I take to my pen again. Well, actually, it's my father's pen, but that's okay because he is a great man. Therefore, with all the warmth I have, I dedicate this Installment to him, my dad, William Anderson Lane.

I met him almost seventeen years ago. My father died and my mother started dating Bill- I guess that's as good a term for it as any other- and he married her in June of 1973. It wasn't until this year, though, 1988, that I realized how great a person he is and how much he has to offer me in the way of advice, guidance, and criticism, and he has quite a bit.

As we all know, I am an English Major. Well, he got his MA in English from Princeton University after World War II under the G.I. Bill. He taught there under a fellowship for several years then, eventually, came back to Macon, Georgia, where he taught English at Mercer University. He was doing that for a while after he married Mama. Then he ran for the Bibb County Board of Public Education. This will be his twelfth, and final, consecutive year on the Board, three or four of which he spent as president of that august (and, considering some of the members, robust) body. During that time, there have been some changes in the system. Some have been minute, but others have caused and evolved into major reworkings of the system itself- magnet schools at the elementary level for the sciences, math, and creative arts, a better program for teaching the gifted, updated computer labs- the list is, from my point of view, endless.

Anyway, what brought on this realization that my dad is a great man? Well, it was a series of events, among them being his suggesting to me to leave Auburn University ('way back in 1984), his support of me through Andrew College, and, most of all, his support, advice, and criticism this school year as I worked through the Eighteenth Century novel with Dr. Williams and Chaucer with Dr. Hornsby Fall Quarter, and Advanced Grammar and Renaissance Literature, respectively, and "Twelfth Night" last quarter. Being able to call him and talk to him calmed me down the night before finals, and, now, I don't know what to say to him. How can I say, after sixteen years of silence, "I love you."?

I've done nothing, literally nothing for him in sixteen years, with the exceptions of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum," "Godspell," and "Twelfth Night." Each of those performances were for him. My first comment after each of those shows, though it sounds facetious, was "Did he laugh," referring to Bill. So far, the answer has been "Yes," and that's a compliment. He is my stage critic, as well as my term paper critic and Holy Father of the English Language. I know he must have done something along the lines of divine influence, for I feel really good about my two English finals, despite last minute misgivings about becoming an English Major as opposed to, say, an Education Major who doesn't have to think while looking at a test composed of ten multiple choice (multiple guess) questions, as opposed to one of Dr. Hornsby's essay tests (He's also a dear man and deserves an Installment of his own.). And I can say that about Education Majors, 'cause I have to take the classes to get certified to teach. As I've quoted Charlie Brown as saying at least twice: "AAAAAAAAARGH!"

But Bill is really special. He has given me every advantage, he has done everything any one man could be expected to do. He has given me so much for so long and I have done too little for so long- what to say?

I hope you understand what I am saying, because it is important- we owe a lot to a lot of people, and most of the time, we don't do much in return for them, though we may follow their example and offer to others what we have been given. So, I guess I'm trying to say "Bill, thanks for everything, and more than anything, thanks for being my Dad. I love you."

Howard Scott
11 March 1988