A Wiseacre Student, Now a Star, Was a Handful Then

Since the revelation, I've watched his breakout film, "The Kings of Comedy," and have seen highlights of his TV show. I observe the talent, the energy, the ambition, the almost desperate need for undivided attention. I listen to his fractured usage and pronunciation, watch him imitate the strut of Phil Jackson, coach of the Lakers. And then I hear his anger, affected, of course, or supposedly so, in his disparagement of the New Age hands-off parenting practices.

And I turn him off because I am ashamed. Not of him or his show. He is tremendous. With his onstage rhythmic deprecations, cathartic tirades and astute impressions, he is an artist who has thrived in spite of me. I'm ashamed because I failed him. Not by giving him an F, but by not knowing or soon enough learning how to nurture his gifts. I think how if he had come to my class when I had three or four years of experience, I could have channeled his force into wonderful avenues of creativity and leadership. And then I think how maybe I did after all--channeled it straight out of the classroom, out of the school, out of the establishment, putting it on the stage where not 28, but 28 million can be led to laugh at themselves and forget the reality for a while.

Bernie Mac. Bernard McCullough. An Einstein in McGrath's eighth-period English.

*

David McGrath is a free-lance writer for the Chicago Tribune, a Tribune company.