FAMOUS LAST WORDS
some final thoughts on the end of
days.
Sprinkled among the angry, insulting emails I
received in the wake of two posts about the reaction to Professor Randy
Pausch's death came a few that thanked me for articulating what their writers
had been thinking and feeling. By far the strongest and boldest of those --
from a reader we'll call Mr. P. -- arrived this past Monday. It's thoughtful
and provocative stuff. And it's sure to piss off, or at least to challenge, a
whole lot of readers. All of which makes it, I think, the very definition of
something I should post for your consideration:
Thank heavens I found someone else who shares similar feelings about Randy Pausch. I too find the pimping by the media to be well over the top, but I'll take my analysis one step further. I have just finished reading The Last Lecture and I couldn't help having two thoughts.
First of all, a very deep sense of sorrow for Mr. Pausch's wife and children. Nobody deserves to have their spouse or father taken from them at such an early stage in life. No matter the support system, his children will suffer from the lack of a father while growing up.
But secondly, I am actually quite ashamed to say that I found Mr. Pausch to be a profound egotist who managed to maintain this trait in the face of death. Early in his book he speaks of his wife urging him not to do this lecture in order to spend his limited time with her and the children. He ignored her pleas and was relentless in doing this until she gave in and supported him. If you watched all the media coverage it is easy to see how much time he actually did take away from his family. But I think that was his drive. In the end it was all about him. It was a lifelong quest to be noticed and truly in the spotlight.
I do admire his courage, but not for facing death. I admire his ability to remain so self-involved and egotistical to the very end. Some may argue that is a good posture. I really don't know but I think most people in his situation would have forgotten about all the clichés and taken their wives' advice.
I'm fascinated by Mr. P.'s insights from the book. I have not read the book, nor do I intend to; as a father and a husband whose senses of empathy and melodrama often get the best of him, I try to avoid tales like that whenever possible. And I refuse, of course, to contribute one more cent or one more moment to the media frenzy. But living in Pittsburgh and consuming local and national media and therefore not being able to escape the updates on the developments of the details of the inspirations of Professor Pausch's last year, I had begun to feel much the same way.
I hadn't written about it, and I hadn't even talked about it much. But Mr. P's email got me to thinking about it again. I don't know that I agree with all of his conclusions, or at least the severity with which he states some of them, but I admit at times to thinking -- especially when reading about Professor Pausch's exploits just before or after I'd spent some nice, quiet, family time with Wendy and the boys -- a lot of the same things. And I couldn't help thinking then, just as I've been again thinking this week, about what I would do, or about what anyone should do, in a terrible, unwinnable situation like that.
I cannot say for sure how I would respond — and I pray to God I never find out — but I’m fairly certain I would want to spend every last precious second with my wife and my sons and, along the way, with other family and close friends. I'm pretty sure I would not be jetting to talk to Oprah (or, say, Bill Maher), or sit down for a couple of interviews with Diane Sawyer (or Jake Tapper), or shoot a small role in the next Star Trek (or Harry Potter) movie. I would probably testify before Congress to help people (and their families) who would suffer from the same illness affecting me (and mine). But I can safely say I would not spend untold hours with a Wall Street Journal reporter, or allow Good Morning America crews into my backyard to watch me play with my kids for the sake of their ratings, or show up to speak at a graduation ceremony even if my former employer had paid almost two-and-a-half times the market value for my old house and then begged me to come by one last time for the good PR hit.
I'm pretty damned sure I'd spend all that time at home, or at my parents' house, or maybe one last time at the beach, and always with Wendy and the boys, smiling and laughing and trying like hell not to cry every time I looked at them and imagined not growing old(er) with them. I might, I suppose, grant myself a few indulgences along the way -- you can be sure I’d eat every last piece of cheesecake I could find and keep down -- but I would spend all of my time in slavish devotion to Wendy and the boys and their wishes, not to the feeding of my own ego, nor to the cementing of my legacy anywhere but in their lasting, loving memories.
Am I judging Randy Pausch? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose it depends on your perspective. From mine, it feels like I'm just being honest. Like I'm looking and thinking and, one husband and father and former CMU professor to another, having a considerable difference of opinion. And of strategy. And maybe even of self.
I didn't know the man, and so, fawning media coverage and second-hand news and third-hand email reports aside, I can't begin to say I knew what he was thinking or feeling. I certainly don't know what he was going through. Maybe some of that turning outward was just a way to balance the scales of his own emotions, to achieve some sort of emotional balance and spiritual stability, to build outward enough that he did not collapse inward, under what must have been the crushing weight of his own imminent mortality.
He did it his way. I like to think, at least, that I'd do it mine. Whether one is better, or more noble, or more selfless, or more smart, I'll leave for you to decide. Because in the end, I think, it all comes down to your disposition. To what you can handle and what you can't. And to the wisdom, or maybe just the good fortune, to know which is which.
From what little fortune or wisdom or wishful intuition I have right now, sitting here alone on a quiet Thursday morning, with Wendy at work and Ethan at camp and Adam upstairs still asleep, I'll say that, even in the face of death, I would do my best to put myself and my fame and my attention and my writing and my lectures last -- and my family first. And then, just as I do every day in the face of life, hope and pray that my best was at least somewhere close to good enough.
Thank heavens I found someone else who shares similar feelings about Randy Pausch. I too find the pimping by the media to be well over the top, but I'll take my analysis one step further. I have just finished reading The Last Lecture and I couldn't help having two thoughts.
First of all, a very deep sense of sorrow for Mr. Pausch's wife and children. Nobody deserves to have their spouse or father taken from them at such an early stage in life. No matter the support system, his children will suffer from the lack of a father while growing up.
But secondly, I am actually quite ashamed to say that I found Mr. Pausch to be a profound egotist who managed to maintain this trait in the face of death. Early in his book he speaks of his wife urging him not to do this lecture in order to spend his limited time with her and the children. He ignored her pleas and was relentless in doing this until she gave in and supported him. If you watched all the media coverage it is easy to see how much time he actually did take away from his family. But I think that was his drive. In the end it was all about him. It was a lifelong quest to be noticed and truly in the spotlight.
I do admire his courage, but not for facing death. I admire his ability to remain so self-involved and egotistical to the very end. Some may argue that is a good posture. I really don't know but I think most people in his situation would have forgotten about all the clichés and taken their wives' advice.
I'm fascinated by Mr. P.'s insights from the book. I have not read the book, nor do I intend to; as a father and a husband whose senses of empathy and melodrama often get the best of him, I try to avoid tales like that whenever possible. And I refuse, of course, to contribute one more cent or one more moment to the media frenzy. But living in Pittsburgh and consuming local and national media and therefore not being able to escape the updates on the developments of the details of the inspirations of Professor Pausch's last year, I had begun to feel much the same way.
I hadn't written about it, and I hadn't even talked about it much. But Mr. P's email got me to thinking about it again. I don't know that I agree with all of his conclusions, or at least the severity with which he states some of them, but I admit at times to thinking -- especially when reading about Professor Pausch's exploits just before or after I'd spent some nice, quiet, family time with Wendy and the boys -- a lot of the same things. And I couldn't help thinking then, just as I've been again thinking this week, about what I would do, or about what anyone should do, in a terrible, unwinnable situation like that.
I cannot say for sure how I would respond — and I pray to God I never find out — but I’m fairly certain I would want to spend every last precious second with my wife and my sons and, along the way, with other family and close friends. I'm pretty sure I would not be jetting to talk to Oprah (or, say, Bill Maher), or sit down for a couple of interviews with Diane Sawyer (or Jake Tapper), or shoot a small role in the next Star Trek (or Harry Potter) movie. I would probably testify before Congress to help people (and their families) who would suffer from the same illness affecting me (and mine). But I can safely say I would not spend untold hours with a Wall Street Journal reporter, or allow Good Morning America crews into my backyard to watch me play with my kids for the sake of their ratings, or show up to speak at a graduation ceremony even if my former employer had paid almost two-and-a-half times the market value for my old house and then begged me to come by one last time for the good PR hit.
I'm pretty damned sure I'd spend all that time at home, or at my parents' house, or maybe one last time at the beach, and always with Wendy and the boys, smiling and laughing and trying like hell not to cry every time I looked at them and imagined not growing old(er) with them. I might, I suppose, grant myself a few indulgences along the way -- you can be sure I’d eat every last piece of cheesecake I could find and keep down -- but I would spend all of my time in slavish devotion to Wendy and the boys and their wishes, not to the feeding of my own ego, nor to the cementing of my legacy anywhere but in their lasting, loving memories.
Am I judging Randy Pausch? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose it depends on your perspective. From mine, it feels like I'm just being honest. Like I'm looking and thinking and, one husband and father and former CMU professor to another, having a considerable difference of opinion. And of strategy. And maybe even of self.
I didn't know the man, and so, fawning media coverage and second-hand news and third-hand email reports aside, I can't begin to say I knew what he was thinking or feeling. I certainly don't know what he was going through. Maybe some of that turning outward was just a way to balance the scales of his own emotions, to achieve some sort of emotional balance and spiritual stability, to build outward enough that he did not collapse inward, under what must have been the crushing weight of his own imminent mortality.
He did it his way. I like to think, at least, that I'd do it mine. Whether one is better, or more noble, or more selfless, or more smart, I'll leave for you to decide. Because in the end, I think, it all comes down to your disposition. To what you can handle and what you can't. And to the wisdom, or maybe just the good fortune, to know which is which.
From what little fortune or wisdom or wishful intuition I have right now, sitting here alone on a quiet Thursday morning, with Wendy at work and Ethan at camp and Adam upstairs still asleep, I'll say that, even in the face of death, I would do my best to put myself and my fame and my attention and my writing and my lectures last -- and my family first. And then, just as I do every day in the face of life, hope and pray that my best was at least somewhere close to good enough.
Posted: Thu - August 7, 2008 at 10:26 AM
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Published On: Jan 16, 2009 04:51 PM
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Published On: Jan 16, 2009 04:51 PM