“Hmmmm,”
I think, as I hold onto the door handle to keep myself upright in the
car. “Wonder what that
means.” I mentally race
through the points in my prepared transparencies. “Org charts of a sampling of airlines – check; how repeat
customers contribute to a business’ bottom line – check; attributes
of excellent customer service – check; and how one can best be
prepared to deliver excellent service.
Yep. “All
there,” I mumbled to myself.
“Joyce,”
Judy begins. “They might not have an overhead projector. But you’re
good at ad-libbing. You
don’t really need a script.”
So
much for mental preparation.
“We’re
running a teensy weensy bit late,” Judy warns.
“But I’m trying to make up time.”
I had gathered as much, based on our zipping around cars that
were already going too fast for me.
We
finally arrive at our destination and the three of us dash into the
building. Our anxious
hostess greets us.
“Thank
you for coming. The class is waiting for you.
They might be a bit restless.
Oh, and I should tell you, you shouldn’t feel bad if they
don’t listen to you. We
have problems getting their attention.
But don’t worry about it.
At least you’re here.”
Now
I’m starting to get nervous. I’ve
been in corporate America my entire career. My
seminars have been geared toward professional and/or highly motivated
adults. Potentially difficult high schoolers are not exactly my target
audience. I look at Elsie,
who has spent a lifetime teaching elementary and high school students.
I figure if anybody knows how to manage this situation, she does.
I make a face that tells her I’m beginning to have second thoughts.
“Girl,
it’ll be alright. G’one, now.”
Elsie’s words challenge and reassure me.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk into the
classroom.
What
I see speaks volumes.
Some students are signifying as only teenagers who are trying to
be cool can.
Deep sighs.
Rolling of eyes heavenward.
Talking. Laughing.
But some are quiet, waiting.
“Tough
audience,” I thought.
“Most will be unimpressed with my corporate VP job title. That
I am Black and female, like many in the class, is irrelevant.
At best they’ll see me as a nice person whose life is far
removed from their own experience.
At worst I will be considered a typical sellout; any memory of
who I really am buried beneath layers of my polished self.
So my prepared presentation won’t be much help.”
Flashback!
Visions
of my almost thirty years of studying people through the prism of
customer service sail through my mind. “Anything there I can use?”
my mental computer assesses.
“What about formal and accidental teachers in my past?
How would the good ones handle this?”
Then Truth appeared.
I heard my inner voice whisper, “ Mississippi. Fort Adams.
Locust Hill.
Papa.”
I
began to share the humbleness of my own beginnings with the class.
I tried to make them see me fighting to cross a raging creek, on
foot, to get to my learning center – a little wood-frame schoolhouse.
I constructed a verbal picture of growing up in Jim Crow
Mississippi. I introduced them to Papa and Miss Lula, central characters
in my younger life.
I shared with them some of the life-lessons learned in that
environment, and how I was applying them even as I stood before the
class.
I
had never before in my life been as forthcoming about how I grew up, or
the many life roads I’d traveled to get to Buena Park High School. I
certainly did not plan it this time; it was not in my script, and did
not support the crisp, uptown image I’d crafted over the years. As
I revisited the self I’d left behind so many years ago, tears formed
in my eyes.
I let them come.
My
young audience could see that I was a witness to a time in history that
they knew little about, except from television or distant relatives.
They could also see into my heart, and sense my sincerity. They gave me
their undivided attention.
Although
we were separated by decades and geography, these students could see the
parallel in our lives.
We talked.
We both listened to each other.
I could hear the pride in their voices as they began to discover
a glimmer of some of their own strengths not previously realized.
Eventually, we talked about my advertised subject, customer service.
All
too quickly the session ended.
But I had been set on a life-altering course.
The experience challenged me to take stock of my life, to seek to
do that which would fill my soul with contentment.
Although I had begun writing years earlier, the direction that it
would take became clearer.
I felt compelled to at least explore what I constantly preached
– in order to reach out to others with humanity and compassion, one
must first
know and come to terms with one’s self.
Thus
my journey began.
