September 20, 2008
solitary bees, 68
We hear the sound of Jeremy’s voice talking softly in the distance.
My father was a strange bird. Sort of a weird mix of Calvinistic Protestant and secular progressive populist. These elements were always at war within him I think — the desire to do the most good in a common sense way for the average person and a strict adherence to a set of internal principles that made perfect sense to him.
What about your mother?
What about my mother…. Well, that’s a different equation entirely. She always sort of hated my father in a way. Saw their relationship as some sort of obligation. I think she kind of liked it that way I suppose. A contract she could martyr herself to. On some level she shaped me into what she wanted from him. Or at least she tried to. It took me a long time to figure this out — I still don’t think that knot’s completely untied. How about you?
My father?
Yeah, and mom.
My father’s kind of like you. Or was.
I’m afraid to even ask.
You should be. And my mom was a sweet loving lady who took care of me in every way.
What sort of expectations did she set for you?
In what way?
Socially, intellectually, the person you would become.
I don’t think she would have thought about it that way. She was a woman who loved me and wanted the best for me and did what she could at the moment.
Sounds pretty good.
It really was.
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Beautiful. So large–and calm at the same time, in a way that takes the thoughts to a sad and powerful plane.
thank you, Daryl.