APOLOGY 101 – THE MASTERS SEMINAR

APOLOGY 101 – THE MASTERS SEMINAR

By Mark Reed

I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me.

These are words that we all have had to utter at one time or another in our life. Some of us have had to say them, or some variation of them, numerous times. Maybe we are slow learners, or maybe, just maybe, we are human and make mistakes. Making mistakes is probably the most human of experiences, as none of us are perfect and fall short. So it is inarguable that every single one of us will find ourselves, in one way or another, in the position of having to apologize. Some of us do it better than others. Some of us do it badly, or not at all. Some of us take it to another level and can be an example for all of us. Particularly when done so from the heart and are blessed with the wit and good humor that is to be celebrated when coupled with a good heart. That’s what this story is about.

I am one of those who have had to utter those words more often than others. I am an impetuous fool. Some who do not particularly like me say I am just a fool. Fair enough. But I am a fool that has learned the importance of being able to admit when I am wrong and say I am sorry. Sometimes I am slow to come to it, but come to it I do. I was blessed with the good fortune of having been raised by a mother and father who taught me the importance of being humble enough to admit when you were wrong. I was taught to step up and be a man and make it right, regardless of the burn you may feel in doing so.

We all probably know people who are unable to say they are sorry. People who find it next to impossible to make a real apology, other than giving lip service to it in a disingenuous way, so that you know they do not mean it. Too bad for them, because an apology can be liberating. It frees you of holding onto unresolved issues that can eat at you and diminish you as a person. Of course there are those with no moral compunction, or conscience to speak of, that go about their merry way oblivious to their shortcoming of being unable to first, admit they were wrong, and secondly, make it right with an apology. Sad.

All this is prelude to a story I want to share from my distant past, of a person who brought an apology to a whole new level – an art form, really. It has been almost fifty years since I received this apology. I have, until now, kept it tucked away and not shared with anyone. But I ran across it and felt that enough time had passed, that I could share it with no compromise to the person who gifted me with this wonderful apology.

In college, I had the good fortune to be introduced to a unique and interesting girl named Leslye. A mutual friend fixed us up on a blind date. Like many of you, I have had mixed results from blind dates, ranging from the nightmare variety to the sublime. This one fell closer to the former. It just did not click for either of us. At the end of the date, as I returned her to her sorority house, she looked at me and said, “This has been a disappointment.” We both laughed out loud at that. Before she said that, I was ready to be gone of her, but the wit of her comment grabbed me. I said, “I think we owe it to ourselves to give this another shot.” She agreed.

As it turned out, it was a good move on both our parts. She was an intelligent and engaging girl who was, a joy to be around. We laughed much. She was the first I had met of that new breed referred to as a “Hippie.” You must remember that the University of Georgia in the sixties was a bastion of conservative thought and action. She was a breath of fresh air and an eye opening adventure in experiencing life. She was an honors student, brilliant really, and here she was, a 4.0 GPA person dating me, a 2.0 GPA kinda guy. I was used to going to classes in big auditoriums with a hundred or more students, listening to lectures by professors. She would take me with her to her “classes” held in the living room of her professor, with a handful of brilliant people, all except for me, sitting around discussing the topic of the day. It was enlightening for me, and made me regret not having applied myself more, so I might have experienced such an education.

One Sunday afternoon, we were out exploring the Old Campus of UGA and ran across The Modern Art Museum tucked away on the edge of campus where the UGA Art School was located, in an unassuming building that was unlike the classic structures, which were the norm on Old Campus. We went inside and were greeted by a huge book on a reception table open for visitors to sign in on. The last person to sign in had not signed their name; instead having scotch taped a few red berries squashed onto the page and titled it, “Dooberries.” This was an art museum, which was featuring an exhibit of eclectic modern art. We rolled on the floor laughing. We flipped through the sign-in book and found numerous examples of wit and humor. John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress from 1775 to 1777, had signed in with the same signature he flourished on our Declaration of Independence. Ho Chi Minh, the North Vietnamese leader, had signed in with his oriental styled block letter type signature with a small caricature visage of his face following his signature. Numerous other dignitaries like Babe Ruth, LBJ, Howdy Doody and The Shadow had also signed in. We spent an hour going through the big sign-in book before even starting to go through the art exhibit. We had the place to our selves this Sunday afternoon.

We visited the Art School nearby where my sister, Cynthia was working in the photo lab on a camera she had constructed. We were her first photo subject. Taken of us in a fifty-gallon barrel used as a trash can. One of my favorite photos from college. Leslye was wearing one of my dad’s Atlanta Country Club hats,

Early on in our relationship, we mutually agreed that when time came to end the relationship, at the option of either party, we would not do so with harsh words or recriminations, but with humor. The party doing the breaking up would send the other a gift-wrapped toy Dump Truck. It would be a funny way to “dump” someone.

At some point, one evening out on a date sitting in my car having a discussion about any number of the varied and far reaching subjects we would talk about, she surprised me with a question. You must know that our relationship was one of mutual frivolity and humor. She asked me, in a manner serious as a heart attack, “Mark, do you see us ever getting married?” I was unprepared for the question, but our relationship was based upon honesty and directness. I did not hesitate to say, “No, I don’t see that in our future.” She sat there for a moment in silence thinking it through and then thanked me for my honesty. Believe it or not, that did not end the night on a bad note. We did not have an argument or anything. It was business as usual for us, and we continued our conversation.

A week or so later, I walked into the fraternity house after a day of classes and found a big gift-wrapped package addressed to me sitting on the foyer table. The house was full of my fraternity brothers who were milling around waiting for me to arrive so they could see me open the mystery gift. As I untied the big bow on top and carefully peeled back the colorful wrapping paper, I found a big red toy dump truck. There was no card or note of any kind saying whom it was from, but I knew immediately that it was from her. I laughed my butt off at her continued wit. None of my fraternity brothers got it, but how could they?

I carefully wrapped it back up, retying the bow as closely approximating the original condition as possible. I took the gift to the post office and had it boxed up and mailed to her at her sorority house, with big words printed on the outside of the box, “RETURN TO SENDER. ADDRESSEE UNKNOWN.” I made no telephone call to her, nor did I receive one from her over the next few days. Then I received a letter in the mail, addressed to me at the fraternity house. It was from her.

This is what this story is all about. Her letter to me was the classiest, wittiest and world-class apology letter of all time. I attach it hereto. She did not sign the apology, other than sketch her unmistakable caricature. You will understand when you see it. I have never laughed so hard before…even more so than the “Dooberries” incident. I believe this is the way many of us should apologize. With sincere humility and an unmistaken air of regret for something said or done. I learned a valuable lesson from it. I was blessed to be the recipient of such an apology.

Bottom line is that we reconciled and continued dating. We enjoyed each other’s company and continued to laugh a lot together. As these relationships go, we finally went our separate ways, but never having argued or traded crosswords.

Fast-forward a few years. I had just been discharged from the Army and was visiting a friend at her apartment. One of the other people there was a girl who also graduated from UGA. As we struck up a conversation, we played the name game of who did you know, attempting to determine our mutual friends. As fate would have it, she was a best friend with my old girlfriend. I asked how she was doing and where she was. It turns out that she had moved to New York City and was living with her fiancée. She had her telephone number and we called it, even though it was after midnight. I heard her unmistakable voice answer the phone in a sleepy voice, so it was obvious the call had woken her up. She said, “Hello?” The only thing I said was, “Dooberries.” We laughed our butts off over the phone. We had a nice conversation catching up with each other. I heard a man’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone. I apologized for calling so late and hoped my call did not cause a problem between her and her fiancée. She said, “Not at all.” I congratulated her on her upcoming nuptials. She welcomed me home and thanked me for serving my country. She was the first of only a few to do so. As I said goodbye, I told her I had spent the last year and a half visiting an old mutual friend…Ho Chi Minh. We both laughed our butts off again and she said “Dooberries” as she hung up.

I hope her life turned out good.