My friend, known to be an astute violin teacher, told me a story about his new young student Jackson who was in the Army for ten years and now a single civilian. I was all ears.
“So…Jackson was in Afghanistan leading a troop by the river when he came upon a crowd of people wailing and crying, pointing at the river and its contents…which was a bus full of people with many on top clinging for their lives while being swiftly swept away. The townspeople had no means to save them - no rope, chain, nothing. They stood there helpless…horrified…waiting for the bus to sink. Jackson called his superior officer and asked him should he pull the bus out. As the officer yelled an emphatic NO! Jackson pretended he lost the call and made a conscious decision to pull the bus out anyway.”
There was an intentional pause, waiting for my reaction, which was, “Oh my, did the people on the bus survive?”
“WHAT? That’s not the point! What he did is the point.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not finished with the story,” he grumbles. "So, later, to show their appreciation for his good deed, the townspeople asked Jackson to dinner. Knowing his superior officer would object, he wanted to honor their request and accepted the dinner invitation without permission.”
“Oh,” I said again. It seems I’m full of “ohs.”
“That’s not the correct response,” he says, as if I were his student.
“What?”
“You missed the point entirely. Aren’t you impressed that Jackson did what was right?”
“What?” It seems that I ask “what” a lot, too.
“You do this every time! You don’t think it out! You don’t get the point!”
“On the contrary, I did think it out. I wanted to know more, like was anyone saved.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Oh…well…to me it is. I took the story very seriously. Did the people on the bus live or did he just save the bus?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. What’s your point?”
“So…Jackson was in Afghanistan leading a troop by the river when he came upon a crowd of people wailing and crying, pointing at the river and its contents…which was a bus full of people with many on top clinging for their lives while being swiftly swept away. The townspeople had no means to save them - no rope, chain, nothing. They stood there helpless…horrified…waiting for the bus to sink. Jackson called his superior officer and asked him should he pull the bus out. As the officer yelled an emphatic NO! Jackson pretended he lost the call and made a conscious decision to pull the bus out anyway.”
There was an intentional pause, waiting for my reaction, which was, “Oh my, did the people on the bus survive?”
“WHAT? That’s not the point! What he did is the point.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not finished with the story,” he grumbles. "So, later, to show their appreciation for his good deed, the townspeople asked Jackson to dinner. Knowing his superior officer would object, he wanted to honor their request and accepted the dinner invitation without permission.”
“Oh,” I said again. It seems I’m full of “ohs.”
“That’s not the correct response,” he says, as if I were his student.
“What?”
“You missed the point entirely. Aren’t you impressed that Jackson did what was right?”
“What?” It seems that I ask “what” a lot, too.
“You do this every time! You don’t think it out! You don’t get the point!”
“On the contrary, I did think it out. I wanted to know more, like was anyone saved.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Oh…well…to me it is. I took the story very seriously. Did the people on the bus live or did he just save the bus?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. What’s your point?”
