the equivalent of “Fresh eyes”.

Found myself on the Dispatch’s website over the last couple days, reading your recent columns. Guess you’ve been on my mind lately; for no reason in particular. As usual, I absolutely loved every one of your columns. It’s just a joy to read good, interesting writing. Unfortunately there’s a dearth of that in this angry age. Most columns spew torrents of acrid partisanship or push an agenda. Yours are a breath of fresh air. Raisin pies and blue skies. I like that. I think most people do, too. Not nearly enough of that these days.

Recently, my company sent me on business to one of our sister plants. This plant is in Hanford, California. It’s at the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley. If you look at a map of California, it’s right about in the middle top to bottom and side to side.

Anyway, one evening the plant manager allowed me the use of the company vehicle. He asked me where I might like to go, and I told him I’d never seen the Pacific Ocean before. That afternoon he printed out Map Quest directions to Pismo Beach, the nearest shore point of interest to Hanford. When it was quitting time, I felt like Fred Flintstone sliding down off that great big dinosaur’s back – just hauling tail to get out of there. This was going to be Mark’s “Big Adventure”.

Forgetting to stop at the hotel and change into shorts and take off my steel-tipped shoes, I hit the highway, Jackson Browne blaring from the crummy little Astro van radio. There I was, in the San Joaquin Valley, in a Chevy Astro Van that looked, felt and smelled like an industrial vehicle, in 90-degree weather, long pants and steel-toed shoes, and I was, at that moment, the happiest man in the entire world.

When I read your column about “Fresh Eyes,” that’s all I could think about. About how you were precisely right about fresh eyes. More importantly, how easy it is to have fresh eyes in a place that’s new to you, but how much more enjoyable life is when you keep your eyes fresh all the time, whether you’re in Pittston, Hazleton, wherever. You perfectly expressed something I try to remember to do all the time.

Anyway, I reached Pismo Beach right before sunset. Ed, I know you may roll your eyes, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but I must insist this part is true. I even called my wife on my cell phone while I was driving (which is one of my pet peeves about others) just so I’d have a “witness”. As I’m driving south on California Coast Road, mountains to my right, I’m listening to an oldies station. Just as the Temptations song finishes, the last mountain to my right ends at an impossible angle – as if someone sliced it off like a piece of cake. At that exact instant, a flash of blue so deep it almost blinded me hit me from the right side while at the same exact instant the first strains of “Ba-Ba-Baa, Ba-Barbara Ann” by the Beach Boys comes over the radio. It could not have been scripted better by Hollywood.

There I was, all by myself, driving my industrial van, laughing out loud. So loud and hard, I had to pull that hunk of junk to the side of the Coast Highway. A sense of euphoria overwhelmed me like I had never felt before, and I was like a child again.

I found a place to park, walked down to the beach, sat down on a bench, removed my steel-toed shoes and my socks, rolled up my pants, and headed straight for the water. Once I got in ankle-deep, I reached in my pocket. Couldn’t wait to call my 12-year-old daughter Vanessa and tell her someone in the Pacific Ocean loves her.

I was three hours behind her. It was dark here. I told her I was standing in the Pacific Ocean, it was warm, the sunset was beautiful hues of purple and orange, and I loved her very much. And for all my childlike euphoria, which I can still feel, believe it or not, I couldn’t wait to get back to Hazleton.

Spoke to my wife and 16-year-old daughter about the same things, too. And realized that even though I was on the West coast, unlike Tony Bennett, I left my heart in Luzerne County.

PD Opinion

Place Quick Ads