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 .