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| Courbert Self Portrait |
The persons I wanted to be like growing up usually
were people I wanted to be better friends with but felt somehow I did not measure
up. When I was in elementary school,
there was a guy my age named Johnny Courier.
I admired him greatly and was jealous of him. It’s difficult to say exactly why. Perhaps he had more social graces than me,
was more popular than me; above all, I thought he was closer to the train
engineer than me. In middle school I had
three or four good friends, like Steve Martin and James Bell. We saw and treated each other as equals. In high school I was jealous of Lynn
Revel. Again, he had social graces and a
sense of wit that I did not have. In
high school I was also jealous of some girls who displayed immense social
skills—Yvonne Albritton immediately comes to mind. In college, of course, I was jealous of brilliant,
straight “A” students. I felt slighted
as professors dismissed some of my contributions while favorably acknowledging theirs. The Green twins come to mind. But by far the man I most wanted to be like
in college was my Wesleyan chaplain, Allan J. Burry. He was young, say in this early thirties, and
had everything—intelligence, wit, social skills, and an outgoing
personality. He could communicate
effectively with anyone—faculty, staff, or students. I definitely felt he was on my side and filled
with immense goodwill towards me, but I was certain that he saw my limitations
and hang-ups and this caused me to keep some distance. This has typically been the case with those I
most admire—assured of my inferiority, I have out of self-defense kept my
distance. Perhaps the latest person I
have felt this way about was my Sunday school teacher while at Trinity United
Methodist Church here in Saint Petersburg.
His name is Andy Hines, and at the time was a high official in a large
corporation—at one time the CEO. I
admired him for his success, but even more so for his social skills and
fantastic speaking ability. He could
humbly but effectively, seemingly “off the cuff”, engage your attention for the
duration of class, frequently using the chalk board to make a point. Now that I have grown older, I have learned
an essential lesson—all humans have limitations, sometimes even highly
admirable people have profound ones. No
one is an exception in this regard. This
understanding of the universality of the human condition has served to make me more
compassionate and much less jealous. In
a sense, when we put people on a pedestal we are doing them a great
disservice. Out of service to our own
delusions, hang-ups, feelings of inferiority, and selfishness, we sever the
link of simple humanity. My earnest desire
for the rest of my life is fulfill the obligations of divine love—to give
everyone simple appreciation for their talents and strengths, but also to appreciate
their susceptibilities to ill health, fate, addictions, and limited experiences
and understandings.
