At about the time that tensions were as strong as the dust in the air, the atmosphere and situation changed. My grandfather apparently arrived at the jail at that time. The significance of this event was the fact that he was the minister of the First Baptist Church. (In those days, at least in the deep South, you were either a Baptist or a Methodist. There was only a sprinkling of other faiths). Thus, even though he was fairly new in the town, had been married just two years, and was the father of an infant daughter, my mother, he was in a unique position to do something. What he did, my grandmother told me, was to call people by name. He recognized them underneath their sheets by their shoes. (There were no Nikes in that time).

     What exactly he said, I'll never know and my grandmother didn't remember. Whatever it was, it was enough to disperse the crowd and stop what too often happened in small Southern towns at the tum of the century. In gratitude, the sheriff gave him a gun.

     Thirty-five years later, my mother named her last child for that man, her father. The child grew up hearing the story of that summer night and other occasions where the man for whom he had been named stepped forward when he could have stood still or faded into the background. There were thus two models for the boy to emulate— his maternal grandfather, who died a few months before his birth, and his father, who although not openly heroic modeled virtues such as kindness and caring that were picked up quietly and valued.

     Today, surrounded by the expectations of entering a new century, ACES faces potential dangers from a crowd of internal and external forces. Internally, we are strung out and frustrated by meetings and by fellow members who don't share our visions and agendas. We are torn apart and worn down by a world that is increasingly complex and one that can readily perplex us. Externally, we face a crowd of regulations from government, increased competition with a number of mental health providers, a cornering of the mental health market by health maintenance contractors who primarily care about the bottom line, a burgeoning of special interests groups are vying for our attention on one issue, and demographic changes that demand our energy and sensitivity.

     I would like to use the story I just told to make two points about the challenges ACES now faces. The points I wish to address related to these challenges and to changes having to do with creativity and power.

     A prime example that occurred on a family level dealing with creativity and change came about 7 years ago. My wife and I were living in Birmingham, Alabama, with our then 3 and 1 year olds. It was late on Saturday night and Claire, my wife, a hard working Connecticut Nutmegger, was putting the final touches on her Sunday School lesson for three year olds the next day. All of a sudden, I heard “Oh no" in a pitch and tone that made me realize there was a significant problem. Running to the den where my wife was, I did the professional spouse thing and said: "Honey is there something wrong?" knowing full well in my heart of hearts and minds of minds that her response would be 'You bet there is something wrong. Otherwise, I would not have said 'Oh no!' like I did." Well, I wasn't disappointed.

     The problem was simple but seemingly insolvable. “Look” she said "at the paper before you." There at my feet at almost midnight was a rainbow of colored papers.

     So I said, “are you teaching the three year olds tomorrow about Noah, the flood, and the rainbow?"

     "No" she stated. 'The lesson is from a different text and it ends with the children singing 'Jesus loves the little children of the world.' And just look, I don't have the right colors."

     Sure enough, she didn't. The words to the song, for those of you unfamiliar with it, are "Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world."

     After realizing it was too late to buy the right paper, I suggested hesitantly that we think creatively about the situation before us. We did. Thus, the next morning the children cut out their paper dolls of other children in the world and sang these words (much to the chagrin of a few religiously orthodox parents)."Green and yellow, blue and brown, Jesus loves them all around, Jesus loves the little children of the world."

     What changed in the song was the words—not the meaning. It was a different way of saying that children (and adults) of all colors and cultures are loved and valued.

     My grandfather looked at the shoes of the men in the mob who hoped to wield power that August night in 1910. I am sure that he probably put himself in those men's shoes. If he did, he understood their general misery that stemmed from poverty and frustration in the post civil war south. But he knew for their sake and the sake of community there was a better way that night than scapegoating and death. Thus, he took a stand to use the power of words, i.e., persuasion. He addressed the men personally and stayed with them until a dangerous situation was defused. In counseling, we are often called to do this kind of work in our offices and communities but we too seldom do it in our profession. The result is bitterness and ill feelings that compound situations and make them less, not more, attainable.

     In a former life, before I became a counselor educator, I taught psychology in a small college in what can only be described as the “remote" part of North Carolina. One of those courses in which I gave instruction was abnormal psychology —a class always filled up to the brim with fascinating material and curious students, some of whom too often displayed traits on which I was lecturing. One young man, whom I shall call “Anonymous," particularly stands out in my memory of those times because of his language pattern, his rather well intentioned but bizarre actions, and what he taught me about change.

     To give you a brief glimpse of the young man in question, I will simply say that he tried to talk as if he were hip and often used the word "man" as a preface to opening his remarks. He almost seemed a throwback to the 1960's but I taught him in the late 1970's and students were not inhaling nearly as much by then. Regardless, after a particularly intense class on mental pathologies he approached me with an excited and seemingly enlightened facial expression. I thought maybe he would comment on the intricate nature of some of the research we had covered but alas my initial hopes were dashed.

     "Man," he said. "l learned a lot today."

     I smiled confidently (silently giving myself a compliment and a pat on the back) as I stood before him hands across my chest, trying to look wise.

     "I don't know if you know it" he said, "but you described my family today."

     I winced a bit in my mind, shuffled my feet back and forth, and assured him I did not know any of his relatives.

     "No problem, man" he said "I now am aware that I live in an abnormal household with really messed up parents and a sister who is just too much. I am going home tonight to tell my family what is wrong with them."

     Before I could get a word in edgewise, like "don't", he wheeled around and with the speed of a sprinter, he was gone down the hall, through the doors, and into what I felt like was certain trouble.

     The next day, my worse fears for the young man seemed to have materialized. I saw him in the halls looking bedraggled, dazed, and downcast. His backpack seemed full and his face was flushed. Trying to find out what had happened and to simultaneously establish rapport, I approached him slowly and said:
     "Man, how'd it go with you and your family yesterday?"

     He looked up at me and with a slight smile that reminded me of colleagues of mine in the Army who had been in the heat of combat, he replied: "Fine, fine, fine - at first."

     “Yea, man," he continued, "l went in there and told my father he was paranoid, schizoid, and had a character that was disordered. Then I confronted my mother with the fact that she was histrionic, inadequate, and in the words of Linda Ronstadt, I yelled 'you're no good, you're no good, you're no good, mother, you're no good.' Finally, I went in my sister's room and told her she was mentally challenged, unstable and a disgrace to the human race. Yes, man, I really let them have it."

     Then he paused and looked down.

     "So, man," I said, “what happened next?"

     Sheepishly he said:

     "Well, man, I'd really prefer not to tell you, but man, do you know anyplace where I can live? They kicked me out of the house."

     Knowledge is power but in the young man's case he became confused about what to do with the power he possessed. We as counselor educators need to be wiser. Knowledge serves groups best when it is employed to make changes, even if they are subtle, rather than to alienate and tear people apart from each other.

     "Give yourself to something great," my Dad used to say as I discussed my future with him. And so after careful thought I, like you, decided to become a counselor and more importantly to become a counselor educator. I have not been disappointed but I know we could and can do better.

     I receive a lot of unsolicited comments about ACES. One that has been made to me more than once is that "ACES is stuffy." I have thought about this comment a lot and I have concluded that for the most part, unfortunately, the comment is true. We are a bit stiff and uptight—"stuffy" if you will. However, besides our outward appearances and demeanor we also are stuffy in that we have the "stuff” that is the essence of counseling. Like Olympians we are the keepers of the flame - in this case knowledge and abilities. The fire was passed on to us and whether we make it brighter or not for the next generation is in our hands. We are stewards of the stuff that will help make or break our profession.

     In our lives it is always August 1910 as well October 1996. It is always a time for change and the challenge for us is to not just change for the sake of change but to change for the sake of the common good. Let us step up to this challenge using creativity and power in such a way that those who succeed us will know that our path was one that led to inclusion and newness while preserving the best of the traditions that we inherited. "Red or yellow, black or white" we are precious in God's sight and in our common bond to become better. We must celebrate the unique and universal aspects of human life. We must look down at each other's shoes and with purposefulness and goodwill we must walk together.