THE GREAT LOST ART OF SAYING GOODBYE (From the Archive)
Originally published in The Oracle’s “Endnotes from the Middle of Nowhere” 222: April 25, 1991
How do you do it? Why is it that in order to go on to new mysterious places, it first has to hurt? How do you say goodbye? How do you let 4,000 people of the hook from the excursions of your mind without feeling like a few pieces have been dropped somewhere down the literary path?
The easiest way would be to exit in a cutesy-laugh-your-way-out-of-it fun-filled jaunt through memory lane that avoids the initial pain. Of course, this would be the definitive "easy way out.” So -looks like that's what I'm gonna do. As Tylenol says, "I haven't got time for the pain.”
I suppose I could christen this article "Reflections on Notes past," except for the fact that the phrasing alone requires that daisies be drawn on the page. My reflections encompass my two years and 42 articles and see that there were many subjects I would have desperately enjoyed delving into, had I had more opportunity to do so.
I most certainly would have adventured into the deep and untouched realm of
Hasbro's Slinky. I could have definitely compared it to "Get-your-roommate-a- date." "It walks downstairs, alone or in pairs, and makes a slinkety sound…"
I would have tried a spin-off of "Unsolved Mysteries" by attempting to identify the secret ingredient of Silly Putty that swallows newspaper ink. But more than anything, I believe I would have delved into my own life a little bit more. My past, my childhood, my brothers - in short, the reason for my insanity.
On second thought, that's better left unpublished.
My thank you goes out to you and the two people sitting next to you. One is probably downing their last bit of Saga quiche while the other is reading over your shoulder mispronouncing quiche.
It is readers like you that have made this article worth it. Worth all of the additional deadlines and thought processes after homework and rehearsal were finished. All the digging up of past pains. All the gritting my teeth and smiling. All the noticing what is around me, right here, right now.
There are many aspects of this article that I will never understand. For one, what was this guy's fettish for Charo and Bert Convy?
My thank you’s do go out, however, to the many that enjoyed this column - thank you so much for letting me know. To the students, the faculty, the alumni, and even the parents. But my thanks especially go out to those of you who had enough influence on my life to actually inspire an article or two. You know who you are. I won't embarrass you.
I would especially like to thank The Oracle staff past and present for putting up with my absurdity. I hope to meet them someday.
To Garret: ex-roommate and the inspiration for the very first Notes. Who would
have thought it would go this far, G?
To Linda Cuccia, whose chastising letter found its way into my hands and stopped me from making the foolish decision of abandoning Notes at article #22.
To the Doctor and Drama Mama. You’ve taught me everything for which you are willing to take credit.
To my family, who will not only always serve as my support, but will also always serve as my best material.
And, of course, to the Lord. I don’t know why You thought this kind of brain could be beneficial to You, but it’s all Yours.
But, specifically to my late grandfather Charles Bradley. It was he who told me at the age of ten that if I wanted to go somewhere in my life, I should write “because writing is where it’s at.” Thank you, Granddaddy.
Over the years, this article took a lot out of me because I put a lot into it to give to your life. I have been nothing but honored by the response that you have taken time to place back into mine.
As I exit, I recognize that I will indeed miss this place. I have learned many things here, but I have learned nothing if not how to live. It is through teachers who care and friends who take a chance that I have learned all that I am and all that I can be.
There are many universities that will give you lessons in learning, but if you want lessons in life, there’s - only one. Some call it ORU. I have learned to call it home.
My largest desire is that somewhere down the sands of time, you will run into a crisis, and somewhere on your sandbar of a mind will be one speck of absurdity left over from the Middle of Nowhere. They say that if you can get people to remember one thing you said, you are successful. Someone told me once that they received one good thing from all my articles. I asked them what it was. They said they didn’t remember, but they were sure they wrote it down some place.
There is really nothing left to say. The sunset is over and all the cows have gone home. The book is closed - and Notes is fading to black. I will miss you all - there is no doubt about that.
Just remember: don’t take yourself too seriously. Live life to its fullest. Laugh. Cry. Believe. And when the wild blue yonder gets to be too difficult, take a glimpse into the Middle of Nowhere - and smile. God bless.
Next: "LOSING FACE" Mark’s first published essay in a National Magazine: REAL Magazine, Issue 01 (May 1997). Only in the Mark Steele Archive.