I'm Blaming Newsweek

We've been way deep into Harry Potter at our house for the last several months. Rachel has been working her way through the series for the first time and is nearing the end of book 7. Actually, that's about a blog post all by itself. Ah, what the heck, I don't have an editor, so excuse me while I meander. ***Spoiler Alert*** I will be revealing key plot points from books six and seven so, skip down 'til you see JD's name if you don't want to know.

A few weeks ago, after a very tearful afternoon when she first read that Dumbledore had died, Rachel brought me into her room to show me something special. On a little set of drawers that she used as a desk was an odd little grouping of what could easily have passed for junk. The first thing she showed me was a little white angel that was hovering over the whole ensemble. The center piece was a small, wooden, purple box. In front of the box was a tiny ceramic tray covered in multi-colored plastic jewels. They were set out like a token of remembrance. She opened the box and showed me that it contained a piece of paper. On the paper was just one word, "Dumbledore." She had created a tomb for Dumbledore, she told me. I suppose since he only exists as words on a page, it's not that crazy that she would "bury" words on a page. Apparently a person doesn't have to be real to be beloved. I haven't figured that out for myself yet even.

Because she took Dumbledore's death so hard, I've been very vigilant as she's worked through book 7. She took it with her off to Grandma's and I checked in on where she was in the book each time I talked to her. Luckily she was super busy at Grandma's and didn't get to anything too tragic there. She did have this very perceptive comment to make though, "Oh! And Hedwig! Wasn't that awful that she died when Harry was mad at her?!" I'm certain that Rachel and I will be revisiting that insight over the years.

Today I knew that she was getting close to the dreadful chapter called, "Malfoy Manor." I actually hung around in the same room just to be nearby. Sure enough, first she smacked her hands on the table, then she jumped up and continued to read while standing and it wasn't long until there was actual pounding on the table. I was laying (or lying, whatever) on the futon and called her to come over and snuggle with me. She had a good cry about Dobby and we talked about what a good elf he was and that if he was going to die he would want to die saving Harry. Then, crying myself, we read the burial scene together. I read it aloud and she listened and cried.

Whew! After all that emotional exhaustion, I'm actually quite glad that we have JD around. It was just the three of us for dinner and we were discussing Harry Potter in general, quizzing each other and making comments about different characters. We talked about the evil that is Lord Voldemort and how he had a talent for sewing disunity among friends. I thought to seize on that teachable moment. I opened with,
"The Dark Lord of our own world-"

"-Dick Cheney?" interrupted JD, followed by ages of hysterical laughter at his own wit. Eh, what are you going to do? Like I said, I blame Newsweek.

It's Their Story

I went to see my children's VBS program last Friday and arrived quite a bit early. We were in Bay City at the church I attended while I was growing up. I've been back to visit several times a year since then, but I hadn't been out to the cemetery in many years. My grandparents and great grandparents are buried there, as well as many names that I know from family legend and people who were a part of my own growing up. It wasn't a sad visit at all, more of a sweet trip into the past.

I think it was all that nostalgia that put me in a philosophical mood as I sat down outside to wait a little longer before going in for the program. My mind wandered over my own childhood and the many good memories that I have of it and I thought of my own childrens' childhood and wondered how they would remember their story. And that's when it hit me. Their stories are being written right now and they are uniquely theirs; they're not my story at all.

I have a part in their stories, obviously, and we may even have vignettes in common in our stories, but their stories will have whole chapters where I don't get even a mention. Right at that moment they were finishing up a week that they had spent at Grandma and Grandpa's without me. Later this summer they will head off to camp and possibly to the other grandparents.

I let my mind wander over this idea and I realized that even at home the three kids have little adventures, little secrets and games that are just for them. I don't really know what they do and say upstairs in their rooms or outside in the tree fort or when they tear off over the sand dune at the beach to their secret fort there. They go to school and church and interact with and learn from all kinds of people. We are already separate people whose distinct stories run together and twist around one another, but none the less remain distinct.

I'm not sad about this at all. I'm pleased for them; it's exciting for me to realize that their story is already underway. I sometimes think that I'm waiting for something, some one to say, "And they're off!" I think because I'm a parent, a teacher, a grownup, I've gotten the wrong headed idea that your life really starts when you get off on your own and are responsible for yourself. I think that all I'm doing now is teaching, leading, preparing them for "someday." Of course I am doing those things, but the kids are not in a holding pattern for the duration of all that preparation. They're living NOW. NOW is the most important time to them, NOW is when their stories are being written, their tale is unfolding already here in this moment.

I think this realization gaive me permission to just enjoy the present for it's own self and to stop focusing exclusively on each moment's impact on the future. On some level the future is irrelevant anyway, it never gets here. The other thing that this has set me free from is worrying about some big future separation looming for my children and me. We're already separate and still seem to be doing pretty well with staying connected.

It IS Funny, and You Will NOT Go to Hell For It

I was asked to weigh in on a dispute a few weeks back. It seems as though there was a bit of a disagreement about what is funny and what is inappropriate to laugh about. The argument was about the disappeared AirFrance flight. No one thought it was funny that this flight had disappeared and that people were likely dead, of course. The bit that was humorous to one party was the lengths that the media went to to place someone famous on the plane. A former dancer from River Dance and a relative of ex-Brazilian royalty- or something like that. Come on! That's funny! It's funny because it is ridiculous that it can't be an important story without a famous person, and ridiculous is funny. If you don't laugh about the ridiculous, you're doomed to become bitter.

I can't think of a situation that doesn't call for humor. I personally like to joke that I'm at my stand-up best in a funeral home, although I don't do to badly in hospital rooms either. If you've ever been through a round of lay-offs, school closings, what have you, then you know that jokes are indispensable for survival. I'm not talking about bitter, mocking jokes, angry outbursts disguised as humor. I mean more the kind of jokes that find the ridiculous in the situation and call it out.

I'm not saying it's not a tragedy, I'm just saying that if you can't find something to laugh about, well, actually I think I'm saying that if you don't find something to laugh about then you'll find you're already in hell!

If I Can Just Teach You One Thing This Summer

Listen, if the only thing I can teach you this summer is to clean up after yourself, it will still been a satisfying summer. I think that I will have done you, your future family, even future society a great service. I'm pretty sure that this skill surpasses balancing your check book, reading a contract, doing laundry, even vacuuming- which I do adore. I'll even go so far as to say that if some day you drop out of school, but you know how to clean up after yourself, you'll still do alright in life.

Really. After all, if you know that you have to clean up after yourself, you'll know that you first have to look around and see that: A) there's a mess and B) you made that mess. This means that after you drop out of school and it doesn't work out so hot for you, you won't need years of therapy to come to the conclusion that your parents are not the source of your problems, and are not responsible for taking care of you now that you're a loser. You'll see that you made the mess and now you have to clean it up.

Odds are though that if you learn to clean up after yourself this summer, you probably won't drop out of school. Most likely you'll end up gainfully employed some place where your coworkers will be thrilled that you don't leave your lunch things all over the staff room. And that's just for starters. Of course they'll really love it when they don't have to dodge what you're shoveling as you try to avoid admitting that you made the mess and that you should clean it up.

It gets even better. If you grow up to have some position of power, this skill of cleaning up after yourself is going to make you a rare and much sought after breed. If you bring down the company with your bad decisions, you will do whatever has to be done, even make personal sacrifices, to clean up the mess. Your employees will love you, your share holders will love you, and I promise, taxpayers will love you too.

I know right now in 2009, it looks like a big pain in your neck, or whatever, to have to clean up after yourself. But believe me when I say from the bottom of my heart, "I only do this because I love you."