I don't know...do you?

“Knowing others requires paying attention,

paying attention takes time…”

 - anonymous

I have a niece with whom I have the most rewarding of relationships.  When she was a little girl we found a rhythm…a special place really, where I suppose we just knew each other…maybe it is that we wanted to know each other.  I can’t remember having a forced conversation, or that I felt obligated to carry the conversation…somehow, from very early on it just was…At the age of 28 (hers) the only thing that has changed is the content and cadence from time to time, but not that connection…

This leads to the confession meant to dispel the myth young people have of their elders…maybe just older people.  The myth?  That somehow with age comes ‘the’ understanding of life. You know…somehow older folk have figured it out.

When I was young, my father was bigger than life…a giant, not just in size, but it seemed he knew EVERYTHING.  While I was trying to figure life out, it was clear to me that he already knew…well all the answers.  I felt this way because there was almost never a hesitation in his responses to my questions, given with a sense of assurance, that made me look forward to becoming just like him.

As life rushed at me with the speed of light, the challenges a little more complicated, the aura of my dad remained…better said, and this is key, I kept the aura of him in my mind.  An image…and like the images we often create in our minds it was simplified and tucked it away in the ‘…secure place...’ the ‘…this is the way things are…’ room.  Often once the image is stored, it becomes a static file…a ‘byte’ of information requiring deliberate events to be updated.  Updating an image of one's father or mother or anyone for that matter, takes time…perspective…a different place in the journey.

Briefly during my teenage years, you know, the era of ultimate enlightenment and raging hormones, this image got updated – rather downgraded. I was pretty sure my dad, for all his assurance really didn’t know very much…his ‘bandwidth’ seem to be pretty thin.  I mean, when you now realize you understand most things, parents are so…so, you know – yesterday!

Then somewhere in my mid-twenties, after the Vietnam experience, my dad got pretty smart.  I had more unresolved questions, and what seemed quite sudden; his bandwidth appeared to have grown exponentially.  His thoughts were suddenly richer…his understanding deeper…his sense of life more thoughtful.  In many ways, in spite of having outgrown him by seven full inches, he became even bigger than before.

But then something else began to happen…I got into my late 30s and discovered life was not as clear as it had seemed in my teens and twenties – the answers I had relied on, less and less secure…and my dad?  He had become ill and seemed more uncertain of the answers he had given to me as a youngster, teen and young adult. 

My father looked less a giant with a never-ending wealth of knowledge and understanding of life…morphing into something different, something more…a human being.  The paradox – maybe the revelation – from this point on the pathway of life changed the view.  Now his humanity, his failing health, his diminished capacity, and slipping away from the vitality and power of his life, upgraded the image from a series of ‘still photos’ to a moving picture – like the rapid flipping of pictures that make images appear alive and moving.   The words of the apostle Paul took on a sense of meaning for the first time – “…when I am weak, then am I strong…”

My father had entered into life just like his son…grasping at whatever seemed consistent and secure.  I realized – maybe with purpose…maybe not – he had created a barrier to his humanity, or maybe better said, I had created a barrier to it through the snapshots I had tucked away in the reference library of my mind.  At the very time he was slipping away, I had the intense desire to know him better.  In truth, it would years after his death while reading the dozens and dozens of letters he wrote, for me to get better insight into this man.

The niece…

You see, in the middle of my sixth decade, I really don’t know much more than I did when I was in my first few.  I’ve learned to recognize some patterns to life and figured out how to find a little order to the chaos.  I appreciate, with greater respect, the fragility of the journey with little guarantee of the next breath.

One thing I do know, however, is that I have worked diligently to keep whatever images of me my niece has in her mind, as fluid as possible.  I have taken the proactive stance to try and ensure she knows my humanity, my misgivings, my sense of the great unknown…I want to make whatever journey we have together just that…together.  I want her to see me as she sees herself…curious, frail, thoughtful, full of wonderment, with a sense of the microcosmic space we inhabit and the macrocosmic capacity for unlimited possibility.

Indeed, it is my hope for those that know me, the images are more than just snapshots…

- ted