March 1995
Article continues after advertisement
I may write some of this down in the notebook I keep, but first I’m getting organized in my head.
In school I enjoyed studying history even though I was a slow reader. I thought about pursuing this field but was told that most people who study history end up as teachers, and being in front of a class wouldn’t have suited my personality. So I took a job as a custodian at the Brethren Church because they were advertising work when I happened to be looking, and I ended up doing this for my entire career. I took a lot of pride in the job and found it mostly enjoyable. When I retired last year, they replaced me with a lady who wears her hair in a braid that reaches her butt. I’m not sure if this is a religious thing or a fashion thing. One day, when I was sure I was the only one in the building and all the doors were locked behind me, I thought I must be hearing the voice of God booming through the back of the sanctuary. It turned out to be a drug addict who had broken in through a window. Well, I guess I can’t say for 100 percent certain that that was not the voice of God, because I have lived a life that is unremarkable in every way, yet thinking about it now, sometimes it strikes me that it has been one miracle after another.
There is one thing I cook: chili. Could you guess what the secret ingredient is? It’s canned pumpkin.
I had one brother, Harry. We were good pals growing up. Harry fought in the war; I was too young for the draft. I married my high school sweetheart, Janet, who is what I guess you would call a real chatterbox. I’m more a listener myself.
One day when I was young, I was out in the woods near our home, by myself. It was March, like it is now, one of these days where it can’t decide if it is warm or cool until dusk, when in one instant it becomes frigid. It was this exact time of day—when it turned—and I was ill prepared for the cold. I was heading in, when I came upon a small nest that was situated low enough in a tree that I could reach it with the help of a stick. I couldn’t resist the urge to bat it down for a closer look. It was made of fine materials, twig and hair and feather and moss. It was the most delicate thing I had ever touched. I thought I ought to return it to the tree as best as I could without causing more disruption. But the woods had taken on a dark, funny feel along with the sudden cold, and I was compelled by some urge to destroy that nest. I tore it apart, scattering the shreds on the ground and then even stomping on them. I felt powerful. By the time I had gotten inside, where it was warm and smelled of supper, I was overcome by guilt, imagining the mother returning at a critical juncture on a cold night to find she had no place for her babies. I could not eat that evening; I could not sleep. I decided I must never again do something cruel. I promise you, I have tried to stick to that.
I wonder what sorts of experiences you’ll have in your life that will hook inside you. I mean, they’ll keep revisiting you (or you’ll keep revisiting them; I’m not sure which is more true of the way thoughts happen) until the day you die.
I wonder if you will enjoy school. When I was a child, I had some difficulty learning to read. My teacher thought it would benefit me to be forced to read aloud in front of the whole class often, and I would learn quicker under the threat of humiliation. That was pretty tough on me. Though I guess maybe it did help me to learn quicker.
I have two grandsons, who belong to my son Rob. They live far away, just outside Philadelphia. Rob moved to that area with a friend after graduating high school. The friend had some business ambitions but he ended up in jail. Rob stayed in the area anyway. So I seldom see my grandsons and even less since Rob and his wife split up. He says the divorce was her fault, but I think this might be a lie. Rob has lied about many things throughout his life. I used to hold the lies against him, but then I stopped—I hold nothing against him now—and I just feel sad when I think about him lying. Anyway, I don’t know how the custody works, but I know that Rob doesn’t have the boys much of the time and this pains me. The last time I saw Rob, his hair was styled with the front long and spiked straight up, and flattened to his head everywhere else. He’s in car sales and does very well, apparently. He owns several vehicles. But I don’t think he spends more than one or two weekends a month with his boys. He will turn forty in September and has booked a house at the shore for our family to celebrate with him. It was nice of him to do this and must have cost him a fortune, and I love my son deeply, but I’m having a hard time imagining this will be a fun time. Does he not have friends he would rather celebrate with?
I’m amazed by skyscrapers, stalactites, frost, lightning bugs, television, the ocean, dinosaur bones, professional ice skaters, babies, people who speak multiple languages, Venus flytraps, autumn, spring, hot air balloons, bamboo, music, contact lenses, airplanes and pilots, the supposed intelligence of pigs, McDonald’s. I wonder if, in the world you grow up in, there will be robots that can sing as beautifully as a person. Maybe these already exist and I just don’t know.
I betrayed the trust of your mother yesterday. I don’t feel good about it. When Corinne first shared the news she was pregnant back in January, she asked us not to say a word about it to anyone else until the end of March, when she is well beyond what they refer to as the danger zone for miscarriages. Janet had a miscarriage between Rob and Corinne; she had already told loads of people we were pregnant, and I disliked the attention after the loss, so I understand. And last month apparently Corinne had a scare—a little bleeding one day—but nothing came of it; you are fine, thank God. Anyway, when our neighbor Raymond asked me how I was doing yesterday, I felt the need to announce: My daughter is going to have a baby! Janet wasn’t in earshot, but boy, she would have lit into me for telling. It’s not like me to be the one to blab. There’s no way it will get back to Corinne that I told.
My little girl is going to be a mother. Your mother. This is incredible.
At my grandmother’s funeral service, my mother forced me to look at her dead body, and the sight of her powdered pink face terrorized me for a long time. To me it looked like the opposite of peace.
Next week Corinne has an ultrasound that will tell her whether you are a boy or a girl. I am guessing you are a girl; it’s just my feeling.
When I was in school and having a hard time learning to read, I had a teacher who made me read out loud often, thinking this would motivate me to learn faster.
One day my brother Harry and I were playing in the fields, when Harry stepped on a nail with a bare foot, and it sunk far in. He stumbled and hollered. I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get help,” pointing at the neighbor’s house, which was much closer than our own home from that location, and I hustled off in the direction of the neighbors, believing I was about to save Harry’s life. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that nail in my brother’s foot, and I hadn’t gotten very far when I became queasy and toppled over, passed out. Apparently Harry was watching and saw me sway, then fall, and he had to go for help himself, hopping on one foot the whole way.
For someone who has very rarely had any real conflicts, you’d be surprised by the violence of my dreams.
I don’t always feel like myself.
I’ve not lived a remarkable life. The vast majority of the things I’ve thought, I’ve not said aloud.
Soon the time will change and we’ll reset the clocks. Spring ahead. Another hour, just gone. Just, gone.
