The day I became a tiny bit less cynical

Nelson Mandela is in a hospital in South Africa, apparently deceased but kept ‘alive’ via massive medical intervention. Like, at this rate, he could technically live forever.

His family’s pissing match over his remains is unseemly, but posthumous internecine squabbles certainly won’t be what Mandela is remembered for.

I first heard about Nelson Mandela when I moved to Southern California from Arizona back in the early ’80s. I was delivering pizzas in Pasadena, and one of my colleagues had a bumper sticker that said FREE NELSON MANDELA. Being the perfect hick asshole I was and remain, I asked her lightly where I could pick me up some free Nelson Mandela.

She did not think I was a funny guy. I shudder to think what she must have really been thinking.

I remember saying to myself, “Little girl, you are absolutely gorgeous but you are naïve as hell if you think this political prisoner is getting out of jail alive. That just isn’t the way the world works, especially after 20-something years of imprisonment by as deranged a political regime as ruled South Africa at the time. The poor guy was probably a shell of his former self, anyhow. I couldn’t imagine how decades of unjust incarceration wouldn’t produce that result. This pretty girl was bound to be disappointed.

The pizza job came and went, and Mr. Mandela was still in jail. Then one day, years later, the unthinkable happened. I saw footage of a distinguished-looking Nelson Mandela walking down the street, wife on his arm, surrounding by jubilant throngs.

It was a game-changer for me.

I used to have a bumper sticker on my car that read, SHIT HAPPENS. My boss came in one day and said, “You know, good things happen too, Fang.”

I never forget his admonition. Of course good things happen, but it’s mostly shit. In actual practice, shit has the advantage, hands-down. I might have taken a moment to wish I, too, had been born on third base with Mickey Mantle at bat. Maybe I’d see things differently then.

So it goes. Bitter little man.

Anyhow, I still believe more shit happens in the world than kindness, and I don’t think it’s just because the bad stuff is all we hear about. That’s part of it, but it’s in our nature to put our own needs first, and doing that naturally comes at the expense of others.

Shit happens, you know?

But I thought of good things happening as I sat there, stunned, watching Nelson and Winnie Mandela walking down the street. He was most definitely not a shell of his former self as he strode down the avenue with a bearing that was both humble and regal at the same time.

To my further surprise, after his inevitable election of the newly-free state, Mr. Mandela proceeded to govern with a wise, forgiving hand, choosing reconciliation over retribution. He defied every expectation I had. The whole affair defied every expectation I had.

I thought of Lincoln, and the plans he had for post-Civil War America. Lincoln died before he could set the ship of state aright, but Mr. Mandela did not.

Nelson Mandela shattered my notions of the heights of grace to which a human being could aspire. And now as he is in a hospital, being kept alive by machinery, it occurs to me that he is that rare transformative figure to die of old age. Lincoln didn’t make it, Gandhi was assassinated and so was Christ. But somehow, probably for the last time (but I’ve been wrong before!), Nelson Mandela surpassed my expectations.

Nelson Mandela still has the power to elevate my spirit, even in virtual death.

Fair journey, Mr. Mandela. May your final freedom be everything you hoped.