Thursday, March 23, 2006
And more about Dora
A couple of days after Dora opened the box, after she threw up from the anxiety of knowing, she had a moment of clarity, of true sadness. For all that she had seen had given her perspective, one not so personal but more accurate. And she was humbled by the depth of feeling that she hadn't known before, and she vowed to respect that sadness and honor it with her heart.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Do the Math
My grandmother was 40 when my mother had me. That's four years older than I am this year, and that means when my mother was the age I am now, I was almost 16. That's a lot to digest. I'll break it down.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Ignorance is Piss
Oh, I mean bliss.
Pandora. She fucked it up for all of us. Now all we have is a reference and enough awareness of the story that we use it in business meetings all the time. Except instead of saying, 'better not do that, you'll open a Pandora's Box...' we say, 'that's not really a shitstorm you want to deal with is it?' Okay, close enough.
What do you imagine really happened? Do you think some sort of ghostly spirits of unanticipated stuff flew out of that box?
No, I think Pandora didn't see a thing, but I bet she felt it in her gut. That nauseating ick, the low-level fever that burned her heart, the guilt and dread seeping from her pores. Why? Why did she have to open that damn box? And why haven't we learned?
Pandora. She fucked it up for all of us. Now all we have is a reference and enough awareness of the story that we use it in business meetings all the time. Except instead of saying, 'better not do that, you'll open a Pandora's Box...' we say, 'that's not really a shitstorm you want to deal with is it?' Okay, close enough.
What do you imagine really happened? Do you think some sort of ghostly spirits of unanticipated stuff flew out of that box?
No, I think Pandora didn't see a thing, but I bet she felt it in her gut. That nauseating ick, the low-level fever that burned her heart, the guilt and dread seeping from her pores. Why? Why did she have to open that damn box? And why haven't we learned?
That Chance Encounter
I had a dream last night, a good one I think.
I finally said goodbye to someone who needed to go. It was that odd meeting that I hadn't expected, if only because I thought I was done. But the mind has a sense of humor, and try though I might, I can't forget.
So when the chance came, I said goodbye. I remembered him the way I saw him, but myself I saw as I am today. He looked puzzled. Angry. I turned and walked away.
I finally said goodbye to someone who needed to go. It was that odd meeting that I hadn't expected, if only because I thought I was done. But the mind has a sense of humor, and try though I might, I can't forget.
So when the chance came, I said goodbye. I remembered him the way I saw him, but myself I saw as I am today. He looked puzzled. Angry. I turned and walked away.
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