We were lucky to catch up with Mark Buske recently and have shared our conversation below.

Mark, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. What were some of the most unexpected problems you’ve faced in your career and how did you resolve those issues?

I was born with congenital cataracts, so perhaps issues with my vision should count as “unexpected.”

I stepped into the classroom during the 1986-87 school year, a mid-term replacement for the high school choir director. My first cataract surgery was just three years later, the week after we closed a production of “Annie, Get Your Gun.” I conducted the pit orchestra from memory, and returned to the podium in time for graduation, the world still very much a blur.

By 31, I completed my Masters, moved on to a larger school system, and had three additional eye surgeries. By 40, my middle school choir program had grown to 100, and I’d undergone two retina reattachment surgeries. By 50, the program had doubled. My left eye was now ‘light-perceptive” only, and the right had a shunt inserted to drain glaucoma. I had been named Educator of the Year for my district, but was facing early retirement from a job I loved.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

Dad was a story teller. He was also a farmer, a truck driver, an auctioneer clerk, and an insurance salesman. But mostly, he was a story teller, entertaining his family and friends with long-spun yarns, jokes, and songs. He passed suddenly on New Year’s Day, 2014, and I began to write down his stories, as well as mine.

Mom was a homemaker, a baker, a room-mother, and a Sunday School teacher. She and my father were married for just shy of 60 years. She never had time to tell her stories until after he passed. We lost Mom on New Year’s Day, 2020. Then I started writing in earnest, to grieve, to capture moments and memories.

The result of my efforts was “Growing Up Buske: A Collection of Memories”, a simple memoir of mid-west life that had a three week number one run on Amazon…in a lovely nitch category called “New Releases in Mid-West Memories.”

Friends and family encouraged me to tell more stories, and Marcy the Mole was born. I am Marcy, or at least I would be if I were a girl mole. Moles see the world through limited vision, and discover thier surroundings though smell and touch. “Marcy the Mole Sees Something New” and her other adventures help me tell the story of my own vision loss to children of all ages. Marcy and I especially enjoy speaking to young children at their Ability Day assemblies, helping them understand how folks with impaired vision see the world.

It’s become my mission to tell my stories, just as my father and mother told theirs.

Just last year, I was given the opportunity to tell stories in a whole new way. The Greater Saint Charles Visitors Bureau asked me to join the Hit The Bricks History tours team. I guide folks down historic Main Street and tell stories about Lewis and Clark, Daniel Boone, and Zebulon Pike and the time they spent in Sanit Charles. I teach about our Spanish and French heritage, our place in the Louisiana Purchase, and our role as the First State Capitol of Missouri.

Finally, I have the privilege of sharing the stories of the holiday season in the role of Father Christmas, one of the International Gift Givers represented in Saint Charles Christmas Traditions. The month long street festival features characters and carolers representing holiday traditions of all generations. in my role as Father Christmas, I talk of wassail and fruitcake and oranges left in stockings.. I share how I once was called Sir Christmas and Prince Christmas and even Old Christmas, and I tell Father jokes-what Americans might call Dad jokes.

Most importantly, I speak of warm wishes and holiday hugs and loving one another. Those are the best stories to share.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

“You’re doing good, Mr. Buske.”

Dr. Chundury spoke the words quietly, and repeated them often. I didn’t say anything in response, though I gave him an occasional thumbs up.

“Look up, Mr. Buske. Now left. A bit further. Hold it. Hold it. You’re doing good. You’re doing good.”
That voice belonged to Dr. Shields.

Both men were with me, though I couldn’t see them. There were bright ceiling lights directed squarely on my round face, brighter lights still mounted on both doctor’s surgical headgear, and many, many numbing and dilating drops, all obscuring the vision in my right eye.

The left eye, of course, was covered in protective gauze. The left is only LP–light perceptive–and not a player in this procedure. It’s the right one that Dr. Steven R. Shields, ophthalmologist and glaucoma specialist, and Dr. Rao Chundury, head intern, were carefully and diligently working to save. Again.

The first time these gentlemen worked on my right peeper was December 18, 2013. Then the plan of action was to insert an aqueous shunt, a “drainage ditch,” in order to drain the liquid form of glaucoma that was damaging my vision. In addition, Shields and Chundury would also place an implant lens into the opening created by another ophthalmologist over twenty years earlier–when cataracts were removed.

Everything went smoothly that first time around. I reported to the St. Louis University Eye Institute down on Grand Avenue, changed into my surgery socks (and nothing else), and lay under the warmed blankets as they wheeled me into surgery. A team of two anesthesiologists introduced themselves as “the breathing guys,” Shields and Chundury (and a team of unseen staff working the room) took their places, and it was lights, camera, action.

Except there was no action, and very little was grand, because at the follow-up appointment (December 19, if you’re following along), the “drainage ditch” wasn’t working properly, and I couldn’t see a blessed thing.

So, I was gifted another pair of surgery socks and had a second chance to visit with the surgical team. We discussed holiday plans, what we wanted for Christmas, my impending lobotomy, and then everyone took their places.

It’s fair to note that “the breathing guys” were actually one woman and one man, and that they weren’t glad to see me. “Ah, it’s you,” the gentleman said. “You’ve got a small mouth.”

“I‘ll tell them you said that,” I replied, “them“ being my parents, who were in the waiting area. Mom was most likely wishing for her own pair of surgery socks; her feet were always cold.

Lights, camera, action, and everything was good, or everything should have been.

On the third day of Christmas, aka December 20, Chundury had another go at my googly eyes–well, eye–and this time sans surgery socks.
I was wide awake and sitting up as the good intern introduced each implement to me. He then made adjustments to the “drainage ditch.”

“This is a feather knife,” he said. “I’m going to make a small incision. If you feel anything, let me know.”

IF I feel anything?

The “tweaking” continued in January and February. Feather knives, lasers, light sabers…okay, maybe not a light saber, though perhaps a Klingon melee or disruptor. All I know is that life was disrupted weekly for months on end, and that I was not “doing good,” physically or mentally, no matter what Shields or Chundury said.

Which brings me back to late March, 2014, and my latest pair of surgery socks.

“Look up, Mr. Buske. Now left. A bit further. Hold it. Hold it. You’re doing good. You’re doing good.”

I gave both men another thumbs up. I could, because I was wide awake this go-round–no “breathing guys” at my side.

“We’re almost finished, Mr. Buske. Keep looking up. You’re doing good.”

I’ve been back to St. Louis University Eye Institute often since then, so much so that, when I walk in the door, I swear I hear the staff call out “Norm” instead of “Mr. Buske.”

And I’m reminded daily of a life lesson learned through that whole scary process, a process that eventually led to healing.

When you keep looking up, you’re doing good.

And yes, this is when I pivoted. I accepted a full-time assistant in my classroom, so that, together, we could keep the middle school choir and drama program going, and each of the 200 plus kids safe.

And I accepted that I would need to retire from classroom teaching earlier than I planned on. I would need to find a new way to work with kids, to teach them to “look up,” and to share my stories..

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

Cody was, perhaps, student number 5,812; over 6,500 walked through my classroom doors over my 30 year career. He was, and remains, at the top of my list, a young man who taught me more than I could possibly teach him.

Cody joined choir his 6th grade year, following in his older brother’s footsteps. His parents weren’t certain it would be a good fit, knowing that my middle school choir program had a pretty heavy performance schedule. You see, Cody works with Down’s Syndrome, and often uses an ipad for communication rather than his voice, and in my class kids learned to sing.

This young man taught me how to teach, making me rethink how I presented reading rhythm and pitch notation and how I taught breathing and singing techniques. He helped me redefine student leadership in my classroom. By the end of Cody’s 8th grade year, he was assisting in leading warm-ups, cueing the choir with rhythm cards and solfege hand signs. All the kids loved Cody; he was as much a part of the team as every other choir member.

I teach for kids like Cody, and for Lexi-who joined choir because she heard the director was losing his vision, just as she was, and for Alaina-who thought, even as a middle schooler, she’d like to be a music teacher, and for Drew-who loved to play soccer and to sing, and saw no reason why he couldn’t do both (even if it meant performing in a tux while wearing cleats because he’d just come from a game!)

Seeing kids shine. That’s all the reward I need.

Contact Info:

• Facebook: Marcy the Mole
• Other: Main Street Books, Saint Charles, MO
  Left Bank Books, Saint Louis, MO
  The Novel Neighbor, Webster Groves, MO
  The Webster Groves Bookshop, Webster Groves, MO
  and on
  Amazon

Image Credits

All photos privately owned by me.