When I do stuff at Millsaps, people sometimes act weird when I tell them who I am, so a lot of times, I just don't tell them. It's different with theater people. They don't know me from my dad or my uncle or the building; they know me from Brent and Lance. That makes all the difference in the world. I earned that. They know I've got paint under my fingernails, just like them. They know I've spent midnights at Waffflehouse, running lines with a friend, or eating at two a.m. because we've been backstage since four p.m. just like them. That's just the point. I'm just like them; come back to support them, to help them feel like the effort they're making is appreciated and worthwhile.
When I go to ball games, they have no idea who I am. They don't know I've been going to basketball games at what they're now calling the Hangar Dome since before their parents were children. They know who Anne McMaster is or Pat Taylor. "Hey, that's that teacher; what's his name? That's pretty cool they come to the games. I like that." They don't know that Tommy Meriweather and I used to carry water and towels for the Lady Majors since before their parents met, but that's the point. I'm just some random old guy, taking the time to come to their game, taking the time to show that I appreciate what they're doing, that I appreciate that they chose Millsaps. To them, I'm just some random old guy. But I'm one guy, and one guy matters. One guy sees them. One guy appreciates them. Maybe sometimes they'll recognize that I've been there before. "Is that somebody's dad?"
My dad accomplished some pretty remarkable stuff in life. I was physically there when a lot of it happened, and even I don't know how he did most of it. Daddy had a pretty simple philosophy in life. It wasn't Mississippi "awe shucks" false modesty, either. It's what he deeply believed.
"Daddy, I've got this big, intimidating task ahead of me. I don't know how I'm gonna accomplish it."
"Buddy, how do you eat an elephant?"
"One bite at a time?"
"One bite at a time."
It's not an understatement to say I have a second chance at life. A year ago, I could barely move. Now I move better than some of you and getting stronger every day. One of the first things I thought about when I realized I had a second chance at life and what I was going to do with it was, "I've got to do something about Millsaps."
We function best with around eleven hundred students. We're not there right now. There are reasons why we're not there right now, but reasons don't really matter; we still have to get there from here. We have to eat this elephant.
I don't have any of Daddy's magic. I wish I did. But, I do have determination and devotion, implacability, steadfastness, commitment, and intent. I can be that old guy at every concert, every ball game, every lecture, and every time the doors open, I can be there. I don't have Daddy's skills, but I have some skills, and I'm loading that chamber and bringing them to bear.
I'm a big fan of Rob Pearigen. If he gets sick, Phoebe is pretty strong herself. Since this summer, I've been taking the time to get to know the current faculty and administration, and staff. Some of them I knew from my own time as a student, but the others I'm learning fast what their skills and abilities are. They're our army. They're also people who have precisely the same goals that I have in this matter, and that's important. I'm learning I have strong and capable allies, much more capable than I. That matters.
"So, who's that old guy that goes to our games?"
"Just some old guy. He might be crazy."
"Crazy? How?"
"He says he's here to eat elephants."
"That's crazy; nobody eats elephants."
"Apparently, he does."
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