A Father Complains
The center’s spiritual guide read the message again. ‘Mr. Carson
wishes to speak with you about his son and would like to stop by
tomorrow morning if that time is convenient. He is awaiting your
return call. Please respond by 4:30 p.m.’
A phone number was neatly written at the bottom of the note.
The teacher picked up the receiver, dialed the number, connected
with Mr. Carson, spoke briefly, and agreed to meet with him at 8:30
a.m. the following day.
At 8:38 a.m. the next morning, someone knocked on the guide’s
door. He arose from his desk, walked to the door, opened it, and
found himself face to face with a tall man who appeared to be in his
early fifties. The man was well groomed and tanned, had a full head
of black hair with only a touch of gray along the sides, and piercing
blue eyes.
“Mr. Carson, I presume,” said the center’s spiritual director,
and he extended his hand in welcome.
The man smiled, acknowledged the correctness of the
presumption, and accepted the hand being offered. Mr. Carson was
invited in and the door was closed behind them before the teacher
guided the man to a couple of easy chairs by the window.
“May I get you anything in the way of refreshments, Mr.
Carson?” asked his host. “Coffee, tea, or, perhaps, a soft drink?” he
added.
His guest politely declined with: “No, thanks ... really, I’m fine.”
The teacher sat down, folded his hands, rested them on his leg,
and waited for the man to speak about whatever had brought him.
The wait was very short.
The man opened with: “Sir, I believe you know my son, Allan
Carson,” and noting the teacher’s nod of agreement, continued on.
“Well, I’m concerned about a number of things in relation to his
affiliation with the center.”
The teacher’s hands unfolded and made a sign of
encouragement, as if to say: ‘Yes, go on.’ Then, he folded them again
and rested them on his leg once more.
“My boy has been coming to your center for three or four years,
now, and while I do see some promising changes in his behavior and
attitudes about quite a few things -- and this does please me --
nonetheless, there are some issues which bother me. For example, he
tells me that he has different duties at the Center and included
among these responsibilities are cleaning both the stables and
bathrooms, and, apparently, he has been doing this for several years.
“Although I can understand why some amount of this sort of
thing is appropriate and constitutes part of the training, I think that
two, or more, years is far too long a period for any son of mine to be
doing that sort of thing. He has informed me of his other duties, and,
for the most part, I don’t have a problem with the other things he
does, but I would like to make a proposal concerning the bathroom
and stable details, if you don’t mind.”
The teacher shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows,
saying: “I try to be open to possibilities. What do you have in mind?”
Mr. Carson started right in: “I’m a fairly well-to-do man. I
would like to have a few of my employees come over here on a
regular basis -- at your discretion of course -- and assume most, if not
all of the stable and the bathroom cleaning duties. This would free up
my son, and, maybe, some of the other students here, as well, to be
able to spend more time on the sort of spiritual activities for which
they came to the Center in the first place. What do you think about
this proposal?”
The teacher’s head made a kind of half shake, and he replied:
“Your offer is, certainly, very kind, Mr. Carson, but, let me ask you
a question, or better yet, if you will permit, can I show you
something?”
“Sure, please do,” he said.
The teacher rose and walked to the door, saying to Mr. Carson
as he did: “Please, come with me.” The two went through the door,
down a corridor, walked through another door near the end of the
hallway, and walked up some stairs to the next floor.
The teacher opened the door and the two of them entered the
Center’s Infirmary. Proceeding down the hall, the teacher took a
right into a room with several patients.
The teacher said ‘Hello’ to the people in the room and asked how
they were all doing. Everyone gave brief responses of
acknowledgment and status reports on their respective conditions,
and, then, the teacher indicated that the people in the room should
carry on as if he weren’t even there.
He went over to a chart on the end of one of the beds, looked it
over, and took some pills off a tray on a near-by cart. He poured a
glass of water, and, then, he came back to Mr. Carson and said:
“Here, please take the pills,” as he handed him a cup of water.
An incredulous look flashed across the face of Mr. Carson, and
he said, in rather exasperated tones “What are you talking about?”
The teacher registered surprise at Mr. Carson’s response. “Why
won’t you take the pills?” the teacher inquired.
“Because I’m not the one who is sick. That man over there is,”
he said, nodding to the person on the hospital bed.”
The teacher shook his head in agreement with Mr. Carson,
saying: “Yes, that’s right, so why do you want your employees to
take your son’s spiritual medicine?”
Mr. Carson blinked a few times, looked at the man on the bed
and back at the teacher. A look of understanding briefly sped across
his face.
He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaled slowly, and
chuckled. “You’ve made your point, I guess. But, there is one other
concern that I have which is quite different from this present issue.”
Looking at the teacher and getting the ‘let’s hear it’ signal, Mr.
Carson said: “My son says he doesn’t eat all that well here – plain
rice, some stale bread, a few assorted grains, a couple of vegetables.
Yet, my son also says that some of the senior students eat very well
including lots of fancy chicken dishes – why such an inequity? Why
can’t my son eat chicken like some of these other students.”
The teacher remarked: “Ah, yes.” He motioned for the father to
follow him.
They went to an elevator and rode it to the basement. They
walked a short distance and went through some double doors
marked “Cafeteria.”
The large room was nearly empty, with only a few scattered
people here and there. The teacher maneuvered around some tables
and approached a man sitting by himself toward the back portion of
the Cafeteria. The man had just finished a meal.
The teacher extended greetings to the seated individual, and
these were cordially returned. The teacher sat down and invited his
guest to do so as well.
When the two were seated, the teacher said: “This is Mr. Carson
who is talking with me about various issues concerning the Center.”
The two men exchanged hand shakes. When this had been
completed, they both looked over at the teacher.
He said: “How long have you been at the Center, Mark?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe, ... let’s see ... maybe, 35 years,” Mark
said. He thought about it a bit more, and said: “Yeah, 35 years.”
The teacher looked at Mark and, then, he looked at the plate in
front of the man, and, then, he looked at Mark, once more.
Mark concentrated on the bones remaining on the plate, and,
slowly, they became transformed into a whole chicken breast. When
this was done, he got up and said good-by to the teacher and Mr.
Carson.”
The guest was dumbfounded by what he had just seen – or,
thought he had seen. It couldn’t be, but it was.
While Mr. Carson continued to stare at the plate in disbelief, the
teacher whispered in his ear: “When your son can do that, Mr.
Carson, he can have chicken too.”
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