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Tonight I have finished Gilead; I am not sure that I can properly reflect on this book yet, but I can say it has blessed me to read it. The picture of fatherhood through the lens of my culture–i.e. the world I inhabit that often times feels shallow and thoughtless–is faded and bleak as if it had been forgotten in the parlor of an old house, the sun beating down on it unrelentingly. With frequency bordering on the absurd, our culture repeats the stories of detached fathers, inept fathers, absent fathers, or insert-your-own-disheartening-adjective-here fathers. These stereotypes are so ingrained in the zeitgeist, marketers have latched onto them in advertisements–see the H & R Block TaxCut commercial in which the wife encourages the husband to “talk to the box” to get customer support, chiding him for picking the wrong tax preparation software (my quick interweb search did not turn up a clip.)
Gilead gives me hope; hope that being a father is much more about relying on God’s Grace than redeeming and restoring the faded painting in the parlor. Painting a vivid and honest picture of fatherhood, Marilynne Robinson tells the story of a father writing to his son. The honesty of struggle, thoughtfulness, honor, and trepidation spills onto the pages of Gilead; Robinson reveals the image of fatherhood in the light of total depravity and un-understandable Grace. It is in that tension that we all must live; without it our picture hangs in the ceaseless sun, faded by the brokenness of a world without hope, without grace, without forgiveness.
God has given me two children to love. Although I am still frightened by the world they will inherit, I am not frightened of being a father. God’s Grace covers me and it is my prayer that my children will allow it to cover them.
It has been one year since my father died. Lately I find myself thinking a lot about him and am reminded of him constantly. Last week I watched The Alaska Experiment; they drop several people into the Alaskan wilderness for three months with minimal supplies and see what happens–there is a Chris McCandless appeal to the story. One of the contestents received a phone call that his father is very ill and in the hospital; before his trip, the man sat down with his father–his father had cancer–and had a frank discussion whether the man should return if the cancer spread. The answer: stay in Alaska. This decision did not stick, thankfully, and he left with 11 days left. The last scene was him holding his dad’s hand and laughing; he soon thereafter died. I cried throughout the whole decision-making process. It reminded me of my decision to go to Virginia last year; I would not trade those three weeks for the world. I got to love my dad and have my dad love me in the last days of his life; it was beautiful.
Another reminder of my dad came while riding the bus this morning. I decided to listen to the Vinyl Cafe podcast “The Wedding Dress.” For those of you without Canadian cred or an NPR nerd patch, the Vinyl Cafe is a variety show of sorts from our friends in the North. There is a focus on music and stories; in particular, Stewart McLean has two recurring characters that he writes about, Dave and Morley. In this episode hilarity ensues–I will not give it all away. After a particular awkward moment, Dave is talking with Katie, the college aged daughter of his wife’s friend. She is preparing to give the maid of honor toast after her mother remarries; while they talk, she asks about Dave’s daughter. He starts telling Katie about how his daughter will be planting trees this summer again and that he thought the first time she did it she would hate it. Katie asked, “Well, why did you let her do it?” To which Dave responds, “I don’t know; I guess that’s what parents do. We love our children; we hold them close, and before we are any where near ready, we have to let them go. It’s sort of about love, but it’s more about trust…maybe it is all about trust.” I will not ruin the story for you, but these words spoken by Dave, I imagine, were the exacts words bouncing around my dad’s head every time I would call him. Whether I was hiking the Grand Canyon or sleeping in random yards, my dad had to trust…to trust God.
In the midst of all of these reminders, I am reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson–a truly gifted writer. The novel is a series of thoughts and reflections written by an elderly father to his young son. After discovering he has a terminal heart condition, the life-long pastor decides he wants to leave something for his son to remember him by. In the last section that I have read, the pastor is explaining about his recent sermon about Hagar and Ishmael and Abraham and Isaac. In both stories God calls Abraham to cast out his sons into the wilderness and both times angels intervene to save the children. He goes on to say: “It seems almost a cruelty for one generation to beget another when parents can secure so little for their children, so little safety, even in the best of circumstances. Great faith is required to give the child up, trusting God to honor the parents’ love for him by assuring that there will indeed be angels in that wilderness.” In the last weeks of my father’s life he had to let God’s providence wash over him, covering the fear for his children with the Grace of God.
For a long time I have wanted to collect stories and thoughts about my dad from the people that knew him best: his shipmates, his family, his coworkers, and his friends. I do not think my heart will rest until I start collecting these stories. Now that I have written this down for the world to see, I can have a sense of accountability. Often I find myself telling my students that just because something is hard and complicated does not mean it is not worth doing; it is time to follow my advice. I hope that by putting these stories together, I can create a book of sorts for Bradie and Beau. When it comes time to tell them about Papa Carl, I can dust off these collected stories and say, “You have a Grandfather that loves you very much. Here are the stories about his wilderness and the angels that intervened for him.”
Bradie and I went for our first hike; this is her “let’s get this hike thing going face.”
After testing just one walking stick, Bradie picked up another nodding her head and saying, “I look more authentic with two.”
After several hours of work, Bradie tested her handy work: a new bridge over the creek. Not bad for a toddler.
Lastly, Bradie threw her walking sticks at the mountain lion we ran into to save her father. What you see here is her running to help me up and get us out of the wilderness. She could give Bear Grylls a run for his money.
While orchiectomy looks like a term from Lord of the Rings (removal of orcs) it is actually the removal of the orchis (that is Greek for testicle.) I am the proud owner of three and half inch scar from my orchiectomy. I had a strange sensation in my testicle and had the urologist take a look and after a scrotal ultrasound, it was decided that it needed to go. I feel pretty good and we should get the pathology back Friday or Monday. It seems like we caught it early, but we won’t know until the pathology comes back. Thanks to all of the people praying for me and my family; God has given me tremendous peace about this and I feel like we are going to be okay in the end. It is just the waiting that is no fun…and the body part removal. As I know more I will post. God bless. I shiny apple goes to the best one testicle joke in the comments (Tanya may already be in the lead.)
I forgot to post a picture of our newly painted living room wall; if you read Sara’s earlier blog about the paint lady, this is the paint we bought. Also she insisted we buy a gallon and now I have 3 quarts of paint, arrgh. I think we are going to get some white paint to lighten it up for the opposite wall. Anyway, here you go.
On Saturday I painted the boy’s room–after Sara had a change of heart in color selection. As you can see, I had a helper.
Please excuse the mussed hair in the dumpy pajama bottoms; Sara woke me with an air horn and pushed me into the room. If you look closely you can tell I have not wiped the sleepies from my eyes (you would also be able to tell because five seconds after the capture of this picture, the contents of the paint tin fell on to an unsuspecting 2 year old…alright that did not happen, but it kind of looks like it could.) Soon Bradie wanted to tape off everything. She was on a mission.
Do not be fooled by those doe eyes; behind the unassuming exterior lives a single-minded beast that rains down her fury with impunity–we are hoping this translates well to being an outside hitter. In record time we had a happy mommy and a freshly painted room.
But this was only the beginning of our day. later that evening we had a romantic dessert at the Monarch that reigns over cows. Following this dessert we chaperoned Tolo at MDHS. For those of you not in the know, Tolo is a formal dance where the lady folk ask the man folk–apparently there is a lot of splitting of the check..that does not seem to happen as often at other dances.
The kids were great, but there was one, shall we say, inexperienced chaperone. A man of indeterminate age–read the lighting was poor, or he was much older than me–decided to station himself right in front of the DJ–a stange fellow that played music from when I was in middle school for most of the night. Either this chaperone was unaware of the tendencies of younger humans or he smelled of garlic and old spice because kids scattered from the area around him like he was the unfortunate soul that needed to have a teacher remind him to bathe occasionally.
After a quick lecture and slide show pointing out what happens when someone is impregnated,
we left for home. Busy day, but well worth it.
Fear not orb filled with logs, I return. Either my brain missed the ferry or it has been too occupied with finishing the semester–I claim the latter. I think I can also attribute my slow moving brain to my reduced meaningful reading time. While that time has decreased, I still have time to hang out with Bradie. Check out how gentle she is when she is wrestling me (I have no idea what Frank is doing.)
Before
After
For all those wondering, the color is called Lazy Sunday–the Behr color swatch number is 600A-2 for those who want to be like Bradie. Question: what color would Productive Sunday be? Leave a comment and even a color swatch.
If you have not noticed my blogging has slowed down a bit (your RSS readers may have given up on me already.) Should anyone wonder, a correlation can be drawn between my return to work and the decline of my writing; but as we all learned in our science classes, correlation does not mean causation. Making such a declaration of logic, at face value, seems, well, logical; but in my mind, the fellow who coined this correlation and causation dictum must have been thinking: hmm, loophole, loophole…ah yes, I have it.” I suppose that any student who uses this correctly as an excuse should get a pony.
Although work has reduced my writing, it has not stopped my ability to think about writing. About two weeks ago my step mom Peggy called me at work to tell me that she was delivering my dad’s ashes to the submarine where he would be put out to sea. Out of Providence, I road the Sounder into Edmonds and road my bike up Olympic View Drive to work that day.
Part way up Olympic View Drive, the trees clear and a sweeping view of the Sound opened up on my port side; in spite of the chill in the air, the soreness in my legs, and the hill ahead, I felt peace. It was not until after hanging up with Peggy that I realized why I had that moment of peace.
Post Script Here is a picture of Bradie chowing down on her Birthday cupcake. PPS Click for a larger picture.
My friend Brad, an elementary school teacher, decided it was time that Bradie learned how to read; As you can tell Bradie did not enjoy Brad’s two minute program to literacy. Brad had to think of another approach.
His new approach: teach her how to kiss. You can file this approach under “Kids will think this is cool.” Brad’s first step: Practice on your arm. After perfecting this, move to the next step.
Brad’s step two: Go for it. As you can tell, Bradie is trying her new found skill on Curious George. Instead of his two minute literacy program, Brad used the two step literacy program; for all of you skeptics, check it out:
After these two easy steps, Bradie can read. Thank you Brad; maybe someday you can teach me to read.
Reading is not the only skill Bradie picked up in Spokane. One skill rises above all other skills in the eyes of Sara…the ability to take a picture with a friend, without using the viewfinder. Here is Bradie’s first attempt:
Not bad for a first attempt; I would have tried to find better lighting and a shower for Daddy, but overall a good first attempt.
And Bradie’s final skill? Driving.
Who taught her this, you may ask. If you look in the passenger seat, it is none other than Grandma. What next, will Grandma take her to Silver Safari and a tattoo parlor?
Bradie is facinated with all things camera; whether it is a still camera or a camcorder she always wants to “see.” My theory is she is trying to find out how daddy fits the people in the tiny box…
Mommy showed up on Wednesday in Spokane, Bradie could not find daddy. Seven hours of intense searching elapsed before they found me…
Following this marathon hide and seek game, my parents bought Bradie a portable crib…
Although it looks small, it is rather roomy. Fear not westsiders, we return on Monday. By the way, you can click on the thumbnails to see the pictures more…girthy.
