|
Living in Atlanta, I receive numerous invitations from the local Peace Corps office. After attending one function 6 years ago with mixed reviews, I generally discarded the mailings. One caught my eye this past spring and, without knowing why, I felt compelled to attend.
It was a joint mailing from the Atlanta Peace Corps office and the Carter Center. I was invited to attend the Lillian B. Carter Award Presentation at the Carter Center given to a senior former PCV. Jimmy Carter, for the first time, was to make the presentation himself. I know the former president carefully selects his appearances, so I decided if Jimmy is willing to show up, then I will too.
The Lillian Carter Award is given every two years to a RPCV over the age of 50 who has served with distinction. It was initially geographically limited to the Southeast, but is now open to all throughout the United States.
My wife, Nancy, had a full schedule and was not able to join me. I asked a good friend, Eric Lucas, to join me. Eric is a native of The Netherlands, a humanitarian, an international businessman and fluent in 4 languages. My instincts to attend were right on.
This year's honoree, Tony Gasbarro, a resident of Fairbanks, Alaska was a most worthy recipient. He had served in the Dominican Republic from 1962-1964 and then, get this, served in El Salvador some 32 years later from 1996-1998! My initial prejudice was that he was some senior executive looking for a renewal of sorts. Not hardly. Tony is a long-time faculty member with the University of Alaska in their forestry division. Even today, he is working with families from El Salvador working in the Alaska fishing industry He is a remarkable man.
Ah, but the awards ceremony... I am a big believer in rituals and this ceremony was a healing for all who attended and for myself, in particular. The former president's grandson, Jason Carter, a RPCV from South Africa from 1998-2000, was the master of ceremonies. There were political heavies from Georgia and PC Washington, DC who spoke before the former President and the recipient.
Then arose Jimmy to say a few words and make the presentation. He began by reminding the audience that his mother, Miss Lillian, as she was affectionately known, had served in the Peace Corps in India at the age of 68 during his administration. As the former president described her courage, her determination, her independence and her sense of supreme values, his eyes filled with tears.
President Carter then read a poem from his book, Always a Reckoning, entitled "Miss Lillian Sees Leprosy for the First Time." It was an adaptation of a poem Miss Lillian had written from India. As he began, all that could be heard was the hum of the air conditioner on this hot, humid June day...
When I nursed in a clinic near Bombay,
a small girl, shielding all her leprous sores,
crept inside the door. I moved away,
but the doctor called, "You take this case!"
First I found a mask and put it on,
quickly gave the child a shot and then,
not well, I slipped away to be alone
and scrubbed my entire body red and raw.
I faced her treatment every week with dread
and loathing-of the chore, not the child.
As time passed, I was less afraid,
and managed not to turn my face away.
Her spirit bloomed as sores began to fade,
she'd raise her anxious, searching eyes to mine
to show she trusted me. We'd smile and say
a few Marathi words, then reach and hold
each other's hands. And then love grew between
us, so that, later, when I kissed her lips
I didn't feel unclean.
It was the first time I had experienced, live or taped, a man who had been our president, so openly touched by the memory of his mother, cry. Eric and I, and many others, cried too.
For not only was I touched by Jimmy Carter's vulnerability, I was at the same time finally releasing a long ago vulnerability deep inside myself. Privately, I had been carrying guilt for coming home before the end of my tour in Brazil. I was to have completed my service in June 1968, but I returned in November 1967 in poor health.
Back then I had given what I could to those with whom I taught, coached, organized, etc., all offered in love. However, I got sick. My childhood and early adolescent asthma returned with a vengeance. It started three months after I arrived during the rainy season. Yet, it was quite manageable until I was returning from a trip to the Amazon via 1500 miles of dirt roads. The dust really got me and I was never the same. All that I was ingesting medicinally to breathe was insufficient. The order by the PC doctor in Rio to return to the States was bittersweet. I wanted to get well, but somehow I saw myself as having a sore or blemish.
For over 30 years I had carried some embarrassment when I told other RPCV's that I came home early on a medical. Like somehow I wasn't good enough; somehow, I hadn't been...clean! However, sitting in the Cecil B. Day Chapel of the Carter Center I felt complete with that powerful period in my life.
I owned for the first time that I had done the very best I could do with my compromised health for as long as I was truly able, and I now felt clean. I accepted myself with my fragility, knowing I had served with commitment, compassion and honor for however many days I did. As the Peace Corps has been an enduring gift to me, so was my time that June day at the Lillian Carter Award Presentation.
Tim Schnabel, M.Ed., is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, trainer, consultant and writer. He lives in the greater metropolitan area of Atlanta, Georgia. His email is: tim.schnabel@mindspring.com
OTHER CONTRIBUTIONS BY TIM:
|
