Good Morning Jessicca...

Letter to my Daughter
Sunday, 21 July

Doorway

Good Morning Jessicca…

Pull back the curtain and you will find a time when it was thought all serious people decided, for perpetuity, what they would be in life once they grew up.  This was a miraculous period that followed completion of basic schooling.  By now girls knew something of boys and boys knew something of girls and everyone had done their homework enough to know a little bit about everything.  All things true would come to a glorious completion as we tied a bow with the love of our life, and assessed our aptitudes in order to choose a career that would help make love, family and security, all possible.  Wendy and Peter Pan, shedding their childhood notions, meet at the wedding alter in their first step of commitment for two adults sharing all the twists, surprises and rewards offered in life.

A few people my age might actually describe their life in this manner but, for many of us, this was the mythology of a simpler time.  There no longer is the sense of inevitable opportunity and domestic certainty young people once naively felt about their life before them.  Today there are still enormous opportunities for smart people with the skills to keep pace with the rapidly evolving demands of this society.  For those of us not exhibiting the capabilities profitable to the various enterprises of our time we are left to feel fortunate we remain standing on a treadmill whose pace seems ever increasing.

Actually, what is described here probably holds true for at least the past hundred years.  There never really was an optimal time for people whose expectations exceeded their marketability, in an environment where the price of personal labor is as much governed by supply and demand as is any product offered on a retail shelf.  Prior to the twentieth century you could opt out of the demands of civilization and choose to take your chances on a sprawling frontier west of the Mississippi.  Pioneers lived a life of beauty and brutality, opportunity and uncertainty of matching expanse.  The laws governing your actions were merciless in judgment, but you were free to call all the decisions you made to be entirely your own.  Success in your venture could provide magnificent reward.  Losing out to the elements would leave you only with the pride of having died free.  Your story might be one passed down through the generations if only they first stumble upon your bones.

The degree of our desire determines the intensity of our ambition.  The more we want from our life, the greater the mountain and steeper the slope that first must be scaled.  Hard work and devotion to one’s calling is no guarantee for ultimate success but personal effort and sacrifice is as fundamental to achievement as purchasing a ticket is to winning the lottery.  This seems an obvious truth if your wish is to own a grand home on a hill.  It may be no less true, though, if what you seek is spiritual in intensity.  The difference may lie only in the path of applied effort.

Life is a wellspring in seeming defiance of nature’s laws, an expression of high improbability.  You and I are free to pursue whatever fancies may enter our mind.  It is well for us, though, to retain always the healthiest of perspectives and celebrate each day the extraordinary nature of our own conscious existence.  The fact that you presently are is all that you have to safely take for granted.   Anything more has the ethereal substance of personal wish.

Love,

           Dad

Good Morning Jack...

Letter to my Son
Sunday, 7 July

Neighborhood

Good Morning Jack…

I hope only for the best in health and happiness for you, your mother, brothers and sister.  Hope is never a casual expression.  The world sometimes presents us with sinister turns.  The people I care for most can sometimes seem to have a frail hold on life.  Still, nothing is gained dwelling in darkness and I think it best to enjoy the light of day.  We live to stay involved.

Each of us is furnished a familiar outlook on life that also displays characteristics unique to ourselves.  We all desire much of the same things but we set about procuring these goals in a manner that reveals our own shades of personal meaning.  In so doing we fill the niches of humanity.  At some point in life our time spent planning for the future is encroached upon by our estimations on how we’ve already done.  Our life, seen in retrospect, makes for an interesting narrative.  Certainly there are some who have turned their early intentions into accomplishments and they now walk the path they always envisioned for themselves.  Yet, the decisions they made along the way and the events that led to this point in their life were beyond their ability to foresee.  We fulfilled our predictions to a splendid degree but the manner of our achievement is a story spiced with intrigue. 

There are those of us not quite so resolute in our goals.  Our youthful intentions often seemed murky, even to ourselves.  The journey began without a plotted course.  The destination was never adequately settled.  Critical decisions were improvised.  What does one make of this manner of voyage?  Was there a notable result beyond that of personal discovery?  This captain’s log may hold a tale of misadventure, shameful lapse of character and brilliant survival skills.  The ship finally makes port safely, having to show for its extended effort a cargo hold that is empty save for two rare albino coconuts. 

Popeye’s goal in life was to win the heart of Olive Oyl.  He worked very hard at it.  Olive always appreciated his effort and devotion to her but she never could quite overcome her attraction to Bluto’s animal magnetism.  Bluto was a narcissist and I doubt Olive Oyl meant anything more to him than a prize of conquest.  Bluto was no good.  When he swept Olive up with his powerful arms, holding her pressed to his barrel chest while he carried her off, she would scream for Popeye and vainly struggle to be free.  Deep inside, though, she was enthralled with the feeling of being a helpless captive to desire and she would sigh, “Oh, my!”  Meanwhile, ever faithful Popeye would come running, crying out, “I’ll save you, Olive.”

Ain’t life a bitch?  If only Bluto could be trusted.  If only Olive would settle down.  If only Popeye wasn’t such a mumbling nitwit.  If only what was good for you wasn’t a can of spinach – leaves soggy with vinegar. 

One of the goals in most everyone’s life is to win someone’s heart.  We have our reasons to develop our personal capabilities as far as we can take them but it all seems to be in the context of being a part of another person’s life.  The desire to accomplish great things can lose much of its luster once the person you most care for is suddenly gone.  It doesn’t mean we quit.  We find new motivations to continue on but it hasn’t the same sense of sharing as before.  If you’re a Neanderthal there’s enormous gratification in dragging the impressive carcass of a freshly killed animal to the cave entrance of the woman you love.  If it turns out she has left then all you can see is decaying flesh and an issue with flies.  You leave it for the hyenas.  You head in the direction of the setting sun.  Who knows what waits for you over the horizon?

Love,

          Dad