Happy Birthday
October 8, 2005
Today is my father’s birthday. He would be seventy years old today. I say would be because he died in January. He had been sick for only six weeks when he succumbed to the cancer, but I had the chance to see him in that time and make my peace. Or at least try to make my peace. He was not a man at peace with his family. I don’t really miss him because I never really knew him. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He just had things going on that were more important than his family. That seems to be the way of many ministers. I think the thing that I miss the most is the idea that we would find our peace some day. I always hoped the day would come when he would realize all that he was missing. On that day he would begin to work on mending the fence. That kind of work is always easier with two people. Alas, that day will never come.
Blood is thick. His blood courses through my veins. I see him in me. I have inherited his temper, I have inherited his belligerence, and I have inherited his high cholesterol. I have not inherited his hairline, his belly, or his hands full of thumbs. Thank God for small favors. Our time here in the wilderness needs to focus on the small favors. There is not much else to do here save for reflecting. To reflect on the “shoulda, coulda, wouldas” is surely the road to depression. Our time in the wilderness needs to be a time of rebirth.
I know, having witnessed the birth of Zachary, that it is a painful, traumatic experience for momma. How must it be for the child? To leave the womb, so warm, so safe, indeed the only familiar thing, and be forced down this tiny little tunnel to an alien land has got to be hard. It’s no wonder babies cry upon entering this life. Is that what this is then? Are we in the birth canal? Are we being painfully squeezed through this narrow little tunnel to a new life? Maybe, but the difference here is in the knowing. Newborns are blissfully ignorant of what’s happening. They move with the moment and react to reality as it unfolds. We are not “blissfully ignorant”, but we can “move with the moment and react to reality as it unfolds”. Can’t we? I hope so.
It seems like part of the difference is the diameter of the tunnel. Our tunnel here, in the mine village, is partially a tunnel of our own making. It’s hot. Riding a bike or taking a walk or going outside is all that much more challenging because of the heat. It’s easy to stay inside with the air conditioning, but it restricts the size of the tunnel. There is so much to see here, so much that we have never seen before, but the lack of transportation makes it difficult to see. This too, makes the tunnel narrower. We are the only Americans in an ocean of foreigners; this restricts the size of the tunnel even further. Instead of dwelling on these things, I need to make this rebirthing process more positive. It seems that it is inherently uncomfortable, but altogether necessary.
Today I mourn the death of my father, not because I miss him or even because I knew him, but because I miss the possibilities of what might have been. He was not a bad man, just a poor father. Today is the first day of the rest of my life; what happens now is up to me, no, actually, it’s up to us. We as a family must move forward; through the wilderness, through our rebirth canal, and create a new life. It sounds cheesy, but it feels right. I need to resist my blood and trust my feelings, at least this once.
Today is my father’s birthday. He would be seventy years old today. I say would be because he died in January. He had been sick for only six weeks when he succumbed to the cancer, but I had the chance to see him in that time and make my peace. Or at least try to make my peace. He was not a man at peace with his family. I don’t really miss him because I never really knew him. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He just had things going on that were more important than his family. That seems to be the way of many ministers. I think the thing that I miss the most is the idea that we would find our peace some day. I always hoped the day would come when he would realize all that he was missing. On that day he would begin to work on mending the fence. That kind of work is always easier with two people. Alas, that day will never come.
Blood is thick. His blood courses through my veins. I see him in me. I have inherited his temper, I have inherited his belligerence, and I have inherited his high cholesterol. I have not inherited his hairline, his belly, or his hands full of thumbs. Thank God for small favors. Our time here in the wilderness needs to focus on the small favors. There is not much else to do here save for reflecting. To reflect on the “shoulda, coulda, wouldas” is surely the road to depression. Our time in the wilderness needs to be a time of rebirth.
I know, having witnessed the birth of Zachary, that it is a painful, traumatic experience for momma. How must it be for the child? To leave the womb, so warm, so safe, indeed the only familiar thing, and be forced down this tiny little tunnel to an alien land has got to be hard. It’s no wonder babies cry upon entering this life. Is that what this is then? Are we in the birth canal? Are we being painfully squeezed through this narrow little tunnel to a new life? Maybe, but the difference here is in the knowing. Newborns are blissfully ignorant of what’s happening. They move with the moment and react to reality as it unfolds. We are not “blissfully ignorant”, but we can “move with the moment and react to reality as it unfolds”. Can’t we? I hope so.
It seems like part of the difference is the diameter of the tunnel. Our tunnel here, in the mine village, is partially a tunnel of our own making. It’s hot. Riding a bike or taking a walk or going outside is all that much more challenging because of the heat. It’s easy to stay inside with the air conditioning, but it restricts the size of the tunnel. There is so much to see here, so much that we have never seen before, but the lack of transportation makes it difficult to see. This too, makes the tunnel narrower. We are the only Americans in an ocean of foreigners; this restricts the size of the tunnel even further. Instead of dwelling on these things, I need to make this rebirthing process more positive. It seems that it is inherently uncomfortable, but altogether necessary.
Today I mourn the death of my father, not because I miss him or even because I knew him, but because I miss the possibilities of what might have been. He was not a bad man, just a poor father. Today is the first day of the rest of my life; what happens now is up to me, no, actually, it’s up to us. We as a family must move forward; through the wilderness, through our rebirth canal, and create a new life. It sounds cheesy, but it feels right. I need to resist my blood and trust my feelings, at least this once.
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 6:29 PM
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