"And I know now that no one reads to you once your parents are gone."
My father died, a month ago, at 83. I have been pondering the merciless movement of time - I recall him in his 20s and 30s, strong and able to do so many things. My dad became much more frail especially in the last ten years, lost a leg, lost his mobility, and his lifelong diabetes had increasingly severe and unpredictable effects on him.
Nothing is truly static. My children are grown. My three grandchildren are still small, but even they grow almost daily. I am more careful on Minnesota's icy walks and parking lots than I was when I was in my 30s and 40s; I am continually surprised to hear that this or that person has passed on; or I'll use a cultural trope that I thought universal and realize that it refers to some commercial I recall from my teens during the Reagan Administration, that no one these days has ever heard. ("Give it to Mikey! He likes it!")
It frightens me to watch things go by so quickly. I find myself reeling from not only the volume and speed of the change but from its inevitability. I now face, as my father's executor, the task of dismantling the physical remnants of his existence - of determining what should be saved, and where, and by whom; and trying to find ways to preserve him so that he can be more than a name and dates to those who will come later, who will never know him except through our eyes. How can a life, a marriage, a human - my father - be reduced to a pile of photos, an estate sale, a scattering of ashes on a Montana hillside?
This is so tender and so true. I know how hard it is to sort through the bits and pieces left behind when a father dies. It all feels so sacred and so trivial at the same time. I still have a few receipts he signed. I found them on his desk, and I couldn't throw them away, even though they weren't for anything that mattered. And I am constantly terrified that he's being forgotten. Not just by me, but by the world. He mattered. And no one will know he existed soon. All to say, I see you friend. I am so sorry. But if it helps at all, now I know about your dad, just a little. And I can carry that piece with me, and help remember him.
My younger sister swears that my mom told her someday she would be older than me. My mother of course said no such thing. As we are middle aged she no longer wants to be older.
ha! It sounds like something a mom would say when she was tired of being like, "No, you'll never be older than your sister." After enough insisting from the kid she goes, "FINE! One day you'll be older than your sister!" I've definitely caved that way before. lol
I love how history is so committed to erasing non-white males from any 'professional discovery' and we continue to blindly repeat it. Thank you for digging into such great threads in thinking through something that is so fundamental to how relate to one another and the world--love it and can't wait for more, as always. Also, if you haven't read it, you'll love Harold McGee's On Food and Cooking: The science and lore of the kitchen (link here: https://bookshop.org/a/56269/9780684800011)
--its like an etymology of cooking traditions and I pour over it for hours each time I open it up. Fantastically interesting how these traditions get developed.
My two kids are six years apart. Your article promoted me to recall I have a memory of my daughter telling me once my daughter’s MS/HS friends were surprised she was not an only child as her brother was in college. Most families here in SW Ohio poop out babies a year, MAYBE two apart, so siblings are mostly always their own little “gang.” Having a “considerably” older brother was a foreign concept to them. Anyway, they are now both in their 30s (38, 32) and have always had their own relationship (aka, Union hostile to Management 😁)
This is really kind, Jason. It both feels very friendly to the newsletter model and not friendly to it at all and I am trying to sort through how to make it work best in this space.
Honestly, what you’re doing here is a kind of public scholarship. It’s journalism, sure, but it’s also more than journalism. If I’m hearing your question, it has something to do with that difference in genres.
"And I know now that no one reads to you once your parents are gone."
My father died, a month ago, at 83. I have been pondering the merciless movement of time - I recall him in his 20s and 30s, strong and able to do so many things. My dad became much more frail especially in the last ten years, lost a leg, lost his mobility, and his lifelong diabetes had increasingly severe and unpredictable effects on him.
Nothing is truly static. My children are grown. My three grandchildren are still small, but even they grow almost daily. I am more careful on Minnesota's icy walks and parking lots than I was when I was in my 30s and 40s; I am continually surprised to hear that this or that person has passed on; or I'll use a cultural trope that I thought universal and realize that it refers to some commercial I recall from my teens during the Reagan Administration, that no one these days has ever heard. ("Give it to Mikey! He likes it!")
It frightens me to watch things go by so quickly. I find myself reeling from not only the volume and speed of the change but from its inevitability. I now face, as my father's executor, the task of dismantling the physical remnants of his existence - of determining what should be saved, and where, and by whom; and trying to find ways to preserve him so that he can be more than a name and dates to those who will come later, who will never know him except through our eyes. How can a life, a marriage, a human - my father - be reduced to a pile of photos, an estate sale, a scattering of ashes on a Montana hillside?
In the end, all we have left is love.
This is so tender and so true. I know how hard it is to sort through the bits and pieces left behind when a father dies. It all feels so sacred and so trivial at the same time. I still have a few receipts he signed. I found them on his desk, and I couldn't throw them away, even though they weren't for anything that mattered. And I am constantly terrified that he's being forgotten. Not just by me, but by the world. He mattered. And no one will know he existed soon. All to say, I see you friend. I am so sorry. But if it helps at all, now I know about your dad, just a little. And I can carry that piece with me, and help remember him.
My younger sister swears that my mom told her someday she would be older than me. My mother of course said no such thing. As we are middle aged she no longer wants to be older.
ha! It sounds like something a mom would say when she was tired of being like, "No, you'll never be older than your sister." After enough insisting from the kid she goes, "FINE! One day you'll be older than your sister!" I've definitely caved that way before. lol
That’s definitely possible. My mom thinks she might have said taller. She’s always been taller than I was at the same age.
This was such a joy to read! I'm really looking forward to the rest of the series.
Oh my goodness, thank you so much!
I love how history is so committed to erasing non-white males from any 'professional discovery' and we continue to blindly repeat it. Thank you for digging into such great threads in thinking through something that is so fundamental to how relate to one another and the world--love it and can't wait for more, as always. Also, if you haven't read it, you'll love Harold McGee's On Food and Cooking: The science and lore of the kitchen (link here: https://bookshop.org/a/56269/9780684800011)
--its like an etymology of cooking traditions and I pour over it for hours each time I open it up. Fantastically interesting how these traditions get developed.
I am purchasing this at this very moment! Thank you so much for the recommendation!
My two kids are six years apart. Your article promoted me to recall I have a memory of my daughter telling me once my daughter’s MS/HS friends were surprised she was not an only child as her brother was in college. Most families here in SW Ohio poop out babies a year, MAYBE two apart, so siblings are mostly always their own little “gang.” Having a “considerably” older brother was a foreign concept to them. Anyway, they are now both in their 30s (38, 32) and have always had their own relationship (aka, Union hostile to Management 😁)
Union Hostile to Management is EXACTLY the vibe I love to see in a sibling group. EXCELLENT.
I love your instinct for following the story all the way down and giving it the time that it needs.
This is really kind, Jason. It both feels very friendly to the newsletter model and not friendly to it at all and I am trying to sort through how to make it work best in this space.
Honestly, what you’re doing here is a kind of public scholarship. It’s journalism, sure, but it’s also more than journalism. If I’m hearing your question, it has something to do with that difference in genres.
This is a really, really good way to frame this. I am going to think into this a lot this week. Thank you, Jason!
Meg, your work is impeccable. I love how deeply researched everything is, and I can't wait for the rest of this series.
Sherise! THANK YOU! I am so glad you liked it. I can only do it because of your help. Thank you, thank you, thank you.