I was recently asked, “What was the best piece of advice you ever received.”
Though it was given to me way back in the last century, the simple words still resonate, as does the time bomb those words set ticking.
I’m usually loath to give advice myself, though in the fields I labor, it’s tossed about like confetti.
Far better to develop your own sense of discretion, then judge any advice you’re receiving through that prism.
I received my life-defining advice back in my first year at Wexford Christian Brothers Secondary School - the equivalent of American high school.
We were a mixed bunch, wild rural lads who rode into town on heavy black bicycles, sons of factory workers confident they would soon join their fathers as apprentices, and the rest of us vaguely middle-class, though no one had a tosser, and everyone had emigrant relatives in London, Dagenham, or Birmingham.
In those tween-age years we were rowdy, but still constrained by the ever-present fear of corporal punishment.
Still, the Christian Brother warned us to be on our best behavior, as our religion class would be preempted that noon by the visit of an important personage.
We all hoped it would be some hurling star, like Hopper McGrath or one of the legendary Rackard brothers.
To our surprise, in strode Brendan Corish, our local TD, and leader of the Labor Party.
He came from storied stock. His father Richard had helped lead the foundry workers in the Wexford Lockout of 1911, and was a confidant of James Connolly.
Brendan would go on to become Tánaiste (Deputy Leader) and Minister for Health and Social Welfare in the Irish Coalition government of 1973.
A consummate constituency politician, he surveyed us keenly; however, he seemed troubled.
Perhaps, he could already foresee our emigrant fates.
Nonetheless, he shook off his initial concern and breezily informed us that it had not been long since he sat in the same desks.
He was then in his early 40’s, and by his own admission a socialist, though a Christian one, he added to the relief of our attentive Brother, who added, “Mr. Corish, like all Irish politicians, hews closely to our Holy Father’s religious and ethical edicts.”
Brendan took no notice of this well-intended compliment, and soon had us chuckling, having quickly divined our sporting interests and favorites in the pop music of the day.
And so things continued on an even keel, until the Brother intervened in a rare silence,
“Mr. Corish, if you had one piece of advice for my students what would it be?”
This question summonsed the clouds back into Brendan’s face and he sighed.
His shoulders sank for a moment and concerns of state seemed to swirl around the room.
Then he gathered himself and smiled, “It’s very simple: three words, seven letters.”
He turned to the blackboard, picked up a piece of white chalk and wrote very deliberately, "DO IT NOW!"
The silence gathered and enveloped the sun-dappled classroom as we wrestled with this no-nonsense command.
The Brother and Brendan, however, shared a glance of empathetic understanding.
“As good as this advice is, it will haunt you,” Brendan warned, “for in the end, the things you didn’t do will weigh far heavier than those you did. So keep it close to mind and, for God’s sake, act on it as often as you humanly can.”
The bell for lunch rang, but instead of jumping up in our usual jumble of delight and relief, we sat there as if nailed to our rough-hewn seats.
“Get on with you now,” the Brother hissed and we trooped out of the classroom into the noisy corridor, some of us still wrestling with both the advice and the conundrum it would apparently present.
I glanced behind and saw the Brother and Brendan sharing a long handshake, their political persuasions laid aside on a hall stand of human understanding.
They’re both dead a long time, Brendan after a distinguished career in public service – a Christian Socialist to the end; I can’t even remember the brother’s name, let alone how he fared in life.
But the advice still rings true, serviceable as ever, if troubling and occasionally haunting.
"DO IT NOW!" It may soon be too late.
