Excerpt From Appalachian Kid
John P. Boyle
Entrepreneur | Amazon Best-Selling Author | Board Member | Family Business Advisor
As for my father and me, there seemed to be more troubling moments than good ones. Not all my later memories of the two of us are mired, though. I hold onto the last father-son discussion we had as the best conversation that ever took place between us.
This discussion transpired during a phone call in late fall, 2015. I was standing outside the Baker Library on Harvard University’s Business School campus in Cambridge, MA. I was in awe. I’d never dreamed in a million years I’d be standing there. I was staring at the Charles River that splits Harvard’s campus when I called my dad’s office landline. When he answered, I shared with him what had just happened. And it’s coming from me, a student at Harvard; the same guy who almost failed sixth and tenth grades.
Fast forward, far from the scholastic abyss, I’d just completed my second day as a Harvard student. My call was about an experience I’d had in economics class earlier that morning.
To prepare for this class, we were asked to read a case study on India. The case study began at the termination of British colonial rule in 1947 and detailed the country’s history, demography, domestic issues, government structure, politics, economic history and planned development that would put them on a path to globalization.
We were told to expect an open discussion in class. The topics were to be determined by the professor and we had no idea what they’d be. I’d never been to India, much less knew anything about it. Suffice to say, this subject wasn’t my specialty.
This class so happened to be the first in economics I’d ever taken.
The morning of class, I sat in the front row, one among 100 students. The professor arrived five minutes early. In the process of unpacking his bag, the professor walked over to me and struck up a conversation. When he asked where I was from, I answered, “West Virginia.”
“I’m from Montana,” my professor told me, “Your state is a major coal producer and so is mine.” Then we had a conversation about coal, of all things. Then, he asked me, “Was the TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority) a good investment for the American taxpayer, or not?”
“Well, it depends,” I said, “on what years you’re talking about -- 1940, 1980 or present day?” (My father had shipped coal to the TVA in the 1980’s, and every so often he would talk about it. Of course, I didn’t tell the professor about my father’s business.)
“I don’t like it when I ask a question and receive one in return,” my professor snapped. My classmates stared at me. He paused for a moment and then went on, “In this case, you’re absolutely correct. It does matter what year we’re talking about.”
What a relief! Dodged that bullet.
Class began on that note, with my professor clapping twice. “Let’s get started,” he announced. ?He glanced at me and inquired, “Would you care to kick us off?” When I didn’t respond quickly enough, he raised his brows and asked, “Are you good to go?”
“Sure,” I replied, with a shrug of my shoulders. I’d learned on my first day of class that the first question asked was usually an easier one. And, if the student gave an acceptable answer on the first question, they could expect a second, much harder one. Rarely was there an opportunity to answer a third.
The professor asked the first question on the subject of India’s economy. I answered it correctly. Then came the second question, to which I gave another correct answer. By the time I responded to the third question correctly, the room got really quiet.
Fifteen minutes into class, as I panned the room, I noticed that some of my classmates’ expressions revealed their nervousness. The professor asked me if I wanted to go on, and I agreed.
I continued to answer the professor’s questions about India’s post-colonial economy for another 30 minutes. I was on a roll. Altogether, I’d answered 13 questions correctly.
Eventually, the professor focused his questions on my classmates. I didn’t think much of it, and remained focused on the content being discussed.
At the end of the class period, as we headed to lunch, I was surprised when my friend William patted me on the back and said, “John, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
My friend, Dr. Thomas, told me, simply put, “That… was amazing!”
During our walk to lunch, classmates I’d never met were complimentary. When I entered the cafeteria, I was given an ovation by my classmates. I couldn’t wait for the applause to end. I was still a shy kid at heart.
After lunch, when I walked back outside, I felt the urge to share this moment with one person. My dad.
In front of the Baker Library, I sat down on a bench and called my father. As I peered across campus, it was a beautiful November day featuring a New England blue sky and trees in late-autumn colors. That area of campus was usually noisy. This day was no exception.
? So, my dad got on the phone and I told him the story of what had happened in economics class. As I finished my story, he laughed. I paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you ever imagine I’d be calling you from Harvard?” He got quiet; he stayed that way.
His silence said it all. There was no doubt that he understood what I was telling him. This phone call was my way of saying “thank you” to the man who’d raised me. I hadn’t gotten there on my own. I’d given him that message in a way he could understand.
He broke his silence at the end of the call and answered, “No… John… I didn’t think that to be possible.” Abruptly, he changed the subject, wanting to know, “When will you be back in town?”
I replied, “I’m not sure. I know it’s around Thanksgiving.”
???? “Well, let’s get together then.”
?????“Sounds good.” I echoed, “we’ll get together then.”
??????Click.
?
And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
“When you coming home, son?” “I don’t know when”
But we’ll get together then, dad
We’re gonna have a good time then