Ahhhh!

This should read like a tall tale: My dad was such an excellent role model, even the same action could teach me both what to do and what not to do.

That didn't come out nearly as well as I had planned, but nevermind. Among friends and family, my dad's work ethic was well known - feared, even. He thought nothing of putting in an 80-hour work week, then bringing home more work for the weekend. By osmosis, I too learned the value of a strong work ethic, and I too became adept at pushing myself to work harder and accomplish more.

At the same time, I recoiled from the example my father set. No, he did not ignore his family responsibilities, and no, I never felt unloved or neglected. Rather, I saw the toll that stress from overwork took on my dad - on his health, on his happiness - and I vowed never to punish myself in the same way. Plan #1: Don't be a lawyer. Plan #2: Pick a career that I'll love, that gives me summers off, that lets me travel a great deal, and that gives me a flexible schedule.

Silly Louis.

After having picked that lifestyle as a response to my dad's, I used the very same self-imposed pressure I shunned to get me into a good grad program. And now, I'm feeling the crunch again - generals, teaching, dissertation prospectus, and FELLOWSHIP APPLICATIONS!!!!!!!! Apparently ambition and laziness do not coexist peacefully.

Still, I'll try to have the best of all worlds. This month will be ridiculous, but after October 8 (2nd day of generals testing) and October 13 (Fulbright due date), things will calm down. And I will once again appreciate that my dad taught me the value of relaxation - however unintentionally.

Maggie the Better Blogger

One of my dad's favorite expressions was, "You're a gentleman and a scholar, and there aren't many of us left." How right he was. Apparently, I was gentlemanly (emphasis on the manly) and clever enough to attract the attention of Maggie, who is much better at blogging than I am. But I'm learning! And that's what this is all about . . .

Getting Ahead of Myself

This blog constitutes the exploration of an idea that first found voice in the eulogy I wrote for my dad's funeral service. Before I get blogged down in the minutiae of everyday life, I'd like to publish the eulogy and officially set the groundwork for what's to come:

During the two weeks my dad spent in the hospital, my mom and I were blessed to have the support of so many people in so many ways. When we sat in the ICU waiting room, friends and family sat with us. When we prayed, whole churches and synagogues prayed with us. When we needed food, it arrived as manna from heaven, carried in the arms of neighbors. As my dad used to say, we now have more containers of food at our house than Carter has pills. This afternoon, we should approach that food as my dad would have: eat a lot, very quickly, and then wash all the dishes so my mom and I don’t have to.

On Saturday, just before my dad passed, my mom and I discussed the impact that this emotional, spiritual and edible support had had, not just on us, but on my dad’s care. Even if the doctors and nurses in the ICU – who deserve more praise, recognition and thanks than I know how to express – Even if they hadn’t had the chance to meet my dad before he came in for surgery, then surely they knew him by now. They may not have heard him speak, and some didn’t get to see his eyebrows dance across his forehead. But they came to know him through us, through our constant, zealous support and get-well vibes - and we believe that this experience translated into better, more emotionally-invested treatment. They knew he loved the Eagles, they knew he was a hard worker. They knew his sense of humor and his grace and his intelligence. They knew his style, from his super big glasses. And they knew his love for us, by the way he blew kisses at my mom and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

It’s amazing, all the things that those unfamiliar doctors and nurses could learn about him in two weeks. And yet, despite having a great relationship with my dad, there are many things about him that I do not know. What did he want to be when he was a kid? What was his favorite color? Who did he take to the senior prom? How did he decide my mom was the woman he wanted to be with for the rest of his life? Actually, my dad told me he never dated before he met my mom, but after seeing him in the hospital without his mustache, I can’t believe that.

We never talked about love, the birds and the bees, or any of that mushy stuff. Instead, when two characters in a movie leaned in for a climactic kiss, my dad would cover his eyes and yell, “Ewww!” or, later on, [in a fake accent] “Gimme little kiss.” Looking back on this apparent immaturity, I see it instead as a form of measured protection. My dad, more than anyone else I know, recognized the importance of childhood; he developed it into a timeless art. Don’t think for a second he ever shirked a responsibility: he loved to iron and work long hours, take leadership positions and serve his community. But he never abandoned the innocence, wonder, spontaneity and creativity I now imagine he had at age 10.

Dad sang to wake me up every morning, sang to change my diaper and potty train me, sang to my stuffed animals and sang to the dog. His love of music became my love of music. His playfulness, his wry, sometimes inscrutable and always corny humor became mine. His toys are now mine, and his delight in taking those toys out –with me, with his nieces and nephews, and especially with his great-nephews – is a legacy I can’t wait to carry on. Dad perfected the balance between childhood and adulthood, taking the best qualities of each age and transmitting them unsullied by the demands and distractions of everyday life. That balance, and the example he set, is his legacy, not just to me, but to us all.

There may be things I don’t know about my dad, at least superficially. But having identified one legacy, I feel confident that the coming years will bring further realizations. Just as his doctors and nurses did, I will continue to learn about my dad through all of you – through your words, your deeds, through your own ways of showing my dad’s quiet influence. There may be things I don’t know about my dad, but I do know that if I ever need to ask a question only he could answer, my dad’s greatest legacy will be that I only have to ask myself.

Louis is . . .

Apples

Beatles

Cooking

Dogs

Eagles (of Philadelphia)

France

Guitar

Humor

Interblags

Jacob

Kids

Life

Maggie (Musicology a far second)

Novelty

Obama

Panda/Paris/Panda in Paris! also, Piano

Questions

Recording

Scrabble

The Wire

Ubiquity

V for Vendetta

Woodstown

Xkcd.com

Yes

Zealotry

Favored Child

I'm an only child, but for the last 9 years there's been no doubt about who my dad's favorite was. And for good reason.

Justification

I always claimed I'd never keep a blog. The whole exercise seemed so self-centered: you expose your personal, "private" subjectivity to an audience that exists to gratify your desire to be a public figure, even if only anonymously. But (of course there had to be a "but") now I see the exercise differently; I understand the meaning of "self-centered" differently. That's because my dad passed away two weeks ago, at the ripe young age of 58. Now my subjectivity is not completely my own. Now my desire to air my private life publicly is a desire to keep my father's memory and spirit alive through myself. I don't deny that this exercise, too, is self-centered. I merely define the "self" differently than I did two weeks ago.

It remains to be seen how this will work out in practice. In the meantime, you'll forgive me for the conceit of assuming that everything I post is, however indirectly, an expression of what my dad taught me.

And what he continues to teach me, even as I struggle to figure things out on my own.