PRIDE UNDAUNTED BY REJECTION

“you can’t always get what you want . . . but if you try sometimes . . . you might find . . . you get what you need”

Oh how LOST wishes that were true. The eldest LOST kid got some distasteful news this week. He was not accepted to the family U – as in UCLA. The kid knew in his great heart that his odds were long; not because of poor grades – his were 4.22 out of 5.00 – good enough for 17th in a class of over 500. Not because of a lack of outside activities – the kid was spread thinner than the butter on the bread at the Cratchit family Christmas table – doing all manner of school/sports/performing arts/charitable works activities. No, the kid’s long time dream has been in the performing arts arena. Since 5th grade and the first time on a stage he’s been enamored of performing, connecting through characters with his audiences. Singing, telling jokes, making people laugh. It was his little league, it was his creative outlet, and since high school he has only expanded it, becoming enthralled by graphic arts like those obtainable through PhotoShop (self taught after his mom took off the “training wheels”), or through video production. No, the eldest of the young LOST’s narrowed his chances by setting his sites higher – trying to become one of 60 entering students in the UCLA theater program.

LOST remembers being the first one to greet the lad when he existed his February audition at Academia's Magic Kingdom . He had an ear-to-ear grin that wouldn’t cease. He had no advanced knowledge of the outcome; no fix was in, nor had he experienced a Hurkos moment of future clarity. He simply felt the relief that comes with knowing that, when under pressure he put his best foot forward and delivered what he had to give. He was also very grounded – steadied by the information that he was among the 2,000 hopefuls looking for one of those 60 golden tickets, and rocked by the revelation that “not getting into the Theater program means you will not get into the school.” Both LOST and the kid were okay with that one. Despite the love for all things blue and gold – devolving as it did in part from a distaste for “Cardinal and Gold” (thanks Dad, thanks “Sandy”), despite the many trips to Pasadena and to Pauley, and the visits to the hallowed campus “home,” LOST has never overtly pressured or lobbied or instilled in the kids this requirement to enroll there. However, LOST was no less pleased that the oldest developed an interest, and an appreciation for the beauty and the bustle that is the campus, and that he ultimately decided to apply there.

And so it was that it was painful to experience the sting of foreseeable rejection; not because it was unexpected, or even based on “unfairness.” Who knew what degree or caliber the competition, as the auditions were all individualized and outside the presence of all? Who knew of what political/social pressures could be brought to bear? What role was played by those with access to greater coaching/mentoring resources, etc.? Being told “sorry, not enough” hurts, regardless. LOST felt this pain for the son. Knowing how hard the kid had worked – clearly much harder than LOST did to get into the same university 3 decades earlier. Late nights, multiple projects, commitments and involvements, still “no.”

LOST also knows the measure of the kid. This does not diminish him in any way. It changes not his character, it carves nothing from his integrity, and it charges nil against the breadth and depth of his wit. The kid that is still part of LOST is upset at the alma mater – for its failure to recognize the content of character that is readily visible through LOST’s biased but not jaundiced eyes.

Today, LOST wishes that his son had experienced the wit and wisdom of LOST’s senior year English Teacher, the humbly terrific Violet Klessig, who had the courage and insight to remind LOST in a “Senior” moment of despair that “Sometimes pain is the only thing that reminds us that we’re alive.” On its face, its not an inspiring message, but it’s a human one, a reminder that such events are occasional (“sometimes”), significant (“only thing”), yet strangely reassuring (“we’re alive.”).
Sonny boy, I give you the great wisdom of Ms. Klessig, and I wish you only the most infrequent visits from this irritating visitor named pain.