I made Cindy cry

Credit: Jonathan Castaneda on Unsplash

I made Cindy cry

Over 30 years ago in graduate school, I took a class where everyone had to work in pairs. I think that is accurate.

I can only remember one project, our last—a 50% of our grade project, well maybe.

What sort of subject had we researched, if indeed it was a research project? No idea.

There is so much I no longer remember about the class or even the last project except I made my partner cry. Yes, I did, perhaps.

Cindy cried. I don’t remember her last name.

But I remember those tears. Tears visible only to me. I brazenly interrupted Cindy’s part of our presentation and “stole the show.” I saw the tears dammed up in her eyes, eager to overflow down her cheeks, down her chin, and to reprimand me. Overactive imagination? Don’t think so.

She turned away from me. She apologized to the class for an alleged allergy attack, for having to wipe her eyes. Or did she?

What was I thinking? Maybe that she was doing a poor job with our presentation? That my 4.0 GPA was in jeopardy? Probably not. Well, maybe. Memory is such a trickster.

That I could do a better job and needed to step right up! But to what? That reason niggles at the back of my brain—that I had to make it right! That I had to outshine her? Probably.

She cried. Not so publicly, but so I could see.

We got an A, but I got guilt, guilt that I still carry around, well sometimes.

Those sometimes often were at Christmas when I had pulled out my tree decorations. At the bottom, tucked away was a sand dollar, painted white, hanging from a red ribbon, carefully tucked away in a Ziploc^TM bag. Cindy’s gift. That I do know.

Cindy gave me another gift. My son has the sand dollar because I parted with all my Christmas decorations during a move. (Or did I throw that sand dollar away?) Could have.

Cindy’s gift? An understanding that an A in a graduate course was not worth the F I received in human relations and compassion. (And yet, the 4.0 GPA was a resumé gold star.)

Her tears taught me the “let me succeed at all costs” philosophy you learn in this fast paced, competitive world should never humiliate or hurt anyone. But is it realistic?

Can I live up to that ideal? Can anyone? My heart still frowns when I see a sand dollar or when every now and then I see the name Cindy.  Did I ever apologize to her? Probably not.

So here it is Cindy, wherever you are—I am truly sorry for being such a narcissistic, holier than thou human. You made me better. Well, mostly. I still have a way to go.