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Neatly nestled between my birthday and Mother’s day, I received the most devastating call of my life. My students, staff, parents, stakeholders, and I were celebrating various victories we had achieved in our school district: drastic academic improvements, a major decrease in campus violence, significantly diminished chronic absenteeism, and professional exoneration.
When I accepted this assignment in academic administration, I had been forewarned by both previous employees and administrative professionals that this may not be a challenge that I wanted to embark upon. Some were specific in describing why this may be something that I should pass on; while others were reluctant to divulge specific reasons other than to share that there had been a multitude of challenges that accompanied this particular district and in many cases overshadowed the academic detriment that I would be faced with. My dad, my spouse, and I had numerous conversations highlighting all of the acquired information, the caution and the “warnings” that accompanied whether I should accept this challenge.
To say that I wasn’t somewhat concerned would be disingenuous. However, I relied upon my intrinsic strength, motivation, and personal desire to assist struggling students and communities.
After having sat under the tutelage of some of the best academicians that this great America has to offer in the persons of Dr. George McKenna III (Washington Preparatory HS, LA, CA), “The George McKenna Story,” Mr. Riley Stewart and other great administrators, I knew that I was ready for any academic challenge that was presented to me.
My father encouraged me to, “go in there take care of those children and their community and keep your nose clean.”
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Tuesday, May 9, 2000, at approximately 11:17 a.m., with a somewhat tenuous but concerned look on her face, my secretary entered my office and informed me that I had a very important telephone call, I was a little chagrined because I had previously directed her to hold all calls and that I was not to be disturbed. Because of her persistence, I relented and took the call.
I was reluctant to take the call at this time because of the breadth of the celebration and the festive atmosphere that was filled with pride, excitement, exuberance and a renewed hope.
The call began, “this is Doctor Philips (pseudo name) from Bossier General Hospital, Mr. Lars, are you sitting down.” I asked, “Should I be?” He replied, “It probably would be best if you were.”
My heart was racing, I began to perspire, I wanted to hear the information, but I didn’t want to hear it. My mother had been having multiple health challenges and I immediately assumed that I was about to receive that call that I most feared. His statement began with “I am sorry to have to inform you that your father, Mr. Ernest Casey expired this morning, with a massive heart attack, while mowing your grandmother’s lawn.”
My emotions were all over the place. While I was pleased that it wasn’t my mother, I was equally pained that it was my father.
My father and I had been estranged during my early developmental years only to form a Luke warns relationship during my teen years. As time progressed we began to bond. Throughout my ordeal with Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia, he attended the hospital daily and would sit with me for hours and hours.
The first time that I ever saw my father shed tears was when he apologized for not being there for me and not being more involved in the life of my sister. My dad and I really began to bond as father and son from that point forward, I sarcastically said to him, So, you must think that I’m going to die.” Needless to say, he was somewhat angry and shocked, but he expressed that he understood why I might feel that way.
Upon my miraculous recovery from leukemia, we continued our bonding and grew very fond of each other and maintained a robust father-son relationship up to his departure from this earth.
The day my daddy died was one of total confusion for me. I wondered, “How am I supposed to continue to celebrate all of the accomplishments that God had allowed me to be a part of, yet he summoned my father on one of the most exciting and rewarding days of my life? How was I supposed to feel, react, interact, process and maintain that cool, male demeanor and the dexterity that was to be exhibited to my students?”
The challenge was real and starring me right in the face. Should I involve my students and celebrants in my devastating news, would they be able to detect that something was not quite right with me?
I persevered. However, I do not know if I pulled it off or if everyone was sympathetic and empathetic to my tragedy. Can you imagine the roller coaster-like atmosphere that occupied me? Mother’s day approaching within seventy-two (72) hours, a birthday looming within forty-eight (48) hours, and having to bury your father, the man for whom you had great disdain for sixteen years of your life.
I am so thankful that the opportunity was afforded me to know and to love my father unconditionally and to be able to have a true father-son bond. Life has a way of getting our attention. Rest in peace dad, your legacy is alive and well.
Melvin “Casey” Lars
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Photo credit: frank mckenna