...so don't miss the chance to help a brother out of a bind

This week didn’t start well for me. It involved one of those work-related incidents that makes you glance in the mirror and wonder if you’ve really learned a single thing over the course of your fifty-three years. Actually… “wonder” is the wrong word. It was the type of experience that more-or-less ensures that you actually haven’t learned a single thing. To add insult to injury, the incident confirmed yet again what I already know but never seem to remember...that most of the unpleasantness I'm involved in is my own, damn fault.

What actually took place isn’t important for this morning’s drivel, and though I know it’s frustrating to leave out the details…the point really for this offering was that this week, like I suspect some weeks do for some of you, seemed to start out very, very, badly. Then, just like a lot of weeks, yesterday, after a couple of fairly mediocre days, early Thursday morning brought an unexpected change.  A former classmate from the MPA program we went through at the University of Baltimore sent me an email early yesterday which was actually a chain letter. The message claimed in was National Friendship Week, and included a little story about some poor Scottish farmer cat named Fleming.

Apparently, one day, while working out in the fields, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog. There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. According to the story, Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slow and terrifying death.

Supposedly the following  day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's humbled farmstead surroundings and an elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.

“I want to repay you,” said the nobleman. “You saved my son's life.”

“I can't accept payment for what I did,” the Scottish farmer replied waving off the offer. At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel.

“Is that your son?” the nobleman asked.
“Yes,” the farmer replied proudly.

“I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son will enjoy If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a man we both will be proud of.” And that he did.

Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and in time, graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.

Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken with pneumonia.

What saved his life this time? Penicillin.

The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill . His son's name?

Sir Winston Churchill.

True? I don’t have a clue…but I doubt it. At the very least, the teller of the story probably took some real artistic license and I’m guessing the details were somehow embellished over the years…kind of like the old telephone game. I suspect a quick internet search could probably give some sense of the story’s accuracy…but you see, the veracity of the story here also really isn’t the point…or at least it wasn’t for me.

The thing that caught my eye was National Friendship Week, and the line at the end that included a chain-related plea for the reader to forward the story to anyone you consider a FRIEND. There was even some weird kind of scorecard tally that suggested a relationship between the number of people you would send it to and how quickly your “wish” would be granted.”

You see, that’s where things didn’t seem to bode too well for me. After the way the week started I figured I could send one blast email or about four separate electronic emails…but either way…according to the numbers, I was going to wait a long time for my wish to be granted (if you sent it to 20 friends…your wish would be granted in 3 hours).

So…two big problems for me. The first was I didn’t have a ready-made wish. The second seemingly bigger problem was at first glance…I thought I’d have trouble busting the 5-friend mark (3-month wish wait).

But then I started thinking about all the farmer Fleming’s in my life. All of the selfless people that put aside their immediate priorities to help be out of the mud. The list seemed short at first, but as I thought through all the folks that made a difference, there really was this kind of Wonderful Life moment.

Now sadly…I haven’t held up my part of the bargain. To my knowledge I haven’t sent any of my many Fleming’s offspring to medical school…and other than installing a couple of ceiling fans and approving a few check authorizations, I haven’t gone on to lead a nation or help save the world for democracy. The worst part is I also haven't even repaid the favor by pulling my share of folks out of the mud.  

I don’t think it’s actually National Friendship Week (might be in February if there is one), but I do think St. Patrick’s Day might be creeping up on us. As mentioned I’m also skeptical  about how true the story actually is…but regardless…it might be appropriate to start this Friday by thinking about all the Farmer Fleming’s in your life. It could even offer an opportunity for all of us to take the time to pull a brother or sister or two out of the bog.

Have a wonderful weekend.

 

You won't catch me dead with no blues...