Dads & Sons & Grandsons

I started out as a son-of-a-dad, you probably did too, unless your a girl, obviously. Then one day I became a dad-of-a-son (his mother might think I’m over simplifying that part), and a few years later: a dad-of-two-sons. Next, I became the dad-of-a-dad, and just a few weeks ago, the dad-of-two-dads, and the Pops-of-a-GRANDSON, and still the son-of-an-amazing-92-year-old DAD.

Even though Father’s Day is still several days away—Happy Father’s Day men.

#fullermen

Since this blog is ostensibly ABOUT POPS, specifically and generally, how can I not type a few thoughts about the whole man/family theme at this time of the year. Someone has to give Father’s Day its due. Let’s face it: Father’s Day isn’t one of the biggies like Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day and Halloween. It’s more in the class of Groundhog Day, Columbus Day, Labor Day, etc., you know, those days that we’re glad we have but we’re not going to go to Hobby Lobby and buy decorations for them 13-months in advance.

So, I’m stepping up as a SpokesMAN (and I mean that in a true politically-incorrect and insenitive masculine form of the word) for Father’s Day 2017. Unfortunately, I won’t be around to celebrate the actual day with my father or my sons/fathers-of-my Grand-Girls and GRANDSON. My Amazing-Missus, Bambi and I will be on an adventure, somewhere in Ohio. (Yes, I know it’s stupid to post stuff on the WWW about being out of town, what with all the criminal types out there. But, hey, we have insurance and we’ve been talking about getting rid of some stuff anyway.)

Speaking of travel, some of the fondest father/son memories are of trips we’ve taken together. A lot of miles and great experiences and time shared together. It is sublime for me. An ideal Father’s Day would include a slow gathering around a table spread with a hearty shrimp-boil or burgers from the grill, and telling stories of trips we’ve made together.

Speaking of time and travel, another Father’s Day treat would be to watch a good movie together. A personal favorite is about the men of a family and their ability to travel back in time a bit. It’s called, “About Time”, and I highly recommend it (unless you’re one of those unfortunate literal thinking guys, who lack imagination and can’t just enjoy a story for the sake of the story).

Or how about a movie about one of my favorite fictional dads, Atticus Finch, in “To Kill A Mockingbird”? Which set me to thinking deeply about what is the criteria I use for choosing a favorite fictional dad? Is there really a criteria and if so, where did it come from?

So I put together a shortlist of my favorites:

Best I can tell, if you want to make my list of favorite fictional dads, or maybe real-life dads for that matter you need to be somewhat flawed but not afraid to embrace your flawedness. Whether its planning an awesome vacation or a celebration like “Festivus”, you take the chance because you want your family to experience life in all its richness. And yeah, sometimes you seem busy, self-absorbed, clueless; still you’re there. And even though you’re probably scared to death most of the time, you try hard to be strong; not the hero, but the one that can be counted on.

Sgt. Pepper & Other Memories

THIS IS THE 50th ANNIVERSARY of the release of The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, the album that made a huge mark on the music and recording industries and provided a sound track of sorts for my first coming-of-age.

Months ago, I read a book by Mary Karr called The Art of the Memoir. While reading, I took her challenge to give it a try—writing a memoir, not for publication or anything like that, in fact, not even for anyone ever to read, but as an exercise in remembering stories. Mary Karr warns in her book that it is not an easy thing to do and in fact can be dangerous.

“I’ve said it’s hard. Here’s how hard: everybody I know who wades deep enough into memory’s waters drowns a little.”

— Mary Karr, The Art of the Memoir

Still, I highly recommend you give it a try. Maybe go back in your life, grab an experience and write a few paragraphs. It is eye-opening, soul-searching, and scary.

She also warns that remembering and writing it all down can be hurtful to yourself and others and that being honest is hard to do. She’s right. I do want to be honest in my recollection of the past, but my memories are hazy and sketchy. I’ve apparently edited those memories over the years.

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love. ”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

As I started on the challenge I knew I didn’t want to write my whole life’s story so I chose to focus on three summers, the first, 1967. Because, in the past few days, my mind has been drawn back to that time with of all the news of the Sgt. Pepper anniversary and re-release of the album, and these lyrics running through my head:

Picture yourself in a boat on a river
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes

I’ve decided to share just a snippet of the memoir project here.

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THREE SUMMERS; THREE FALLS

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven, —Ecclesiastes 3:1

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven
—from the lyrics of Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds

The First: The Summer of 1967

Coming of age in the 1960s, fascinated by the Hippie lifestyle (or my perception of it), raised in the home of a Southern Baptist preacher, the horizon loomed large, and I didn't realize it.

On January 8, 1967, Elvis turned 32 and I turned 16. Although we shared a birthday, I was never drawn to his music to the point that I would have bought one of his albums. My music budget demanded careful curating of my vinyl library. Early in the Summer of 67, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club was released. I was smitten and ready for stardom on the rock and roll stage. Ringo Starr and I both played Ludwig drums, all I needed now was long hair, despite the edict of The Beatles that "All You Need Is Love". The first fall was into adolescent angst, triggered in part by things like the battle over hair.

The summers of youth make for a good season for ad lib in the sense that they tend to be more unfocused. The rhythm of the school routine pauses, along with a requisite amount of self-discipline. Summers as a teen felt natural to me. I didn't have to ease in. I was ready for the freeform of it all on the first day of the break.

The summer of ’67 though, had a cadence to it; figuratively and literally. I was playing drums in a band that was headed for the World's Fair, "Expo '67", in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. So the days between the end of school and boarding the tour bus, were spent in long rehersals.

I had no idea that “Expo ’67” was such a big deal until we arrived there. I had no idea how big the world outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma really was. I had no idea how much I would be changed after that summer baptism of worldliness.

(to be continued)

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So there it is. Probably the only part of the memoir exercise that I will ever share with anyone.

Let’s close with Ringo singing…

What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends

IT'S EASY IF YOU TRY

Remember 1971?

Richard Nixon installed a secret taping system in the White House, and Joe Frazier beat Muhammad Ali. You could buy a new Malibu Barbi for $1.94 and an Etch-A-Sketch $2.83.

Jimi Hendrix's arrangement of the "Star Spangled Banner" was broadcast over Radio Hanoi, and "Bridge Over Troubled Water" won the Grammy for best song.

A highlight for me was the passage of the 26th amendment which lowered the voting age from 21 to 18.

The USSR performed numerous nuclear tests, as did the USA. And, there was trouble in the Middle East, and at home. The Supreme Court upheld busing as means of achieving racial desegregation, and Charles Manson was sentenced to life for the murder of Sharon Tate.

On a brighter note, the State of Washington became the first state to ban sex discrimination, and Apollo 15 launched (Scott & Irwin) and completed the fourth manned landing on Moon.
"Ed Sullivan Show" aired its last broadcast on CBS-TV, and the White House Plumbers unit was formed to plug news leaks.

Late in the year, Don McLean's 8-plus minute version of "American Pie" was released. John Lennon released "Imagine", and a book called, "A Theory of Justice" by American philosopher, John Rawls was published.

From assorted websites I was reminded that in 1971:
Average Cost of new house $25,250.00
Average Income per year $10,600.00
Average Monthly Rent $150.00
Cost of a gallon of Gas 40 cents
A Ladies Beret and Scarf Set was $6.00 (apparently those were a thing).

Let's go back to John Lennon and John Rawls. I don't know if this singing/songwriting Beatle and this philosopher knew each other or not. I hope they did. I wish I could have been in a coffeehouse with the two them, maybe John the Philosopher would have mentioned the book he had just written, and I would say, “You know, John the Philosopher, the concept of your book reminds me of the idea of a song that John the Beatle just wrote, called "Imagine”.” Lennon might say, tell me about your book John, and he might say:

Imagine that you have set for yourself the task of developing a totally new social contract for today's society. How could you do so fairly? Although you could never actually eliminate all of your personal biases and prejudices, you would need to take steps at least to minimize them. Now, imagine yourself in an original position behind a veil of ignorance. Behind this veil, you know nothing of yourself and your natural abilities, or your position in society. You know nothing of your sex, race, nationality, or individual tastes. Behind such a veil of ignorance all individuals are simply specified as rational, free, and morally equal beings. You do know that in the "real world", however, there will be a wide variety in the natural distribution of natural assets and abilities, and that there will be differences of sex, race, and culture that will distinguish groups of people from each other. (From Wikipedia)

Then maybe John the Beatle, would sing the chorus to his new song:

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

And I might mention, John the Apostle, who told about one who was life and light, and this light shone in the darkness but the darkness did not understand. Imagine that.

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I have five Grand-Girls, and NOW A GRAND-BOY. You may not know though that there is another little girl who has a piece of my heart. Her name is Maimouna. I have never seen her in real life, but I have seen her picture. She writes me letters and I write to her. She draws me pictures and I tell her I think of her and pray for her often. I send her a little money every month and a little more on her birthday and at Christmas. She is eleven now. I’ve been her "sponsor" since she was five. She is beautiful.

Maimouna lives in Burkina Faso. In Africa. Her family subsists on little. Life expectancy in Burkina Faso is low. There is a strong chance that she will suffer genital mutilation at puberty. Over 70% of girls there do. Her favorite subject in school is art, and she obviously loves color. 

The pictures Maimouna drew for me in her last letter.

I know I’m naive, proved by the fact that I prefer anecdote to anaylsis, metaphor to methodology. At least I’m willing to admit the dangers in that kind of rhetoric. For example, consider Inhofe’s Snowball, to coin a phrase. (Maybe this will catch on like Pandora’s Box or Schrödinger's Cat.)

You remember Inhofe’s Snowball right? Jim Inhofe, our long, long, long term senator from Oklahoma, infamously carried a snowball into the Senate Chamber one very cold Washington D.C. winter day. He stepped to the podium and said, basically, that his snowball was proof that global warming was a hoax. That’s a really big conclusion from one snowball, but that’s what anecdote and metaphor can get you if you’re not careful.

Imagine, though, if the rules we play by were written behind a veil of ignorance. What if you didn't know if your were going to be born to healthy, loving, caring parents in the USA? What if there were a possibility that you would have been born a little girl in Burkina Faso? Imagine if the rule makers were humble, if they were selfless, if they could imagine the full impact of their rule and rules on the world, the whole world, not just the one of privilege. Imagine light in the darkness. If John Lennon is right, "It's easy if you try."

Malachi & The Formidable 5

WHEN I FIRST DECIDED to write a blog, I chose the name “About POPS” because first and foremost it is a role I cherish: being Pops to five beautiful, stong, talented and determined Grand-Girls. And, yes together they are formidable.

On May 12, 2017, a miracle happened. (On the issue of miracles: when someone says they don’t believe in miracles, I assume they’ve never held a newborn baby in their arms.)

Malachi David Fuller was born in the wee hours of the morning. His beautiful mother, his stalwart father and two loving, big sisters welcomed him and let him know from his first breath that he would be part of a very special family. For us grandparents, we watched on with awe and gratitude.

When my son Kyle, whose birth I vividly remember, came to the waiting room to invite us in to greet the baby, I immediatley asked, “Is it a boy or a girl!?” 

“Come and see!” he said.

A boy indeed. And then they told me his name: Malachi David. It was like a dam broke in my soul and humility and honor rushed in. Right away, I thought, “Oh I have some stories for you little man. We’ll have a unique kinship and maybe a few inside jokes we’ll share and keep from the Formidable Five. While they’re watching their princess shows, we’ll get the old Tonka dump truck that your daddy and Uncle Corey played with, and we’ll make a new road in the dirt and in the story of our family.”

Don’t get me wrong, the Grand-Girls collectively and individually hold a very special place in an old Pops’ heart; but it will be so nice to buy a Christmas or Birthday gift that’s not pink and purple—the official colors of the Grand-Girl Queendom. While they’re dancing, singing or being dramatic, maybe we’ll go oil our bicycle chains or take a leak in the woods.

Malachi, we are so glad you’re here. You are so fortunate to have the big sisters you have. They were sooooo excited to meet you for the first time. Your mother is an amazing human with a courageous soul. She has been an inspiration to me and others for a long time. I hope you will inherit her joy and compassion and talents. Your father is my son. I’m guessing that you will take great pride in him, just as I do. He wears two uniforms: one of the U.S. Army and one of an officer of the law. More importantly he is your mother’s husband and your Dad. Regardless of uniform or role in life, his soul is beautiful. He is a kind, humble and loyal man. He will be with you every step you take. Your parents will be the first examples you will know of God’s grace. Don’t you ever forget that little man.

And, don’t forget this either: at any family gathering, if the Formidable Five get to be just a little too much, just let Pops know and we’ll go skip rocks and talk about how to understand women or something.

“Old people are distinguished by grandchildren; children take pride in their parents.”

— Proverbs 17:6 The Message