I Did Not Write This Book in Vain
Felix didn’t return my calls for two weeks. I decided to look for him at work. When I approached the buffet’s rear kitchen, the workers eyed me suspiciously like I was an INS agent. Finally, one of the dishwashers recognized me as one of Felix’s friends. Through broken English he explained that Felix had taken some time off. He had apparently collapsed while working and decided to go to Tijuana for his operation. When I asked the dishwasher when Felix was coming back, he merely shrugged his shoulders.
Since then, I’ve called Felix but I get a message that says the phone is no longer in service. I’ve returned to the buffet many times to check on Felix but I never see him.
One afternoon as I saw flames and smoke flickering from the buffet’s kitchen, I imagined the ghosts of George Carlin and Rodney Dangerfield hovering within the hellfire. Their disembodied heads were laughing at me maniacally, saying that my teaching Man’s Search for Meaning was foolish as I was just setting up myself and my students for disappointment.
But then I heard Viktor Frankl up in heaven. He told me not to give up. “I did not write my book in vain,” he said. “I did not go through everything so you and others could fail.”
I promised him I would continue to teach his book, that I would live out his book’s principles, and in doing so I would do an even better job of teaching it.
I was still looking up at Viktor Frankl when someone walked past me and asked for the time. I looked down at my wrist and realized I had forgotten to wear a watch.
Comments