Leo Tolstoy

"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."

— Leo Tolstoy

Russian Writer

1828 - 1910

Commentary:

Most of us at some point in our lives have a desire to change the world — to change how the world works and how others behave.  Some of us outgrow these desires and others spend a lifetime of activism.  Some of us become cynical and dropout.  Others rant and rave against the system.  Yet few of us ever think about changing ourselves.  

The perfect example is marriage.  I bet everyone whoever marries attempts at some point to change the behavior of his or her spouse.  Maybe it is putting down the toilet seat.  Or trying to change the spending habits.  We have all tried to change a spouse and nine times of ten we have failed.  You cannot change other people easily because most people resisted the efforts of others to change them.  If you want the marriage to be successful, you must learn to first change yourself.  And if you are successful, you will change the other person in the process.

As creative leaders, we must learn to work on ourselves first.  If your writing or your paintings are rejected, don't blame the editors and the gallery owners.  Look inside.  What do you need to do differently?  What do you need to change?  

Lasting change comes from within, not from without.  What work habits do you need to change?  What habits of procrastination do you need to change?  What attitudes do you need to change?  Changing a habit does not happen overnight.  Some experts say that it takes a minimum of 21 days to change a habit.  Changing yourself is not easy, but with hard work it can be done.  You can change who you are by changing what goes into your mind and heart.  

I believe the heart drives change more than the brain.  Most people know intellectually that smoking is harmful to one's life and yet many people are unable to stop.  You have to emotionally want to change for change to happen.  Our emotions are the basis for change.  Love for another person can motivate someone to change his behavior.  Fear can be a powerful motivation for change.

Creative Practice:

This week choose some habit that you would like to change and begin the work necessary for the change.  Remember that it takes at least three weeks for the change to take hold.  Commit yourself to the change.  Believe that you can change.  Choose to change.  Plant seeds of hope in your heart.

Background:

Born in the Tula Province of Russia, Tolstoy was the youngest of four boys.  He was two when his mother died and nine when his father passed away.  He was raised by his aunts.  French and German tutors provided his early education at home.  At fifteen he enrolled at the University of Kazan but failed to graduate because of partying to excess instead of studying.  He attempted to become a farmer on his parents' estate but failed as well.  He did develop the habit of keeping a journal.  After failing at farming, he joined the army and fought in the Crimean War.

Tolstoy published his first story, Childhood, in The Contemporary when he was 24.  His greatest novel, War and Peace, was published in 1869.  Anna Karenina, the second of his best novels, was published in installments between 1873 - 1877 to critical and public acclaim.

After the writing of Anna Karenina, Tolstoy suffered a spiritual crisis.  He rejected the Russian Orthodox Church because he felt it was corrupt.  He developed his own unconventional  and controversial spiritual beliefs.  His later fiction was more moralistic than his earlier work.

Video:

The Last Station, a movie about the last year of Tolstoy's life, was released in 2009.  Here is the trailer.

Les Brown

"Someone's sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago."

— Les Brown

American Speaker, Author

1945 -

Commentary:

What are you doing today that will help someone a generation from now?  We all need to be planting seeds today that will bear fruit tomorrow.  Whether you are a writer, an artist or a singer, you need to be giving back.  None of us have gotten where we are without the help of others.  And each of us owes something to future generations.

Years ago, when we lived in Indiana, we had sold our house and were moving to Minnesota.  My wife and I planted a flowering tree in the backyard.  We knew we would never see it grow, but we also knew that someone would enjoy its beauty some day.

As creative leaders, our gift to future generations is often our creative work.  People may not read our writing and buy our paintings while we are alive, but sometime in the future people will come to appreciate what we created.  People will be inspired by our work.  We will touch lives and change hearts.

Creative Practice:

This week do something that won't bear fruit for years to come.  Give back to future generations.  Create a masterpiece.  Plant a tree.

Background:

I have listened to Les Brown often on tape and CD.  He tells a powerful story about growing up poor in Miami, Florida.  He was born in an abandoned building in Liberty City, a low-income section of Miami.  He was adopted at six weeks of age by Mamie Brown.  Mamie was a 38 year old single woman, cafeteria cook and domestic worker, with little education or financial means.  The one thing she did have was love which she gave in bushel baskets to Les and his twin brother, Wesley.

In the fifth grade, Les was labeled, "educably mentally retarded" and returned to the fourth grade.  He later flunked the eighth grade and he was often call DT for dumb twin.  Les began his career as a DJ.  He has been a broadcast manager, community activist, political commentator, state legislator, nightclub emcee and keynote speaker.  In 1992, he was selected as one of the top five outstanding speakers by Toastmasters International.  He is the author of the books, Live Your Dreams, and It's Not Over Until You Win.

Video:

Here is Les Brown speaking:

Alan Alda

"If you are just looking to take bows, you'll almost always be disappointed, because the applause is never loud enough."

— Alan Alda

American Actor, Director, Writer

1936 -

Commentary:

As a speaker, I understand almost immediately what Alan Alda is talking about.  There are speakers who brag about getting a standing ovation every time they speak.  The applause is more important than touching the lives of people.  Applause is very short-lived.  If you blink, it might have faded away.  Yet, people yearn for the applause.  Whether you are a writer, a comedian, an artist or an actor, we all crave recognition and praise.  Yet the novel, the poem, the painting, or the performance are more important than the reward.

There are writers who become so caught up in the applause that they stop writing and instead live the life of a writer going from party to party enjoying the praise and recognition.  Some live off their reputation for the remainder of their lives.

Too much praise and recognition from the general public can be harmful to a person's creativity.  They may stop growing and maturing.  The key to avoiding the negative impact of applause is to remain humble.  True humility will free most people from the harmful impact of praise.  

Don't believe your own press releases.  You are not as good as people say.  And on the flip side, you are not as bad as people say.  I have had people tell me that I am the best speaker they have ever heard.  Now, either they have never heard any other speakers or they say that to every speaker.  Within 15 minutes of the end of the speech the meeting room is empty except for the speaker and the staff who are cleaning up.  Most people have moved on with their lives and the applause has faded.

The person we have to learn to please is ourselves, not our readers or our audience.  Our readers can be very fickle — love you today and hate you tomorrow.  Have you applauded yourself lately?  Have you given yourself a standing ovation lately?

Creative Practice:

Cast of M*A*S*H

This week find reasons to give yourself standing ovations.  Review previous poems, paintings and stories that you have written or painted and praise the good that you find.  Ignore the bad.  Be thankful for the gifts that you have been given.

Background:

Alan Alda was born Alphonso Joseph D'Abruzzo in The Bronx, New York City.  His father was an actor and singer and his mother was a showgirl.  Alda began his acting career in the 1950's as a member of the Compass Players.  In 1966, he starred in the musical, The Apple Tree, on Broadway.  Alda is remembered most for his role as Hawkeye Pierce in in the TV series, M*A*S*H.  He was nominated for 21 Emmy Awards for the show and won five.  He also wrote and directed many of the shows.  He appeared in all 251 episodes of the series.

Video: 

Here is a video of Alan Alda being interviewed on CBS about his memoir, Things I Overheard While Talking To Myself.

Quote Source:

Things I Overheard While Talking To Myself, by Alan Alda

Albert Einstein

"Don't think about why you question, simply don't stop questioning.  Don't worry about what you can't answer, and don't try to explain what you can't know.  Curiosity is its own reason."

— Albert Einstein

German Theoretical Physicist

1879 - 1955

Commentary

Do you question the world around you?  Do you ask: why? how? when? where?  Do you challenge the assumptions of others?  Do you challenge your own assumptions?  Do you challenge your beliefs?  Do you question your habits?  Or do you simply accept what was taught you?  Do you accept without question the statements of experts?  Do you question what you read in the newspaper or hear on television?  Are you willing to think differently than those around you?  Do you hang out with people who think like you do?  Or do you surround yourself with people who think differently than you?

There is so much that we don't know.  The more I learn; the less I feel I know.  Are you curious about the world in which you live?  Are you curious about your neighbors?  Your friends?  The physical world?  The world of the mind?  Are you curious about what you do not know?  Have you stopped learning?  Stopped reading?  Stopped growing?

There is a story of a man who was watching his wife cook a pot roast.  She cut off the end of the pot roast before putting it in the pot.  He asked her why?  She said that was what her mother always did.  Since she was curious, she called her mother and asked her why she cut off the end of the pot roast?  Her mother said because her grandmother did.  The woman called her grandmother and asked her why she always cut off the end of the pot roast.  And the grandmother said that she cut off the end because the pot was too small.  What habits have you formed that are based on out-of-date information?  What habits do you need to change?

Creative Practice

This week take a belief, an assumption or a habit that you have held your for most of your life and question it?  Challenge your assumptions. What assumptions have you made about the creative process?  Or creative people?  Painters?  Writers?  Actors?  Find out why you believe what you believe.  Where did the belief come from?  Where did the habit come from?  What makes it valid?  Is it true?  Or is it false?

Biography

Albert Einstein was born In Ulm, Germany on March 14, 1879 to Hermann Einstein and Pauline Einstein.  His father was a salesman and an engineer.  The Einsteins were non-observant Jews.  Albert attended a Catholic elementary school for three years.  Einstein built models and mechanical devices and showed a talent for mathematics.  In 1900, Einstein earned a Zurich Polytechnic teaching diploma.  He married Mileva Maric in 1903.  They had two sons born in 1904 and 1910.  They divorced in 1914 and less than 4 months later he married Elsa Lowenthal, his first cousin.  She died in 1936.  Albert and Elsa immigrated to the United States in 1933.  Einstein became a U. S. citizen in 1940.

Albert Einstein experienced internal bleeding caused by the rupture of an abdominal aortic aneurysm in 1955.  When he was admitted to the hospital, he refused surgery, saying: "I want to go when I want.  It is tasteless to prolong life artificially.  I have done my share, it is time to go.  I will do it elegantly.  He died the next morning at the age of 76.

Naomi Shihab Nye

"The story is given to you through the process of writing.  I always encourage my students to trust the process of writing.  It will take them somewhere, and it may not be where they thought they were going."

Naomi Shihab Nye

American Poet

1952 -

Commentary

Sometimes we plan too much.  We want to control every detail.  We need to learn to follow the story.  It is a gift.  We need to trust the discovery process.  The story will not betray us.  

Creative Practice

This week write a poem or short story starting with the phrase, "On the day that I died ..."  Follow where the story leads.  Trust the writing.  Go where it goes.

Background on Poet

Naomi Shihab Nye was born to a Palestinian father and American mother in St. Louis, Missouri.  She began writing poetry at the age of six.  She spent her high school years in both Jerusalem and San Antonio, Texas.  She received her BA from Trinity University in San Antonio.

Nye described her writing experience in the Four Winds Press:  "My poems and stories often begin with the voices of our neighbors, mostly Mexican American, always inventive and surprising.  I never get tired of mixtures."  She describes herself as the wandering poet and interacts with different cultures.

Video

Here is a video of Naomi Shihab Nye talking about inspiration:

I believe that people have more similarities than differences.  Yet people tend to focus on what makes them different than what makes them the same.  In this next video Nye describes a poetry class she taught where she used poems written by both Jewish and Palestinian women.  She used poetry to show that we are more alike than different.

Philip Pearlstein

Self Portrait (2000)

"The sexual, psychological and social readings put on my paintings by anyone, even a professional art writer, are beyond my control and certainly beyond my concern."

— Philip Pearlstein

American Artist

1924 -

Commentary

We live in a world of critics and fault-finders.  Turn on the television and some commentator has a politician in the crosshairs.  As a society, we put people on pedestals and then proceed to throw stones at them.  Creative leaders face these same negative critics and it can feel very personal.  We are emotionally connected to our creative work and when someone attacks our work we can become very defensive.  Even the best artists, writers, musicians and actors have their critics.  For me, actors have it the worst.  Not only do they face criticism of their creative work, but also their physical appearance.  I appalled by these commentators who criticize what the actor or actress is wearing.

Pearlstein is on target with these comments.  Criticism is beyond our control.  We cannot stop others from attacking us.  The key is how we respond.  If we let it hurt us, it can damage our future creative work.  If we believe it to be true, we may change our creative work to please the public.  We must learn that it doesn't matter what other people say.  What is most important is what our heart tells us.  We must trust ourselves and not be swayed by the opinions of others.

I once shared some of my short stories that I wanted to publish with another writer.  She told me that my male characters weren't real men.  My response was to back off and stop writing stories.    Not a good response, I admit.  I let another person's negative comments change what I did.  And I am sure this as happened to some of you.

Some people have learned to harness the negative energy of others as a motivator.  The negativity inspires them to prove the person wrong.  In an introduction to psychology class in a junior college, the professor told my wife that she would never graduate from college — that she was not smart enough.  My wife transformed this negative feedback into the inspiration to finish college with honors.

How do you handle criticism?  Do you back off and stop doing what you were planning to do?  Or do you transform the criticism into a positive force in your life?

Creative Practice

Identify the negative, fault-finding people in your life.  Ask yourself if you need and want this person in your life.  If you don't, then let him go.  Negative people in our lives are very destructive.  They can cause emotional, mental and physical harm.  If you love the person and still want him in your life, then find a way to transform the person's negativity into a positive force.

Background of Artist

Philip M. Pearlstein was born in Pittsburgh, PA in 1924.  During the Great Depression, his father, David Pearlstein, sold chickens and eggs to feed and support the family.  His parents were very supportive of Philip's interest in art and sent him to the Carnegie Museum of Art for classes.  His studies were interrupted by World War II.  He was drafted and was stationed in Italy where he was exposed to much of the art in Rome, Florence, Venice and Milan.  After the war with the help of the G.I. Bill he finished his schooling and moved to New York City.  He was a realistic painter in a time when abstract expressionism was the dominant form of painting.

Pearlstein married Dorothy Cantor in 1950 and they had three children.  He spent much of his career as a professor at Brooklyn College.

Video

Here is a video with Pearlstein and others discussing his work.

Pablo Picasso

"What I want is that my picture should evoke nothing but emotion."

— Pablo Picasso

Spanish Artist

1881 - 1973

Commentary

Does your creative work evoke the emotions of your audience?  Does the work touch people's hearts?  Or is it an exercise in intellectual games?  The best creative work, the work that will last, touches people deeply and evokes emotions.  Think of the music the you like or the paintings that you enjoy.  They touch some part of you very deeply.

Are you in touch with your emotions?  Or do you hide your emotions from yourself and others?  When was the last time you had a deep emotional cry?  Do you believe that it is okay to cry?  Movies, more than novels or poetry, tend to touch me very deeply and often make me cry.  I have recently been watching the first season of the TV show, Touch, starring Kiefer Sutherland.  Every episode has filled my eyes with tears.  I have been emotionally touched.

What creative works have touched you deeply?  Have made you cry?  Or laugh?  Or scream?  Or frightened you?  Think of those thriller movies that some people love to watch.  Years ago when I attempted to read Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre, it made me sick to my stomach and I could not finish it.  

Creative Practice

This week ask yourself if your creative work touches the hearts of other people.  Does your creative work evoke the emotions of others?  Then create a new work from the heart.  Create something that evokes the emotions others.

Poems That Touched Me

This past week I identified ten poems that have touched my heart over the years.  If all my books were taken away and I only could keep ten poems, these would be the ten that I would keep.  All ten poems can be found on the web.  I have linked the titles to copies of the poems.  If you have not read them, you should.

1.  The Waking by Theodore Roethke  

2.  The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

3.  Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

4.  The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Elliot

5.  anyone lived in a pretty how town by e.e. cummings

6.  Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

7.  Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note by LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka)

8.  Underwear by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

9.  What I Learned From My Mother by Julia Kasdorf

10.  Watering the Horse by Robert Bly

What poems have touched your heart?  What paintings have evoked emotions in you?  What novels have left you sad?  Glad? Or mad?

Artist Background

One of the greatest artist of any century, Pablo Picasso was born in Spain but lived most of his life in France.  As an artist, he was constantly reinventing himself.  Known for founding the Cubist movement, he was a painter, sculptor, printmaker, ceramicist and stage designer.

Video

Here is one person's listing of the top twenty paintings by Picasso.  Not all would make my list, but the top 2 would.

George D. Green

"If you make pictures you are bound to be an abstract painter on some level."

— George D. Green

American Artist

1943 - 

Commentary

People are often divided between those who love abstract art and those who love realistic art.  Just like readers have different tastes in literature.  A few love poetry.  Most hate it.  Some love romance novels and a few look down their noses at people who read romance novels.  Yet all literature is made up of words.  And the same is true of art.  At its core, all art is abstract.  The artist must create the illusion of realism, because a painted tree is never equal to a real tree in the backyard.  Writers, when they tell their stories, are creating illusions of reality.  The fictional world they create is never real no matter how much they base it on the world they live.  Narrative non-fiction may blend the worlds of fact and fiction, but if the writer strays to far from the fact he is considered a liar and may have his books removed from the bookstores.  Yet all writers at some level write fiction.  The world we write about is not the real world.  Even when I write a story about my mother, the character is not my mother.  She is my fantasy of my mother.  At some level all forms of art — painting, music, literature — are not real.

Creative Practice

This week paint that tree in your backyard as an abstract picture of your mother.  Or write a story-poem in the first person voice of your mother describing the tree in your backyard to her mother.

Bones, 1982

Artist Background

George D. Green was born in 1943 in Portland, Oregon.  He received a B.S. degree from the University of Oregon and a M.F.A. from Washington State University.  He had his first solo exhibit in 1968.

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at the close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Welsh Poet

1914 - 1953

Commentary

On Monday, January 21, my fifty-year-old brother-in-law died of cancer.  He did not go gentle into that good night.  I met Francisco when he was 12.  During the last four years, I spent hundreds of hours talking with him either on the phone or in person.  His wife divorced him and he seemed lost.  The first year he took what my wife and I called his Buddha walk.  He moved from the home of one sister to another.  He would take small jobs to give him some money before he pulled up roots and moved on.  When he finally arrived in our home, we almost did not recognize him.  He was truly lost.  During his two month stay with us, his spirit was restored and refreshed.  

When we said goodbye, we knew he was off on a new adventure.  He and a partner were going to open a restaurant.  That adventure lasted ten months.  On business trips to Texas over the next three years, I would have dinner with him and listen to the stories of his latest business venture.

For me, the way Francisco lived his life is like Dylan Thomas expressed in his poem — "do not go gentle into that good night."  Francisco attacked life with a passion.  He seized life by the throat and demanded that it give up its jewels.  But life had its own ideas and financial success elluded him to the end.  Francisco's greatest skill was his ability to sell anything to anyone.  He would quit a job one day and within 14 days would have a new one.  He was never afraid to walk up to a stranger and introduce himself.  He had a knack for meeting people when he needed them.  

In July, 2012, Francisco was diagnosed with stage four cancer in his kidney.  The cancer had spread beyond the kidney and the doctors said surgery was out of the question.  At the time, Francisco was in the midst of his latest business venture and he moved ahead full throttle.  Not even cancer and the possibility of death were going to get in his way.  Francisco chose not to go gentle into that good night.  He chose instead to rage against the light — to battle until his last breath. 

Creative Practice

What is your approach to life?  Have you seized it by the throat?  Or are you whimpering in a corner, afraid to look life in the eye?  What is your approach to your art?  Do you seize it by the throat and demand that it give up its secrets?  Or do you sneak upon it in the middle of the night and hope to catch it sleeping?

This week seize life by the throat.  Do something that you have been wanting to do but were afraid.  Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage against the light.

About the Poet

The writing shed of Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas wrote the poem, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, about his father, David John Thomas.  Born in Wales, Thomas had bronchitis and asthma in his childhood.  He was 19 when he published several of his most famous poems, including And death shall have no dominion.  His first book of poems was published when he was 20.  Dylan's father died from pneumonia in December 1952.  His sister died of liver cancer early in 1953.  Dylan died on November 9, 1953 from pneumonia.  He was in New York to read his poetry.

Poem
The poem, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, is a villanelle which is nineteen line poetic form that consists of 5 tercets and one quatrain.  The poem has two refrains and two repeating rhymes.  Here is the complete poem.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at the close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, to late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see the blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.



Here is a reading of the poem with pictures of Dylan Thomas.

Stan Musial

"When a pitcher is throwing a spitball, don't worry and don't complain, just hit the dry side like I do."

— Stan Musial

American Baseball Player

1920 - 2013

Commentary

When life throws you a spitball, don't complain.  Find a way to hit a home run.  

In the small town in central Illinois where I grew up, people were either St. Louis Cardinal fans or Chicago Cub fans.  I, for some unknown reason, chose the Cardinals and one my heroes was Stan the Man Musial.  Only after I became a Cardinal fan did my father tell me that he was also a Cardinal fan.  In the course of raising and supporting a family, he did not have time for baseball.  My interest revitalized his interest.

Like Musial and my father, I was left-handed.  I still remember vividly playing one of my first games of baseball.  We did not have enough players, so batters could only hit to certain fields.  Right-hand batters could only hit to left field and left-hand hitters could only hit to right field.  When I came up to bat, they asked if I was a lefty or a righty.  I said a lefty.  The players all shifted to the right side of the diamond.  I stepped into the batter's box as a right-hand hitter.  Everyone was upset because they had to shift back to the left side of the field.  I learned that day that while I throw with my left hand I batted right-handed.

Baseball was my sport of choice until I discovered basketball and volleyball.  I dreamed of playing for the St. Louis Cardinals.  In Little League, I played the outfield and was a good defensive player.  One of my favorite moments was making a diving catch.  Unlike my father and Stan Musial, I was not a strong hitter.  Both my father and Musial could hit home runs.  When I did get a hit, it was usually a single.  My last season in Little League was spent at first base.  I had wanted to pitch but the adults made a rule that 12 years olds could not pitch that year.

So what does this all have to do with creativity and the arts.  First, being a great baseball player is more about art than science.  A great player has to practice the fundamentals daily  much like artists and writers.  Creative leaders are often on the receiving end of a spitball.  How we handle the spitballs that are thrown our way says a lot about who we are.  Do we make the best of what life gives us or do we grumble and complain?

Who are your childhood heroes?  Who did you aspire to be like?  Our heroes say a lot about us — who we are and who we want to become.  Our heroes help create our values.

Creative Practice

Select a childhood hero and write a poem or short story that involves your hero.  Paint your hero into a picture.  Tell your friends what your childhood hero meant to you.  Identify the lessons that your hero taught you.  Read a biography or autobiography of hero.

Biography of Stan Musial
Stanislaw Franciszek Musial was born in Donora, PA on November 21, 1920.  He died this past Saturday, January 19, 2013 at the age of 92.  He signed a contract with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1938 and made his major league debut on September 17, 1941.  In Musial's first full season in 1942, the Cardinals won the World Series.  They repeated as World Series champions in 1944 and 1946.  He missed the 1945 season because he was serving in the U.S. Navy.

Stan the Man Musial won seven National League batting titles and was named the Most Valuable Player three times.  He hit 475 home runs in his career that lasted until September 29, 1963.  His lifetime batting average was .331. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1969 and considered to be one of the greatest hitter in baseball.

Musial was married to Lillian Labash for almost 72 years.  They had four children, 11 grandchildren, and 12 great-grandchildren.

Video
Watch this brief video of Stan Musial.

Story-Poem
I wrote this story-poem a few years ago and I share it now in memory of Stan Musial.

Family Dreams

I reach inside my pocket
and find a tattered picture
from my childhood. My
mother is holding me in
her arms. My father has
his arm around my mother
and is looking down at me
with a big grin on his face.
I look like I had been crying —
my eyes are puffy, my cheeks
tear-stained. I found this
picture in my mother’s dresser
drawer last week. My younger
sister and I were going through
mom’s belongings — sorting
out what we wanted to keep
and what we would throw
away. My mother died one
day short of her eighty-fifth
birthday, ten years after my
father shot himself. He could
not accept the fact that he had
cancer and did not want to
live through the pain of dying.
So he shot himself with an old
army revolver that he kept
hidden in the closet. The revolver
was a souvenir from his days
in World War II. He had
landed at the beaches of Normandy
and somehow dodged the German
bullets. Mom and dad did not meet
until after he had returned from
the front with his left leg missing.
He had stepped on a mine and
was lucky to be alive. My mother
was a nurse in the hospital
where my father was recuperating.
She said that it was love at first
sight. She had found her
soulmate. For him, love
took awhile to bloom. He
was so angry that he had
lost a leg that he could think
of nothing else. He was
angry at his father who did
not stop him from volunteering
to fight. He was angry at
the Germans who started
the bloody war. He was
angry at the officer who sent
him out on patrol. He was
angry at the French for their
weaknesses. Mom was the healing
salve that helped dad get over
his pain. She healed his heart
and patched up pieces of his
soul. When he proposed, she
said yes without hesitation.
They were married for fifty
years. He worked as an
accountant for a large construction
company. Mom worked at
the local hospital, patching
up the sick. I came along
about three years after they
were married. Mom often
told me that I was the apple
of my father’s eye. My father
had been fitted with a wooden
leg and after work he would
invite me out into the backyard
to play catch. He loved
baseball and before the war
had dreamed of playing
professionally for the St. Louis
Cardinals. He transferred his
dreams to me. I practiced day
and night and took up the mantle
of his hopes. I saw myself as
a pitcher with a powerful
fastball. A car accident my senior
year put an end to my career and
caused a riff between my father
and me. His dream had died
a second time. We fought a lot
in those years. Nothing I did
seemed to please him. My hair
was too long. My grades not good
enough. When I dropped out
of college, he threw me out
of the house. Called me a bum
and said that I would never
amount to anything. Mom was
the one who kept us from tearing
each other apart limb by limb.
She would calm him down and
scold him for getting so upset.
Said it wasn’t good for his blood
pressure. And she put the screws
to me too. Telling me I shouldn’t
treat my father that way. He
deserved better. He had given
his life for his country and his
family. She said I should show him
some respect. And not pick
a fight with him. Something
in the way she said it made
me feel ashamed. She would
take the anger right out of me.
I finally did finish my degree
in engineering and got a decent
job. My mother and father
were so proud when I received
my diploma. A few years later
I married my high school
sweetheart. It wasn’t until
Timmy was born that the riff
between my father and me
finally healed for good. He
loved my son probably as much
as he love me. When Timmy
was old enough, my dad would
take him outside to play catch.
His dream of a baseball player
in the family was reborn in my
son. I cautioned him not to get
disappointed again. Dreams
have a way of not working out
the way you imagine them. But
he didn’t listen. He talked of
Timmy playing for the Cardinals.
And he filled Timmy with stories
of heroic exploits by former stars.
He created a pantheon of heroes
in the kid’s mind. And Timmy
was a natural. Better than I ever
was. I tried to prevent my son
from getting caught up in his
grandfather’s dream. But he
didn’t listen. Reminded me
of myself in that regard. My
father never got to see Timmy
play in the majors. The cancer
scorched his flesh and drove
him to suicide. Five years
later Timmy played in his first
major league game. He started
at second base for the Chicago
Cubs. I am sure Dad was
watching from heaven and
telling the angels that Timmy
was his grandson. Strange how
life turns out sometimes. I stuff
the picture back in my pocket.

— Harley King
© 2008 by Harley King