Chapter Two
“By the age of forty, a man is responsible for his face. And his fate.”-Edward Abbey
My wife and I will be traveling to the east coast today for our middle child’s college graduation. It’s hard to believe it, but at the tender age of 46, I now have two children finished with their undergrad work, and the third one is well on his way. So, before I reach 50, which I’m told is “the new 40,” I’ll be an empty nester.
I’ll vacillate between joy and melancholy, proud of my son but also a little sad as yet another life milestone moves from the road ahead to the rear view mirror.
The first, our daughter, is entering the PhD program in History this fall at another east coast school. She’s bright and a real charmer, one of those people that does well in nearly every endeavor. Her secret? She’s a worker and tough as nails. Takes after her mother in that regard. The middle child, Jay, is an artist, graduating with a BFA and hopefully entering a productive life as a practicing artist. I honestly can’t see him doing anything else, and considering his prodigious talent, to do anything else would be tragic. And finally, our “baby,” Alex, he’s the budding revolutionary. He’s as smart as they come, and feels a heavy sense of social responsibility. But then again, all three of them have that same sense of social responsibility, and that is perhaps the one thing I’m the most proud of as a parent. That, and the fact the each of these children is full of love. They’re honest, kind and compassionate people.
Their long suffering mother gets ninety percent of the credit here. I often feel I did little more than take care of the yard and pay the bills. I coached ball teams, lead numerous hikes and planned some fun trips, but their mother is the real tone setter for this family. There’s no substitute for all the books she read to them when they were little, museum trips, cookie baking parties, bike rides, helping with homework and being a good listener as they aged and dealt with the issues that accompany the teenage years.
I suppose I can take a reasonable amount of credit for planting the seeds of rebellion against the status quo. Teaching them to question authority, love wilderness and to be a voice for the voiceless and for the downtrodden. But they also had good friends, teachers and other mentors that reinforced these ideas, and we’re so deeply grateful for them and for the contributions they made to the lives of our children.
“You taught your children to question authority, and you’re proud of that?” Yes, quite so. As Noam Chomsky once stated, authority only gains its legitimacy by passing such challenges. When you teach your children to never question authority, they can end up adopting some pretty strange creeds and beliefs, more often than not forced upon them by predatory adults with bizarre agendas. The Parish Priest comes to mind.
“Life is too short for grief. Or regret. Or bullshit.”
What comes next, after 50? The red sports car with convertible top? Motorcycle with sidecar? It seems to me that my life up to what I hope is the midway point has been preparation for being a reasonably successful father. I hope to devote whatever years remain to an equally important endeavor, being a more active voice and participant in cultural revolution. To promote gardening, cycling and the arts. To foster the idea of employee owned small enterprises and democracy in the home, work place and community. To forcefully speak out against poverty, racism, misogyny, animal abuse and wars for profits. And like Abbey, to continue to be a voice for the voiceless and for the preservation of wilderness.
I think I’ll even take some time for myself and take some long backpacking trips. Make sure I go hiking as much as possible. Laugh, love and eat good food. Enjoy some vino with family and friends and who knows, maybe even a grandchild or two.
My death? I hope to wander off like an old wolf or bear and find a nice spot on a mesa overlooking the vastness of the desert, a sea of red rock. Maybe my friends, if I have any remaining, and my family will carry me out there on a gurney. We’ll say our goodbyes, and then they’ll read Desert Solitaire to me as I slip away.
Thanks Ed, for the good idea.
“Life is too tragic for sadness: Let us rejoice.”
Good words here, Jack.
It’s fine to see the mind working, mental juices surging, thoughts bubbling to the surface. We begin to live when Death becomes a friend sitting on our shoulder, enjoying the ride.
I’m peering over the edge at 60 this summer. A meaningless numerical nick point. We pass through the stages of life at our own speed. Some pay attention, others let it ride. None of us feel different from when we were 18, but we are, most of us. Smarter, hopefully, wiser, if we’re lucky.
I find myself less voluble, distilling thoughts down to cryptic sentences where once there were paragraphs. Life becomes poetry as one ages. The blathering of the masses is less important than the eloquent song of the varied thrush.
Long life to you Jack, and to your family.
Hayduke