My brave colleague (and friend) (#1333)

Topics/tags: Grinnellians

Today, my muse compelled me to write about a colleague and friend who is unwell. Not just any colleague and friend. I have lots of colleagues and even many colleagues who are also friends. Unfortunately, many of them also face health issues. Some are in the hospital, some are dealing with long-term issues, some are taking chemotherapy, some face challenges few know about. But my muse didn’t say, Pick one and muse about it; rather, they [1] asked me to consider a particular individual facing some particularly severe challenges. I’ll refer to my colleague as Braveheart not only because I think of them as being courageous and possessing a caring heart but also because they’ve said they need to be brave now. Many people will be able to figure out who it is; I assume those people also know that my colleague faces challenges. I worry. Others worry, too.

If asked to describe my colleague, I’d say that they fight the good fight. No. Strike that. They fight many good fights. I’ve seen them fight for their students in conflicts that involve administrators, fellow faculty, perhaps even those outside the institution. They fight for broader and better understanding of neurodiversity and (dis-)ability. When I mention that I’m at Grinnell to people in those fields, Braveheart’s name comes to their lips. Braveheart may not see it that way, but I always think of them fighting against mediocrity. They certainly strive to push their students far. The battles go on: Hypocrisy, Inattention, Core values, Decent Writing, Care for Others. (They fight for, rather than against, those last few things.) We’ve been allies in far too many conflicts at Grinnell.

Unfortunately, one of Braveheart’s many battles is against their own body. Or is that in defense of their own body? Perhaps both. Braveheart is hardcore. When struck by cancer, they continued teaching. If I recall correctly, they’d come to campus, take their poisons [2], teach class, and then head to the bathroom to vomit. Every class day. I’m not sure how they achieved such perfect timing. It seems like the battles of old, gentlemanly and civilized. Don’t fire until you see the whites of the porcelain. There’s more. I won’t repeat a story about self-care after failed surgery; even thinking about makes me want to pray to that aforementioned oh-too-solid (but occasionally fragile) white god.

It’s not just the cancer. Every year, I hear of another disease. Another challenge. But my colleague persists. Who knew they taught such great fisticuffs in prep school?

Describing Braveheart only as a combatant undervalues them. They are kind and caring, especially to their family and their students. Of course, kindness to students might involve a bit of pain; field surgery is often necessary, but rarely pleasant. I’ve encountered their care myself: Sam, you misunderstand; let’s take the knife to those misconceptions. Or, to be more precise, You have some writing skills; I just wish you knew more than two sentence structures. Care comes out in many ways.

There’s more to say. So much more. Braveheart’s smile illuminates the room. Their laughter brings me joy. I expect others feel the same. And so much seems to bring Braveheart joy. Good jokes. Bad ones. Family. Friends. Large aquatic mammals. Tennis rackets.

As you might expect, Braveheart is a master of words. They muster them into place in assorted engagements: Essays, poetry, criticism, even rants. Their work has inspired others to write, to draw, to act. Even to muse.

And Braveheart is generous. In the midst of all they face, they’ve continued teaching. They’ve raised funds for the College. Who else funds their enemy? I’ll never completely understand.

I wish I could go on. However, my muse has failed me. My emotions, too. So I’ll just end by sending my love, good thoughts, virtual hugs, Lionel Hampton vibes [4], and anything else I can think of to Braveheart and their family. I know others do, too. I hope someone can find the proper ammunition for the battles ahead.

Postscript: Sadly, many parts of this musing rattled around my brain before I put fingers to keyboard. I recall having better phrasing, but not what that phrasing was.

I’m sure that Braveheart would have preferred that I revise this musing. And then revise it again. And again. And they’d be right. Evidence suggests that the more I reflect on and rewrite things, the better they get. However, I’ve come to accept that my musings are (and should be) closer to free writing than to polished pieces. I must also acknowledge that spending too much time with this musing and this topic may cause more pain than I can bear, even though I know Braveheart bears more.

[1] I don’t think of my muse as having a particular gender. Hence, I use a gender-neutral term.

[2] Chemotherapy drugs.

[3] Kindness to students can involve sharp criticism.

[4] Good vibes. Perhaps even great ones.

Version 1.0 of 2025-02-05.