Heritage

I wrote recently, just in passing, that "I am my father's son," referring to the fact that I awoke very early one morning. That was, indeed, a trait my dad had; he awoke so early every morning that it surprised me. I was always secretly proud that he was up so early. I never knew what made me proud of that, but something about it did. I think it was drummed into me, albeit gently, that I was from "farm stock" and that, somehow, farm stock was special. Getting up early was a badge of honor. I still see it that way, though I am usually loathe to admit it. It still makes me feel proud when I do awake, for whatever reason, very early. I feel that I have some secret communion with the world at such an hour; it is damn hard to explain, but I really do feel like I am "at one" with the world around me when I am the only one awake and alert and watching the world awake from its nighttime slumber.

There is more to my heritage than being "my father's son." Some of it pains me, as do the attitudes I remember my parents having toward the races as a child. To this day, I equate bigotry with stupidity, though I do not consider my parent stupid. But I am pained by memories of my own flesh and blood spewing vitriolic pronouncements about "Blacks" (or worse) or "Mexicans" (or worse). Those sorts of statements are made by ignorant, indeed stupid, people who allow emotion to control their intellect and whose emotions are controlled by...what? But my parents were good people...how could they have dabbled in the idiocy of the vast wasteland of idiots that roam the earth?

When all is said and done, those painful memories are mere specks in the sea of memories that my parents left me. They molded my thoughts and my attitudes and my beliefs. They did not insist that I subscribe to Christianity or their version of it. They were far smarter than that; they knew that thinking people make their own decisions, far beyond the wash of social tides. I believe they wished I would have been a "good boy" who believed in God and practiced Christian morals. In fact, I think they succeeded in molding me in such a way as to adopt morals that reflect Christian beliefs. But they did not convert me to Christianity; and I am forever grateful that they allowed me my own set of beliefs. My parents, with all their flaws, were wonderful people. I miss them terribly. I wish I could tell them just how much.

This leads to another issue for me. I am not a parent...never was, never will be, never wanted to be. But being a parent has its privliges, not the least of which is creating a being to look out after you when the moon has crossed too many skies, leaving the body and mind unable to meet the challenge. I suppose I will die alone and, quite possibly, with no one to look out for me. It's my punishment for failing to find the amusement in children. The fact that I have been a loner all my life isn't helpful, either, as I have no friends to call on. Oh, I suppose I could impose on people who have been my friends, but it would be such an imposition and so utterly impolite.

One day, maybe not-too-long-coming, I would like to celebrate my parents' lives and the world they helped create by having the children they left behind. I want to talk about who they were, what values they had, what fear they felt, what they wanted for their children, and how their children, specifically I, disappointed them. They will never know how we champion their lives and their memories, but sometimes we have to do it for ourselves. We need to acknowledge them...not in our private little journals, but in public displays of affection and affirmation that they made good choices, as well as bad. We like to think we are the good choices.