In 2003 I wrote Dr. Downey to tell him how much I appreciated him and how thankful I was to have been one of his students. About a year later he responded. One of the two professors I admired most and the one I feared most was inviting me to a new relationship. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI would like for us to have a correspondence dealing with some of the elements of mankind\u2019s searching for truth\u2026I need students\u2014someone to fire questions, observations at me\u2026I took your questions seriously in the past.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m embarrassed to say that I don\u2019t think I ever responded to Dr. Downey. I imagine I was \u201ctoo busy,\u201d like the father in Harry Chapin\u2019s legendary song \u201cCat\u2019s in the Cradle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not too long after his letter to me, Dr. Downey was the victim of a freak accident on his farm and lost much of his ability to carry on any correspondence, especially the kind he had proposed to me. His health steadily declined until 2010 when he breathed his last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Shortly before his death I visited Dr. Downey in his nursing home. His wife was there and told me that, as much as she appreciated my visit, I couldn\u2019t stay long, and that Dr. Downey\u2019s cognitive condition had deteriorated to the point that he probably wouldn\u2019t know me. He didn\u2019t remember or recognize many people at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked into the room. Mrs. Downey told Dr. Downey that one of his former students, Randy Weeks, had come to visit. Dr. Downey raised his head from his pillow a bit and squinted, his eyes in search of better sight. His countenance lifted and he spoke with verve. \u201cWeeks!\u201d he said. He remembered!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Being careful not to tire Dr. Downey, I didn\u2019t stay long. But I was able to tell him to his face how important he had been in my life, how thankful I was for him, and how grateful I was for the many good things he had given me. It was a holy moment for me, and I hope for him, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My late cousin Ruby Jean was a nurse at the Mississippi State Hospital in Whitfield, Mississippi in the 1960s. There was one story she told about a mentally ill patient that I\u2019ll always remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This patient was zigzagging through the hallways, arms extended like Frankenstein\u2019s monster, screaming, \u201cI can\u2019t see! I can\u2019t see!\u201d Ruby Jean rushed to the patient, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. \u201cOpen your eyes!\u201d Ruby Jean shouted. \u201cOpen your eyes!\u201d The woman opened her eyes and said, \u201cOh!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We are often blind to what is right in front of us simply because our eyes are closed. We only get one chance at this life. We can go blindly through it or we can open our eyes, wake up and live it. I was in search of an old photograph, and still am. In my quest my eyes were opened to a gold mine and to a missed opportunity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe we should all stand in front of a mirror every day, look ourselves in the eye, snap our fingers in front of our face, and say, \u201cWake up!\u201d Who knows what we\u2019d find? Who knows what would find us?<\/p>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/Wake-Up-Web.jpg?resize=640%2C427\")
<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/06\/TheLocalVoiceLigature-25web.jpg?resize=25%2C16\")
<\/a><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"