After nearly 50 years of laboring in this craft, the walls of my home office better resemble a museum of archaic personal artifacts than a comfy den.
They are all but plastered with plaques and certificates awarded over a career to the point where available space has all but vanished. They stare down on me as reminders of what life was when my career was green and blooming with boundless drive and energy.
A visitor asked one day what would become of all this inscribed framed paper and wooden engraved squares after my time runs its course. I told him it likely will wind up in a landfill or burn pile because that's how reality works.
So unfolds the fate of most ego-boosting accolades and proofs of achievement in every career field after the passage of time gains fuller control of one's life. For me, these appreciated affirmations from an assortment of peers nationwide have become wholly personal relics with dates reaching back to 1972.
They continue to gather dust because, well, I suppose I'd rather be able to remember why I even have them than to store the collection away in a corner of the attic. They certainly don't, and won't, ever mean diddly to anyone else, which includes my children and extended family, especially when I'm gone.
And that piece of truth set me to thinking about the whole notion of awards, diplomas and prizes and their significance after all is said and done. Those who receive them are appreciative (well, most are, anyway) at the time they are given and feel stoked about having earned and achieved something worthy of honor bestowed by colleagues.
A few of those closest to the recipient also are happy for them at the moment. But truth be known, the bystanders all have lives, triumphs, challenges and goals of their own and couldn't care less in the long run since it doesn't affect them personally. Others are resentful because the recipient received something they believe should rightfully have been theirs.
Cynical? Perhaps a tad. Yet I also feel far more honest than not.
In typical fashion, cartoonist Stephan Pastis, in his popular comic strip Pearls Before Swine, was mind-reading again the other day in a strip taken right out of my point. It's remarkable to me just how often his subject matter meshes with my thoughts.
For instance, in the cartoon's first panel, a young man asks a pipe-puffing, distinguished older gentleman if all the awards covering the walls of his office are his.
"Yes," the man proudly responds. "'Man of the Decade' ... 'Most Influential' ... 'Hall of Fame' ... I think I've won every award in my field."
"Wow. What is that like?" the younger one wonders.
"Well, awards are a validation of one's achievement. An assurance that one will be remembered long after one's passing," the man responds.
Stepping outside, the man then points to a stone pedestal and adds, "Which is why the city commissioned this plaque outside my studio honoring my life and--Ack!" Grabbing his chest, he suddenly drops dead.
The next panel shows only two people standing over his casket. Next, workmen are loading boxes of stuff from the home into a thrift store truck. Then comes a bulldozer driver leveling the dead man's home and the plaque.
The next-to-final frame has two new businesses holding grand openings where the man's house had stood: A "Starbicks" and a "Dunko Donuts."
In closing, Rat says to Goat about the story, "I call it 'We're all forgotten, so spend your life drinking beer'." Goat responds, "I prefer wine," while Pig, with wild eyes, exclaims, "Forget all that ... that's a new Dunko Donuts!"
The most humorous things often are funny largely because they ring so true.
What a perfect example of this point about the relevance of accolades we receive from others that only serve to boost self-esteem and perhaps career standing. This philosophical Pastis masterpiece also is further confirmation of a point from several weeks ago.
You may recall it says whatever happens that benefits you in this world is buried with you, while those things you've done for others that added meaning to "their" lives are what is truly remembered "long after one's passing."
Breathing easy, finally
Here's some good news. I received a message from Bella Vista reader Mary Green the other day to let me know that the community's seemingly endless stump-dump fire that made headlines for a year finally was fully extinguished.
"Something of a beautification of the landscape appears to be taking place right now," she wrote. "Chris and Sonya's little boy, Gunnar, is out and about and playing outside, as are all the other neighborhood kids.
"I'm very happy that we got our street back!"
So am I, Mary. I suspect many in Bella Vista are equally pleased today. It was an environmental mess that never should have occurred.
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Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist, was editor of three Arkansas dailies and headed the master's journalism program at Ohio State University. Email him at [email protected].
Editorial on 08/25/2019