In 1979 I had major conflict with a teacher who turned my world upside down inside out. Although I played sports almost all of my academic life, I was also passionate about forensics, or what later became known as speech class (i.e. oratory, debate, etc.)

This was one of those pivotal moments in life where you can mark a change in yourself as a human being.

My overly competitive nature spilled over from my athletic training and into all other aspects of my life. When it came time to deliver oratory, debate or engage in persuasive speaking I was always attempting to out shine my classmates. I didn’t say my attitude at the time was healthy but, then again, healthy attitudes weren’t what kept you off of your back on the football field.

In 1979 the Equal Rights Amendment was a very hot button issue. Our speech class teacher let us know that we would be debating the ERA the following week and that we needed to come prepared. I was excited because it would be another opportunity for me to “wipe-the-proverbial-floor” with whomever I would be debating against. Once again, I was young, competitive and, yes, very arrogant.

Having been reared by a single mother I was very familiar with the issues the ERA was seeking to address and, because of my mother, I was also exceedingly passionate about this historic amendment. I labored over my preparations for this debate more than I had any other. I had witnessed my mother suffer, first hand, not only the disparity in rights and compensation but innumerable indignities as well attempting to make a life for us in male dominated work environments.

I showed up to class armed with a battalion of information and a passion unequaled by any of my classmates.

Our teacher sat us down and gave us the usual instructions. She then pointed at me and said, “You will be arguing “against” the ERA.”

“What!” I screamed and I must have yelled pretty loud because the room got deathly silent.

Up to that point she had always permitted us to choose the stance we would argue from and I had always chosen to argue from the point of view that I agreed with. This wasn’t fair! I wasn’t going to argue against the ERA, it wasn’t in my makeup to argue against it. My sincere pleas not to have to argue a side of an argument, that I was morally against, held no weight with her. She repeated her instructions and divided the class into teams. Of course she had me lead the “against the ERA” team.

She gave us time to formulate our arguments and assemble our facts. I have to say that this was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. Words and ideas that countered my own philosophy literally choked in my throat and made my heart ache. There were a few times when my team was discussing our possible counter points that I felt angry and wanted to storm out of the room. Athletics had taught me something about being a team player and I had to set my own issues aside because, after all, I was the captain of this team.

When it came time to debate I made sincere attempts at rising to the occasion but fell short. Our opponents were “wiping-the-floor” with us and, as team leader, I had to accept responsibility for our poor showing. I was at an age where losing hurt and hurt badly.
It was painful to listen to the opposing team articulate sentiments and facts that resonated so deeply with me and then have to counter with dissonant ideations that damn near brought me to tears.

That day I left the classroom feeling like an absolute failure. I left feeling like I had betrayed myself morally. I was young, very young and these feelings were new and discomforting.

Over the next few weeks our teacher led us down a path of self-discovery that I will never forget. The importance of being the type of human being that is capable of viewing an issue from multiple angles is a key to developing a healthy worldview. If I had not been forced to experience the pain of that debate I know that many of the opportunities that I have received in this life would have passed me up. Being forced to view life through the eyes of another was not easy for me in my youth and I now see it is almost impossible for many adults today.

When I reflect on this teacher, I think about how she helped to alter the way I see and think about the world we live in. What she gave me was not part of any “core curricula” or “standard” at the time. I know that this woman saw us more as developing human beings than as mere students.

I see the level of intolerance today as symptomatic of narrow-mindedness and childish arrogance possessed by those whose social and intellectual development remains stagnate. I’m not sure what type of an adult I would have been had I not had this woman in my life to challenge my assumptions but I know that I am better for having known her.

I shutter to think how many brilliant people like this are being threatened with pink slips and lay off notices today as we devalue the role of teachers and education. What type of adults will our children be tomorrow if they are not touched by adults like this today?

I got a call last week that one of my elders had been hospitalized. Word throughout the community was that he had suffered a stroke and survived, unable to move, trapped in his home for 2 days before finding the strength to crawl outside where he was discovered.

As if the tale of his miraculous survival wasn’t enough, I witnessed, first hand, his struggle to achieve a healthy equilibrium between mind and body in one of the most unhealthy places I’ve ever experienced. The hospital.

I was called and immediately knew that I had to go and see him. I wasn’t reared to believe that there is actually a choice in matters such as these. I packed my Kora and a few essentials and headed out for the hour and a half drive from Los Angeles up to Ventura.

Once I arrived to the hospital I gathered my things and tried to head straight to his room. There was a problem. Of course there was a problem. What would life be if we didn’t complicate the simple? For some reason, and I don’t know if this happens to any of you out there or not, but… for some reason whenever I enter an institution such as a hospital I end up with an armed security guard escort. This day was no different. It could be the bright, colorful African attire that attracts attention or possibly my Kora (ancient 21-string African gourd harp), I’m not sure, but 99.9% of the time I usually end up with an armed security escort after being required to answer a few questions.

When I finally made it to his room, our eyes immediately locked and we both smiled. I noticed his smile extended from both corners of his mouth. I had been told that the entire right side of his body had been paralyzed. His sisters were sitting around his bed and he introduced me to them. I took out my Kora, strapped it on and began playing and singing. I alternated my playing and singing with a little conversation. We reminisced on some of the drum lessons he had given me more than 12 years ago. We talked about others who were no longer with us and we laughed about shared experiences during our times performing together.

I noticed he was moving his right leg quite a bit and even wiggling his fingers. I grew up watching my grandmother care for the elderly. I struggled to recall having ever seen someone, who had suffered a stroke, do what he was doing with the side of his body that was supposedly paralyzed.
While I played my harp and sang, I felt compelled to ask him about the stroke. He vehemently denied having had one and let me know that they were trying to convince him otherwise. He was adamant that he knew the state and condition of his own body.

I am not one to denigrate the medical profession, I know how valuable nurses and doctors can be but when a man is raising his right leg up in the air and stretching his hands and fingers might there be some validity to his claims?

I played for a few hours and conversed. As I was about to leave he motioned for me to move closer to his bed and he whispered in my ear, “I need you to come back tonight and play your Kora so that I can sleep.”

The requests of our elders are not to be denied. I assured him that I would remain in the city and return early that evening to play for him.

This is a man who “never” asks anyone for anything so for him to request that I return was tantamount to the mountain coming to Mohammed.

After getting a little something to eat, I returned to the hospital. When I entered his room, we picked up where we had left off. I played, sang and told a few tales between our conversations. I knew that eventually I would need to get to a point where we were focusing on lulling him into sleep but that was hours away.

One of the issues I noticed that was going to be difficult to deal with was the rhythm of the hospital. Actually, I should say its lack of rhythm. There were people screaming in agony from distant rooms, loud, boisterous conversations in the halls, machines whirling and intercoms constantly going off with shrill voices making demands across the entire hospital. To add to the chaos, my elder was in a shared room with a man who seemed possessed by some sort of extreme discontent. The man was dropping and throwing things around in his room, knocking over water pitchers set out for him and constantly pushing beeping buttons and calling for nurses.

I have to admit that each of the nurses that responded to this man’s agitation did so in a calm, tranquil manner.

The disturbed man kept up his antics, even amplifying them, as the evening progressed. I adjusted my playing to more serene, gentle rhythms and increased the repetition as a means of soothing my listeners. The power of resonance to relieve the body of its stresses is well documented. In many other cultures throughout the world the bones of the body are not viewed simply as aspects of biology but as natural resonators of frequency. I chose a portion of the song that had humming in it and solicited my elder to join me in the wordless chant. As I played my harp we hummed in rhythm together.
As it got later and later the external disturbances increased. We continued our murmured chants as I played my Kora. The distractions seemed to get to him. It felt odd reminding him of lessons he had taught me so many years ago about tuning out noise and centering the mind. He smiled at my hesitation in trying to navigate returning lessons he had given me back to him.

The noisy neighbor, hallway chaos and loud disturbances continued past visiting hours at 9 pm. I was supposed to have left by then but since no one on the staff was bothering me I continued playing and humming beside him. It seemed each time we achieved a state of total relaxation, some disturbance would disrupt his peace. How unhealthy can a hospital get?

We talked about many of the lessons I had received from him on focusing and pushing away extraneous noise from the mind. He let me know that sometimes students bring lessons back home to their teacher. Teachers must be reminded as well.

Each time he was awakened, we would converse a bit. I never stopped playing my harp while we talked. Once we had conversed for a few minutes we returned to our humming together.

I watched him settle into a very peaceful place within himself as the chaos continued. It felt good to reach a point where he seemed totally unaffected by the things occurring around him. He laid there in silence and I played for him as his humming trailed off. I lowered the tones of my Kora and humming incrementally over the period of an hour or so until they were barely audible. The noise around us was filled with insanity, and this was late into the evening but he remained unaffected. I thought he was in a deep state of meditation until I heard the unmistakable sounds of sleep. He was asleep and sleeping deeply. I felt good as I brought the barely audible humming and harp playing to a close.

It wasn’t until I stopped that my hands cramped up but I didn’t care. To hear him sleeping was a gift unlike any other.