December 28, 2019
Yesterday several roads converged, as they are like to do. This intersection consisted of Brandy Harris, “Little Women,” and Don Imus.
Let me explain.
In my glorious days at Parkview, I had the great fortune to meet, know, love, and also coach alongside Brandy Enver Harris. This young lady was a force of nature: she was brilliant, wise beyond her years, a performer beyond all measure of excellence, and dominated Humorous Interpretation. That means this gal could take a script and—in one body—become a host of hysterical, pee-in-your-pants characters. And here’s the thing: Brandy wasn’t even my student. She belonged to one of my best friends, who coached across town. But, man, did I love her. Later in her collegiate career I had one incredible year in which she assisted me and we coached together. Then she took over the program in which she had competed at Hillcrest and we duked it out, if that is what you call two dear friends leading the troops at competing schools with limited resources and hearts for kids. We had the best time.
Brandy has since become a champion for kids in our community. She is a BIG DEAL. She texted me last Sunday when I was having a particularly bad day. We keep up with one another via the miracle of social media, but we hadn’t seen each other’s smiling faces in a couple years. She didn’t know how her text would pull me from the mire, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t. And we met yesterday for a marathon lunch during which my faith in humanity was restored and my admiration for all things this giant in the land of taking care of the kids who need it most was elevated to new heights.
Following this glistening lunch, I had a date planned with another unique beauty: my daughter and I went to see “Little Women.” I read this novel in 8th grade and reported on it at length for Mrs. Kretschmar at Pershing in 1988. I loved the Winona Ryder version 25+ years ago. And I found this new offering elegant and soul-churning. Of course, it takes little more than female empowerment and care and a dead sister and strong mother to send me into self-searching, warm-tears-down-the-cheek-deluge. It was beautiful. Gracie agreed.
But at the closing credits, I switched my phone alive to discover that Don Imus was dead. Let me explain: politics and controversy aside, this man could interview like no other. Until his 2018 retirement, I would wade through the irritants that might swirl about him to find insight and interest in the news of the day. When my babies were babies and I had to drag a little transistor radio along in the bleak darkness of morning, I would run to the sound of Imus. He was crusty and brilliant and incredibly benevolent, even when he screwed up. He made me think. A lot. His guests made me think. And he died yesterday, at 79. I found myself taken aback at my grief.
Nothing happens in a vacuum. This I know. Yesterday was particularly vacuum-free. But I basked in the glow of moments that converged to make it a day worth remembering. So, to my Brandy and to friends in your life who remind you what matters and that time and space are not factors in the true closeness of the friendship; to all the Little Women whose wonder may or may not become the stuff of the cinema; and even to legends we may never meet but who play a daily role for decades in our understanding the universe: thank you.
I don’t love the holidays. But this day, smack in the middle of holiday time, turned my head and my heart. We all need days like that.
I certainly did.
