|
| I haven't posted much in about a year. Part of the reason is that I've been putting a lot of my thoughts into a wonderful . . . new . . . BOOK! It's still in process, but the publisher already has it listed for pre-order on Amazon.com. It should be a fun read for my millions of fans (cough, cough). 
| | |
| Legendary Baylor English professor Ann Miller passed away yesterday. She was one of many Baylor professors known for their excellence in the classroom. By all reports, she inspired her students to new heights and new appreciation for her subject matter, all while maintaining high standards and expectations for their performance in class.
I say "by all reports" because I never took a class from Professor Miller. This is part and parcel of an admission I hate to own up to: in my time as a Baylor undergraduate, I didn't take very many classes with the "legends." Oh, I took physics from Dr. Packard, which was more about the experience than the challenge. And I had some excellent instructors for many of my classes.
But the legends? Mostly no. I never took a class from Ann Miller, or Jim Vardaman, or Robert Reid, or Tom Hanks, or Bob Baird, or H.J. Flanders, or . . . well, you get the idea. I did take the C.S. Lewis course from Dr. Wortman, and I should have taken some science classes from Dave Pennington and Ray Wilson. But I didn't. And the main reason that I did not take these courses is that they weren't required for my degree. (Indeed, Wortman's class wasn't required, either, but it's the only one I managed to fit in.)
In my law school years, though, I came to realize how one gets an excellent education. Yes, there are some classes you have to take in order to meet degree requirements and so forth. But a truly great education comes from taking classes from great professors. Like Ann Miller. I took numerous courses at Duke Law School just because of the professor -- courses that were unrelated to any of my professional interests. And I never regretted one of them, even though a few of them were among my lowest grades.
So, to any students who read this note, learn from my mistakes. There are any number of fantastic instructors at Baylor, people who will take your mind to places you never imagined if only you will go along for the ride. Take as many classes as you can from such professors. You'll be amazed at what you learn, and you'll never regret having done it. At least, not once you're finished with the class. | | |
| In addition to being a closet Barry Manilow fan (sorry, Tony, it's true), I also have at least interested-observer status when it comes to the World Cup. Back in 1986, my roommate was also a World Cup fan, and we watched most of the games. One of our friends was puzzled by this sudden devotion on our part to watching soccer every day. "I don't remember this from last year," she said.
"They only play the World Cup every four years," we annoyedly pointed out as a much thinner Diego Maradona shredded opposing defenses.
"Oh."
So, anyway, I watched the U.S. matches with Italy and Ghana -- thankfully I missed our match against the Czech Republic. Like many, I'm disappointed with the U.S. team's performance. I can certainly understand not advancing out of group play, given our group, but 1 point? 1 goal, not counting the one Italy scored for us? Somehow, U.S. soccer needs to find a style of play that matches the type of talent that we have among American players.
I'm looking forward now to the remaining rounds of the World Cup. Since our national pride is already kaput, I can get move toward that attitude I had in 1986 of enjoying every match regardless of outcome. | | |
| For the next few days, I'll be drinking Capri Suns in pink packages so that all of my daughter's friends can have purses that look like this:
| | |
| I'm reading John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath -- I've never read it before. I ran across an interesting passage in a chapter about the Oklahoma sharecroppers who were kicked off their land and therefore headed west to California in old beat-up cars. This passage closes out Chapter 12:
And here's a story you can hardly believe, but it's true, and it's funny and it's beautiful. There was a family of twelve and they were forced off the land. They had no car. They built a trailer out of junk and loaded it with their possessions. They pulled it to the side of 66 and waited. And pretty soon a sedan picked them up. Five of them rode in the sedan and seven on the trailer, and a dog on the trailer. They got to California in two jumps. The man who pulled them fed them. And that's true. But how can such courage be, and such faith in their own species? Very few things would teach such faith.
The people in flight from the terror behind -- strange things happen to them, some bitterly cruel and some so beautiful that the faith is refired forever.
Where does such courage come from? Where does such faith in others come from? Where does such trust come from? Indeed, where does such kindness come from? And how could a society function without them? | | |
|
