From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

Little did we know that when we bitched about the apathy of youth, while yet in our youth, that the day would come when we would long for a generation who could not give a lesser shit about this or that.  An inspiring individual told me on more than one occasion that she is impressed with my memory.  The thing about my mind is that I tend to be a hoarder, saving bits of random thoughts, mental images, and even verbatim quotes, indexed in some freakish filing system, only to appear at the forefront in contextual life situations. Largely useless bits of information, saved for no apparent reason, not unlike a baseball fan who can quote lifetime statistics of the players on his favorite team.  Or someone who can quote dates of important events and support their reason for remembering a date.

I was thinking about current events and shook my head as I contemplated the sorry state of mankind in the year of our Lord, 2020.  One of those random memories erupted in my mind and I had a chuckle and a smile.  Of the many people fortunate enough to have ever been in the presence of Mrs. Willa Lee, I am one.  Mrs. Lee was my English and Literature teacher for three of my four years at West Marion High.  She was short in stature with a huge heart and wielded a silent command of her classroom, well, most of the time.  It was Mrs. Lee who first suggested that my ability to write was a gift and encouraged me to do more.  She also knew that I was very lazy and that the light shining ahead into my future barely reached through Saturday night, beyond that, well the interest just wasn’t there.  Mrs. Lee methodically applied various motivational tactics to move me to put ink to paper and in turn, I balked as much as I could, but she knew if she got a response out of me, she had me.  Finally, she made me the editor of the school newspaper.

So it came to pass that on a spring day in 1981, we sat in Mrs. Lee’s class and went through the motions. Knowing fully well, that as a class, the seniors of West Marion High had made it to the “short rows” and soon, a leg of our journey would be complete.  We’d pretty much made our grade and left our mark and had set the cruise control to the finish.  A classmate asked, “Mrs. Lee, what does apathy mean?”  I do not know what possessed me to do it, but without raising my head, I said, “I don’t know and I don’t give a shit.” I glanced up to see a slight, demure, and usually composed woman frozen for a split second as if in a very brief state of shock. You see, back in 1981, public profanity was considered uncouth.  Before I could regret my outburst, Mrs. Lee regained her composure and almost giggled, “Exactly!”  The pregnant pause that had fallen across the room lifted as laughter exploded.  The laughter seemed though to jolt Mrs. Lee from her momentary lapse in her role as a professional educator.  Quickly, she regained control of her classroom, looked sternly at me, and said, “For that remark, I will need a three-page essay on the subject of apathy.”

I sit here today, all of these years later, doing what Mrs. Lee wanted me to do; examine my thoughts, and commit them to paper, or in this case, commit them to the virtual page.  So to the current state of mankind, well, it seems that for whatever reason, the Lotus-eaters have awakened from their listless, languorous slumber.  To say they are awake and suffering from a hangover would be an understatement of ginormous proportions.  Just who are these Lotus-eaters you ask?  That is what I ask. They are those who seem to have lost their minds, totally abandoned any sense of decorum, and are unrecognizable from the likeness of God, creator of man, in his image.  Absent is the light that the creator allows us to dwell in each of us.

Their demands get more ridiculous every day to the point that I saw where a sportswriter suggested that the word “Masters” be removed from the name of the Master’s Golf Tournament, all the while, sporting a “Masters” degree in his bio.  How insane is that? Folks, some ills need to be healed, some wrongs need to be righted, and some reforms need to be made.  Of this, I am in complete accord.  I think that 99.9 % of the population would agree.  But the Lotus-eaters seem to have awakened with a twisted set of values, one that differs from anything those who have an ounce of common sense believes.  Not that I support the population being kept in the dark. I despise the underhanded games that are played on the political scene.  I despise the fact that people are often manipulated for political gain. I feel that the political game is played before us and “We the People” are often helpless to affect it.  I guess this is why the Lotus-eaters are so far removed from mainstream thought.  I get it, I do. They are frustrated to the point that they are acting out, almost like disturbed children.

Have the Lotus nurseries all been closed due to COVID-19?  Is that why people have seemingly gone off the deep end?  Lotus production needs to be deemed essential because we desperately need some of these people to go back to their apathetic sleep.

I have one more thought on the subject of Mrs. Willa Lee.  After graduation, I learned that Mrs. Lee had been diagnosed with cancer.  From time to time, I would run across former teachers and every time, they would tell me that Mrs. Lee had asked about me and wanted me to visit.  I was in college at the time and living the life and doing my best to rip a new black hole into the universe.  So I put off my obligation until another day, and another day after that.  I thought I had time.  Mrs. Lee passed away before I made the effort to visit her and I was ashamed and regret it until this day.  However, now I realize that even in death, Mrs. Lee was still teaching, and in death, she taught me probably the most valuable lesson; that life is short and regrets are long.  Since her death, I’ve never knowingly missed an opportunity to visit and speak to people in my life who were dying.  Mrs. Lee taught me in death that the pain and discomfort I suffer in visiting is nothing compared to the hurt and disappointment when that opportunity is missed.

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