Sunday, September 04, 2005
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Labor Day 2005
Seems to me parents can get too caught up in what their children will become and lose sight of what they are. The old bromide is true, children are indeed the future, but they are also the present. I can honesty say that Miranda and I couldn't care less if the Beans are doctors or crane operators (there's a shortage of the latter and those guys now make six figures pretty easily...not that salary is often a true measure of a job's worth). What we do care about is that they grow up to be kind, thoughtful, curious men who spend as much time as they can with their children, if they chose to have them. The best way we know to encourage that is to show them the values that matter to us and make sure they know they are loved.
I am the first generation of my family who doesn't make something with his hands. My father graduated from Amherst College in 1956, was comissioned in the U.S. Navy, sailed the globe at the apogee of American power and prestige in the world, and came home to begin a career in broadcasting. Then his mom got sick, and he helped his father run the family's small paint wholesaling business. He never left.
For almost 35 years he was CEO, CFO, President, and Chairman. He put two kids through private middle school, high school, and college. He managed a small group of employees, paid the bills, made the sales calls, even helped pull the pallets off the trucks. But most magically, he matched hues by eye in great barrels of pigment and oil. His sense of color is amazing. Need the right paint for a swatch of fabric? He can look at it, burn it into some kind of remarkable optical memory he has, and match it spot on without keeping a sample. Nowadays you take it to Lowe's and a computer does it. It's okay, but it's not as close as Dad could get.
He also ran his business with kindness and respect for everyone he dealt with. Even if it hurt the bottom line. When a painter would get too deep in debt, Dad would consult with him and develop a barter plan whereby the man could work off what he owed by doing projects at the warehouse or our home. Employees and tradesmen would tell me repeatedly how my father was universally admired for his fairness and honesty.
Before my father were men who worked as grocers, farriers, grooms (something about the Irish and horses), firemen, and pressmen. All working with their hands. All making a physical difference in the world around them whether by hammering steel to hooves, pumping water on flames, or setting ink to newsprint. I would love if my sons followed in their footsteps. Ideally they would have a life of the mind and soul as vigorous as their life of physical labor; I think an ironworker who reads Merton or Nagarjuna might be the healthiest example of humanity ever.
Regardless of their professional choices, Miranda and I want the boys to be passionate about their work. To love what they do. To look at the paycheck as a bonus, not as a motivation. I think that he grew to love it, but my father chose his occupation out of a sense of duty and fidelity. Those are only two of the myriad traits that make him the best man I know. Ballet dancer or carpenter, lawyer or river guide, Miranda and I want every option open to our sons. We only ask that in making his choice, each one consider his vocation's potential contribution to society. Then each will have been true to his grandfather's sense of responsibility to family and fellow man.
Have a happy Labor Day, everyone. Stay safe.
PS: I know that you are keeping the victims of Katrina in your thoughts and prayers. If you can spare some, consensus seems to be that cash is what gives aid agencies the greatest flexibility.
PPS: It's very flattering that at least two--TWO! count 'em--people who are not related to me by blood or marriage asked when I would fire this thing back up again. (In related news, all my relatives asked me to stop.) Seems The Beans' and their saga took the summer off, kind of like your favorite bad old TV show (or your favorite good old TV show). Now that's not to say they weren't busy riding trains, and sticking peas in their ears, and falling off of furniture and stairs and swingsets, but more that their silly father was too busy laughing at them and hugging them to do much writing. Given that I find myself at the second bookend on the summer season--with work and school beckoning--it seemed right to get the 25% Lebanese nose to the baba ganoush. (Sorry. I don't know the Arabic for "grindstone.")
So return with me to those thrilling days of toddlerhood. And we will see what we will see, you and I...
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Did I ever tell you that James Garner and my mother were in acting class at the Univ of Oklahoma together? My brush with Hollywood greatness. Oh, and my Dad and his older brother (Jack, I think) were great golfing buddies.
And yes, thank god you're back. I thought we scared you off!
Have a great school year. No putting kids in the lockers - at least not until Christmas.
And yes, thank god you're back. I thought we scared you off!
Have a great school year. No putting kids in the lockers - at least not until Christmas.
msklem, you are practically Jim Garner's love child...and I am VERY jealous!
You are also very kind.
I promise not to forcibly restrain any of my saintly charges until 2006.
Best of luck in your new gig; those'll be some lucky little Math students!
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You are also very kind.
I promise not to forcibly restrain any of my saintly charges until 2006.
Best of luck in your new gig; those'll be some lucky little Math students!
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