My friend Xavier posted a hilarious piece a while back about a 'missing' child. In the comments on that post, I told an 'abridged' version of this story. And now I'm re-telling it in the 'full version' for all of you. . . (Somehow it seems sorta 'ironically apropos' for Memorial Weekend) (or is irony inappropriate on such an occasion? I hope I'm not giving any offense; I certainly don't intend any. . .)
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"Can a woman forget her nursing child, or have no compassion on the child of her womb? Even if she may forget, yet I will not forget you." (Isaiah 49:15)
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When 2F was three or four years old, and we had three children, Jen's sister, with her four kids, came to our house for a visit. While they were here, we took the kids to a science museum, one of those 'hands-on' places that are just great for kids. We had a great time, although with three adults and seven kids, the oldest of whom might have been eight, it was, at least for the adults, largely an exercise in crowd control (the old commercial about herding cats comes to mind). Even so, we had a great time; when it was time to go, we collected everybody up, counted noses to make sure we weren't missing anybody, piled into the van, and drove home.
It was not long after we got home that it occurred to Jen that she hadn't seen 2F since we'd gotten home. Jen called for her, but she didn't come running. We spent a few minutes looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. And none of the other kids had seen her recently, either.
We wracked our brains, trying to figure out what could have happened. We had counted heads at the museum, so we were pretty sure that she'd come home with us, so where could she be? Then 1F (who'd have been six or seven at the time) said that she didn't think that 2F had been in the van.
What? But we had made sure that we counted everybody before we left the museum. But, just to be safe, Jen called the museum, and asked if, possibly, they had a little girl there.
"Well," said the very kind woman on the other end of the phone, "I do have a little girl here. What's the name of the girl you're looking for?" Jen told her that we were missing a three-year-old girl named 2F.
"Well, then, I have wonderful news! We have a three-year-old girl named 2F standing right here!" (It turned out that, after we'd done the head-count in the museum lobby, 2F had decided she needed to go to the bathroom, and left without telling anyone what she was doing. And six kids in a van doesn't look all that different from seven kids in a van.)
The very kind woman asked Jen if she'd like to talk to 2F; Jen said yes, she would absolutely like to talk to her. So the kind woman handed the phone to 2F.
"Mo-o-o-om?"
"Yes, 2F?"
"Did you forget me?"
(*tears and snuffles, from both ends of the phone*)
"Ummmmm. . . yes?"
Fortunately, it was only about a mile from our house to the museum, so she was safely back in our arms in just a few minutes. But it was one of those hilariously heart-breaking things that abound in large families. . .
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Quote of the Day
"Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring.
Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating."
-- Simone Weil
Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating."
-- Simone Weil
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Random Thoughts on Mother's Day
For Mother's Day, a collection of random thoughts, most of which I've posted before, in one form or another. . .
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I have always been in awe of women, for several reasons, probably foremost among them the capacity of their bodies to nurture within themselves a complete, distinct PERSON, and to feed and sustain that person from their own resources after its birth. When I think about that, it seems to me that it touches on the holy. . .
I've also said to Jen many times that reproducing ourselves together is simply the coolest, most amazing thing we've ever done. I'll beg your indulgence if I say, just one more time, that I am still blown away to look at my kids, and realize that each one of them is made of US - literally, they are made of Jen-stuff and me-stuff. Stevie Wonder's song, 'Isn't She Lovely?' has always resonated with me - "Isn't she lovely, made from love?" There is a line of 'Trinitarian' theology that speaks of the Holy Spirit as the Love between the Father and the Son - that the Love between the first two persons of the Holy Trinity is so concrete, so intense, so REAL, that it is a whole 'nother person in itself. And, in the spirit of the late pope's Theology of the Body, I wonder if that isn't yet another sense in which we are made in the Image of God - that the love between a husband and wife - heck, between Jen and me - can issue forth (and in fact, has) in another person (or, you know, eight of them). Awesome. . .
I also recall, in the aftermath of my reunion with my birth-mother, a growing appreciation of Motherhood, and what it means - that what I'd seen of our kids growing in Jen's belly, and felt of them kicking her from inside herself, was also true of me and this very woman; I had never related to Motherhood in quite such a REAL way before, at least as pertaining to myself. It was a mild disappointment to me, after our reunion, that she had no photos of her pregnant self from 'back in the day'. Completely understandable, of course - she (and her family probably all the moreso) was in no mood to capture the experience for posterity - but it would have given me an odd comfort to see a picture of her bulging belly, knowing that I was inside. . . Anyway, it was simply amazing to me to realize that she, at last, was the woman who, at whatever cost to herself, had given birth to me - at the most basic, earthy level (and you know how I love the earthiness), she was the woman between whose legs I entered the world. . .
And as much as I love Jen for the wonderful, amazing woman that she is, and the love that has grown between us over 30+ years of marriage, it is made all the richer for me to understand what it means that she is the Mother of My Children - I wouldn't be a father if she weren't a mother; and being a father is about the biggest and best and noblest thing I've ever done. . .
So, Happy Mother's Day to my Beloved Wife, Jen - the Mother of My Children, and the Love of My Life. . .
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And Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers among my blog-friends - I honor you for your sacrifice, for your love for your own children, and for the (how shall I say it?) intrinsic wonderfulness of your femininity. . .
-------------------------
A friend sent me this (which is more-or-less a sequel to this), which I'm happy (even eager) to share with you all. . .
-------------------------
I have always been in awe of women, for several reasons, probably foremost among them the capacity of their bodies to nurture within themselves a complete, distinct PERSON, and to feed and sustain that person from their own resources after its birth. When I think about that, it seems to me that it touches on the holy. . .
I've also said to Jen many times that reproducing ourselves together is simply the coolest, most amazing thing we've ever done. I'll beg your indulgence if I say, just one more time, that I am still blown away to look at my kids, and realize that each one of them is made of US - literally, they are made of Jen-stuff and me-stuff. Stevie Wonder's song, 'Isn't She Lovely?' has always resonated with me - "Isn't she lovely, made from love?" There is a line of 'Trinitarian' theology that speaks of the Holy Spirit as the Love between the Father and the Son - that the Love between the first two persons of the Holy Trinity is so concrete, so intense, so REAL, that it is a whole 'nother person in itself. And, in the spirit of the late pope's Theology of the Body, I wonder if that isn't yet another sense in which we are made in the Image of God - that the love between a husband and wife - heck, between Jen and me - can issue forth (and in fact, has) in another person (or, you know, eight of them). Awesome. . .
I also recall, in the aftermath of my reunion with my birth-mother, a growing appreciation of Motherhood, and what it means - that what I'd seen of our kids growing in Jen's belly, and felt of them kicking her from inside herself, was also true of me and this very woman; I had never related to Motherhood in quite such a REAL way before, at least as pertaining to myself. It was a mild disappointment to me, after our reunion, that she had no photos of her pregnant self from 'back in the day'. Completely understandable, of course - she (and her family probably all the moreso) was in no mood to capture the experience for posterity - but it would have given me an odd comfort to see a picture of her bulging belly, knowing that I was inside. . . Anyway, it was simply amazing to me to realize that she, at last, was the woman who, at whatever cost to herself, had given birth to me - at the most basic, earthy level (and you know how I love the earthiness), she was the woman between whose legs I entered the world. . .
And as much as I love Jen for the wonderful, amazing woman that she is, and the love that has grown between us over 30+ years of marriage, it is made all the richer for me to understand what it means that she is the Mother of My Children - I wouldn't be a father if she weren't a mother; and being a father is about the biggest and best and noblest thing I've ever done. . .
So, Happy Mother's Day to my Beloved Wife, Jen - the Mother of My Children, and the Love of My Life. . .
-------------------------
And Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers among my blog-friends - I honor you for your sacrifice, for your love for your own children, and for the (how shall I say it?) intrinsic wonderfulness of your femininity. . .
-------------------------
A friend sent me this (which is more-or-less a sequel to this), which I'm happy (even eager) to share with you all. . .
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Facial Hair
My old friend Xavier recently put up a post, a tiny little thing, really, urging upon his male readers that they try, at least once in their lives, to grow a beard, calling it "one of the manliest things in the world".
I had to smile at that, because I've worn a beard more-or-less continuously since the end of my sophomore year of college, and therein lies a tale. . . or two or three. . .
I've always been one of those hairier-than average guys. Certainly not the hairiest guy you've ever seen, by any means, but more than average. I've known a few of 'Those Guys' - the ones with nicknames like 'Bear' or 'Ape' - who, when they take their shirts off, you can't quite see their skin; the guys who have to choose a more-or-less arbitrary line where they stop shaving, because their chest hair just flows continuously up onto their chins. That's not me.
But I started shaving when I was twelve (I wrote about it here, once-upon-a-time), and, without getting any cruder than I have to, I was one of the guys who made a mild sensation in the after-gym-class showers in seventh grade. I made my first efforts at growing a mustache when I was 15, and by the time I was 16, my upper lip had disappeared forever, never to be seen again, to this very day.
As I said, I first grew a full beard toward the end of my sophomore year of college. It was 1975; Grizzly Adams was a popular TV show, and Loggins & Messina were at the height of their popularity. I grew my first beard mainly because I was curious what it would look like (and, to be candid, there was certain 'hippie/natural' vibe that I found appealing, as well). It took me about a week-and-a-half to not look just scruffy, and like I really meant to have a beard. And I liked how it looked, so I kept it.
I understand what Xavier is saying about beards being all 'manly' and all - facial hair is one of the most outwardly-visible things that distinguishes us men from women, for sure (I suppose I should say 'most men' and 'most women' but I really don't wanna go there) (at all). But that didn't really loom all that large in my thinking; it's not like I was insecure in my manhood, or trying to prove my manliness. Mainly, I just liked how it looked on me. I have a bit of a 'weak chin', and the beard did a nice job of, um, hiding that fact, aside from projecting a certain 'rugged' image. And besides, I reasoned, if God went to all the trouble of putting hair on my face, I couldn't quite see the logic of going thru all the time/hassle/irritation of cutting it off every day for the rest of my life. . .
After I first grew my beard, I can recall cutting it off twice - once, during my junior year, when I had a job washing dishes in the dorm, and they told me I'd have to wear a mask unless I shaved. So I shaved my chin, leaving behind a 'Gay-90s-style' set of mutton-chops that flowed smoothly into my mustache. When the school year ended, and I didn't have to care about public-kitchen hygeine rules, I grew it right back.
The other time I shaved it off was toward the end of my Master's program, when I was interviewing for jobs; in 1978, the association of facial hair, especially beards, with 'unbusinesslike' was still fairly strong, and I thought it prudent not to unnecessarily provoke any of my more, uh, conservative interviewers (cowardly, yes, but I got a good job). After I'd been on my new job for three months, and was past the 'probationary period', I went to my boss and asked if there would be any objection to me growing a beard. He said it wouldn't bother him at all, and he didn't think it would a problem for any of his bosses, so I grew it back, and I've had it ever since. Within six months, half-a-dozen other engineers in our office sprouted beards; probably the only time in my life that I've ever been any kind of fashion trend-setter. . .
I've had women ask me, "What does your wife think of that. . . that thing?" apparently imagining to themselves (and in pretty unfavorable terms) what it might be like to kiss a man with hair on his face. But I have to tell you, she loves it (even if she does occasionally have to pick a stray beard hair out of her teeth). Given the time-line of when we first met, and when I had a hairy chin or not, Jen has certainly seen me without my beard. But it was all before we were married, or even dating, so she doesn't have many major associative mental images of me without my beard. One time, after we'd been married maybe five years or so, she happened to pick up my high-school yearbook, and of course, she flipped right to the page with my picture on it. Instantly, she gasped, then turned to me and said, "DON'T YOU EVER SHAVE!"
Uh, well, gosh, Sweetheart, I wasn't planning to. But, uh, you know, that's still me in the photo. . .
I have five sons, and three of them are grown enough to shave; and between the three of them, they can barely push out five hairs on their faces and chests, combined (Jen comes from a, uh, smoother gene pool than I do; although the 'smooth' genes do seem to have a certain tenacity). Which doesn't keep them from trying, to occasionally humorous effect. But whatcha gonna do? Anyway, 7M is a newly-minted teenager, and he's showing some promising signs of hirsute-ness (hirsutitude?), so maybe there's hope yet. . .
-------------------------
On a (possibly) related note - my kids got me this T-shirt as a Christmas gift a couple years ago. . .
I like it. . .
I had to smile at that, because I've worn a beard more-or-less continuously since the end of my sophomore year of college, and therein lies a tale. . . or two or three. . .
I've always been one of those hairier-than average guys. Certainly not the hairiest guy you've ever seen, by any means, but more than average. I've known a few of 'Those Guys' - the ones with nicknames like 'Bear' or 'Ape' - who, when they take their shirts off, you can't quite see their skin; the guys who have to choose a more-or-less arbitrary line where they stop shaving, because their chest hair just flows continuously up onto their chins. That's not me.
But I started shaving when I was twelve (I wrote about it here, once-upon-a-time), and, without getting any cruder than I have to, I was one of the guys who made a mild sensation in the after-gym-class showers in seventh grade. I made my first efforts at growing a mustache when I was 15, and by the time I was 16, my upper lip had disappeared forever, never to be seen again, to this very day.
As I said, I first grew a full beard toward the end of my sophomore year of college. It was 1975; Grizzly Adams was a popular TV show, and Loggins & Messina were at the height of their popularity. I grew my first beard mainly because I was curious what it would look like (and, to be candid, there was certain 'hippie/natural' vibe that I found appealing, as well). It took me about a week-and-a-half to not look just scruffy, and like I really meant to have a beard. And I liked how it looked, so I kept it.
I understand what Xavier is saying about beards being all 'manly' and all - facial hair is one of the most outwardly-visible things that distinguishes us men from women, for sure (I suppose I should say 'most men' and 'most women' but I really don't wanna go there) (at all). But that didn't really loom all that large in my thinking; it's not like I was insecure in my manhood, or trying to prove my manliness. Mainly, I just liked how it looked on me. I have a bit of a 'weak chin', and the beard did a nice job of, um, hiding that fact, aside from projecting a certain 'rugged' image. And besides, I reasoned, if God went to all the trouble of putting hair on my face, I couldn't quite see the logic of going thru all the time/hassle/irritation of cutting it off every day for the rest of my life. . .
After I first grew my beard, I can recall cutting it off twice - once, during my junior year, when I had a job washing dishes in the dorm, and they told me I'd have to wear a mask unless I shaved. So I shaved my chin, leaving behind a 'Gay-90s-style' set of mutton-chops that flowed smoothly into my mustache. When the school year ended, and I didn't have to care about public-kitchen hygeine rules, I grew it right back.
The other time I shaved it off was toward the end of my Master's program, when I was interviewing for jobs; in 1978, the association of facial hair, especially beards, with 'unbusinesslike' was still fairly strong, and I thought it prudent not to unnecessarily provoke any of my more, uh, conservative interviewers (cowardly, yes, but I got a good job). After I'd been on my new job for three months, and was past the 'probationary period', I went to my boss and asked if there would be any objection to me growing a beard. He said it wouldn't bother him at all, and he didn't think it would a problem for any of his bosses, so I grew it back, and I've had it ever since. Within six months, half-a-dozen other engineers in our office sprouted beards; probably the only time in my life that I've ever been any kind of fashion trend-setter. . .
I've had women ask me, "What does your wife think of that. . . that thing?" apparently imagining to themselves (and in pretty unfavorable terms) what it might be like to kiss a man with hair on his face. But I have to tell you, she loves it (even if she does occasionally have to pick a stray beard hair out of her teeth). Given the time-line of when we first met, and when I had a hairy chin or not, Jen has certainly seen me without my beard. But it was all before we were married, or even dating, so she doesn't have many major associative mental images of me without my beard. One time, after we'd been married maybe five years or so, she happened to pick up my high-school yearbook, and of course, she flipped right to the page with my picture on it. Instantly, she gasped, then turned to me and said, "DON'T YOU EVER SHAVE!"
Uh, well, gosh, Sweetheart, I wasn't planning to. But, uh, you know, that's still me in the photo. . .
I have five sons, and three of them are grown enough to shave; and between the three of them, they can barely push out five hairs on their faces and chests, combined (Jen comes from a, uh, smoother gene pool than I do; although the 'smooth' genes do seem to have a certain tenacity). Which doesn't keep them from trying, to occasionally humorous effect. But whatcha gonna do? Anyway, 7M is a newly-minted teenager, and he's showing some promising signs of hirsute-ness (hirsutitude?), so maybe there's hope yet. . .
-------------------------
On a (possibly) related note - my kids got me this T-shirt as a Christmas gift a couple years ago. . .
I like it. . .
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