master of none

My sister Maggie and I were talking the other day about the time (many years ago) when Dad was working on his Masters degree. He was working full time, raising a family full time, cutting wood full time, helping people full time, and "doing a Masters" (which of course made no sense to us at the time). We recalled talking about this ubiquitous "Masters" quite a bit...and particularly during family prayer. "Bless Dad and his Masters." "Help Dad finish his Masters." We walked the journey with Dad...not because we had any idea where he was going, but because we sensed it was important. He wasn't doing the Masters for a green jacket (sports reference, check!), but rather so that he could spot human disorders from a mile away; and then walk the mile to correctly assess the malady in person, and offer some kind of counsel. Buddha and his tree. Joseph and the upstate forest. Mohammad and his cave. Jesus in the wilderness. Abraham and an altar. Dad and the mentally ill. Maggie and I were also reflecting on another result of Dad actually completing his Masters: we had nothing else to pray about as children. "Ummm...hi God. Yeah, so...Dad got his Masters. Thanks for that. So...should I get a Masters, God?" Such were the effects of the Masters. And it remains part of our family. Years after successfully defending his thesis, it's not really over.

It's been two weeks since I began my own educational journey with kids (and patiently supportive Lori) in tow. The reflection on Dad's Masters has been fun to think about, because like me when I was the perceiving child, our kids have no idea what's really going on. There was the countdown to my last day of real work (kid translation: "Daddy will now be at home all day!"). Moving my office from the nice almost-corner office with big windows and a modern desk to the basement of the same building in a cinder-blocked office with no windows and an office mate (kid translation: "Now we don't have to walk up any stairs to your office!"). And then talking to them about becoming a Doctor (kid translation: "You are going to help sick people!?" Not really. "You are going to be a scientist like Cory?!" Not exactly.). I'm walking the fine line between distinction and disappointment.

Our kids get that this is important, but like the kid version of me with my Dad, they don't know why. My hope is that, like the kid version of me, their innocent acceptance of my pursuit as "important" will turn into pride. I'm fully aware that it is difficult to deliberately delineate moments of significance onto the soul of a family--for better or worse, I believe those eternal etchings tend to take root a bit more organically. But I'd be lying if I said the thought is not at least part of the reason I'm doing what I'm doing (the thought certainly protects me in those moments when I think, "what am i doing. what have i done."). It would be easy to slide down the slippery slope of cliched hyperbole right now, so I won't. I won't talk of seizing dreams, or taking risks, or attacking life with reckless precision...or teaching our children to take value in their craft and enhancing their identity through worthy pursuits. Or teaching them to have pride like my mom has, not like the kind in the Bible that turns you bad (lyrical reference, check!). No, I won't do that here.

Here I'll just hope that the PhD is the new Masters. At least in their prayers. At least for a few years. Then it will be over .

aitkin for the bacon...

I was in Aitkin, Minnesota last week and had the chance to spend a lovely 24 hours with my 93 year old maternal grandmother, Grandma Jones. Aitkin is two hours north of the twin cities. The Mississippi runs along its outskirts, just 100 miles south of the mighty river's humble beginnings. I can throw a rock across it in Aitkin...with my left hand. A far cry from the rumbling rapids that flow below the modern-twisted steel of the bridge in Alton which is the more familiar Mississippi to me. A far cry from everything.

Before I left, Zoe told me to "tell all my friends in Minnesota hi. And Grandma." I'm not sure who those friends are (although with Zoe, everyone soon becomes a friend), but I did say hi to Grandma. And I enjoyed it immensely. I asked her deeply personal questions and made her give me equally personal responses. I just sat back in her massaging recliner and listened intently as she described the means by which she dealt with marital conflict, how she survived raising four "delightful, but very strong willed girls" (euphemism for, "without God and vitamins, I would have murdered those psychos"), and how she currently deals with the "delightful, but very strong willed neighbors" in her apartment complex.

Walking around town with Grandma was a bit like hanging out with the Dalai Lama. Everywhere she went people would wave and smile. People would stop and talk to her...ask her how she was doing, then make some comment about how amazing she is. I was slightly disappointed each time she introduced me as her grandson; I was enjoying the reverie so much that I wanted these people to imagine I was her long-haired lover, visiting from California. They appeared to be disappointed as well when I became "the grandson from Illinois." I think they wanted me to be the lover too. She would be even more mysterious and remarkable. 93 years old. Perfect hearing. Great driver. No limp. Five almonds and 16 vitamins with every meal. Spelt wheat muffins. Fruit.

It was a wonderful trip...almost spiritual for me. I learned a lot by asking so many questions and gained insight by revisiting childhood with an adult perspective (by myself, which I think was key). The hogback is a molehill, not a mountain. The lakes are still beautiful. I ate Grandma's homemade rhubarb crisp and nibbled on fresh cherries that sat in a bowl on the middle of her kitchen table. I listened reverently as Grandma talked about my Mom and Dad. How much she loves them, and admires them. How grateful she is for Dad...as a father, a provider, a supporter. "We never worried about your Mom...because she had your Dad." How happy she is that they irrationally ended up together and that despite having had their fair share of life's challenges, they have remained happy and faithful to one another, and to God. She thanked Darlene for all the good that has come from her life. Darlene was just some girl she met her freshman year of College. Darlene was popular and liked by everyone. And she liked Jesus. She talked openly about prayer and it was then that little Lucille decided to start praying like Darlene. Prayer was her answer to almost every question I asked during my trip. I marvel at her authentically effortless faith. Calcium supplements strengthen her bones. Prayer strengthens everything else. She really prays. And I'd dare say that if Grandma's prayers weren't flowing out of Aitkin, I'd still be able to throw a rock across the Mississippi at Alton...