You Are Not Invisible
Number two in a trilogy of three
This is the second of three pieces I wrote about my friend Irving Schwartz. They are part of a trilogy to which I provide introduction here: Irving.
I wrote this in 2016 on the occasion of Irving’s 90th birthday. It felt like the end was nowhere in sight for him. That turned out to be true. At the time, I was nearly a decade and a half into being a full-time dad to my three youngest children. And I was also at the beginning of what I now refer to as a “great unravelling” with respect other aspects of my life. Let it suffice to say that my time was heavily taxed and continued to be so in ways that only increased.
Ninety seemed like a significant number and I wanted to write something meaningful that reflected how my perceptions of Irving had evolved since I wrote How Irving Taught Me to Row, more than two decades earlier. The all-encompassing daily activities of being a full-time dad simply didn’t allow for another longer prose piece.
Yet, I wanted to give Irving something of significance to honor what he had come to mean to me at the milestone of his ninetieth birthday. And, out of seemingly nowhere, a muse took hold. The following poem literally flowed out in one brief sitting. It says everything I wanted to express about him in that busy and complexly layered moment.
You Are Not Invisible
Back of the classroom
Couldn’t see the blackboard
They thought you were
Defective
Lesser
Stupid
An idiot1
Needy
Sometimes
It appears
That some
You believe
Don’t notice you
An invisible man
Not important
Not worthy of simple attention
This perception is wrong
And those who might have this perception
Are missing a deep beauty and richness of mind and spirit
You are…
Brilliant
Misunderstood (only sometimes!)
Appreciative
Empathic
Exasperating
Incredibly funny
Inspirational
Loving
Intelligent
Thoughtful
Kind
Complex
Nuanced
A listener
An artist
A visionary
An advocate
A parent
A husband
A teacher
A friend
Human
You just needed a sighting scope to open the universe…
Spectacles
And you are visible
A light
Inspiring and illuminating
Lighting paths for far-ranging souls
Some of them you know
Some you learn of your impact ages later
Some you’ll never know
A word
A gesture
Small acts of kindness
Of recognition
Of listening
You pay attention
You hear stories
You scaffold the telling of stories
Stories2 that need to be told and heard
That is a legacy
A tremendous legacy
As a teacher
How many seeds have you nurtured?
What amazing things did they become?
And how many new generations of seeds are they producing?
And what will those new seeds grow to be?
And it goes on. And on. And on.
Deep impacts
Profoundly positive changes, growth, and evolution
You are not invisible.
You are seen.
You are heard.
We see and hear you.
We will hold all of this close to our hearts to our dying days
Thank you, thank you, thank you
Wow!
[For Irving. On his birthday. With love from Eric. November 13, 2016]
It’s true. It seems unbelievable now, yet from the late 19th though mid 20th century, “idiot” was an actual psychological and medical classification designating ability and intelligence. We’ve come a long way since then (yet we still have a long way to go). Irving was placed as a grade school student in a classroom with “idiots” and “morons” (another such term). Of course, he was not at all lacking in intelligence. The issue was resolved for him when it was discovered that undiagnosed poor distance vision prevented him from adequately seeing a classroom’s blackboard. Corrective lenses eventually got him out of that classroom (which I suspect was not a proper or pleasant experience for any of its inhabitants).
For over 30 years, Irving taught a class on Autobiography (his life’s work, other than being a jazz musician) at the Brookline Adult & Community Education Program (BA&CEP). This is the organization my mother resurrected and lead for nearly 30 years. Open to the community, Irving guided many to reflect upon brief and meaningful episodes from their lives. This was accomplished through writing and subsequent sharing in a supportive environment. Many students repeatedly attended this class for years on end. Some only left when they passed away. It resulted in several published anthologies of work. My vision is to continue Irving’s legacy.
Beautiful 👏