Traditions and Gratitudes

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 11/27/2025)

I’m sentimental about Thanksgiving, the first big holiday of wintertime, when the expectations and the preparations for the holiday are not on steroids. It is a time for gathering with friends and family, with no expectations for frenzy and rampant consumerism. Just a good meal, good company and enjoyable conversations. Abundant food and dessert, and love are expected.

Our family has some long-standing traditions. My mom always set the table with an extra setting, and moved an extra chair to the dining room table. My young curiosity would ask “why”, to which my mom always replied “You never know.” And, almost every year, that chair would be filled by a sudden guest in need of a place to belong to for the holiday. They added a lot to the spirit of the day, and their smile at being included as part of the family gathering always raised our spirits and added more love and kindness to the day.

We get out some of the special dishes and my uncle’s candlesticks. The silver and pearl sugar spoon that my great great grandmother stashed on her wagon on the Oregon Trail is a must. The ordeals of our ancestors always are a topic of some reflection and conversation. And, I always sense the spriritual presence of those family members and friends who have passed on, choosing to remember their smiles and laughter around the table.

We also speak of our gratitudes. As we sit down at the table and begin to pass the food around, we each take a turn on saying what we are grateful for over the past year. It is a healthy ritual, as people often share some experience that the rest of us were unaware of. Figuring out what I need to contribute, as my gratitude, often humbles me, as I don’t often “count my blessings” or take time to pause and reflect on what is really important in our lives.

It warms my heart to find the words and the experiences for which I am grateful.

One year, the brother of our foster son filled the “empty chair”. We had gotten an unexpected call Thanksgiving morning, and learned he had no place to go for the holiday. He was warmly welcomed, and his smile brightened the room. When it came his turn to share his gratitudes, he spoke from his heart, and began to cry. Well, we all did. He was the spirit of Thanksgiving and kindness that year, his remarks reminding all of us of the “reason for the season” and what family is all about.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thinking About Fathers’ Day

By Neal Lemery

Father’s Day seems to only be an American custom of going through the motions of making an annual nod to the role of fathers and the state of fatherhood in this country. Yet, we don’t talk about the real issues and concerns we should be addressing on this “special day for dads”. We don’t have much in the way of national or community celebrations or observances. The few rituals are focused on barbecues, and perhaps attending a sporting event, the sending of a card, or the giving the cliché gift of a tie.

I suggest we need a serious examination of how we support fathers and how fathers can improve their fatherhood skills, topics that aren’t now on the national “to do” list. Do we really take fatherhood seriously? Are we even willing to talk about it? Or is it just a Sunday in June when the weather is conducive for a family barbeque?

There are many challenges to be a father these days, and the perils and rewards of good parenting and also being the good son or daughter are often treated with silence and indifference. Instead, the day is marked with a great silence, as if we don’t know what we really want to say, that we really haven’t given much thought to the importance of fatherhood in our lives. Yet, the issues and challenges are formidable, and the effects of poor fatherhood ripple through our society with often deadly consequence.

Some observers of American society have taken the time to look, and to gather some alarming statistics on the state of fatherhood in 2025.

“Men are much more likely to die of COVID…. But the increase among American men in deaths from accidental overdoses since the beginning of the century has been absolutely huge. Since 2001 it has amounted to the loss of an additional 400,000 men. That’s about the number of men we lost in World War II.

“Men are more likely to die from cancer, from cardiovascular disease—from all kinds of things. We need an office of men’s health. The Affordable Care Act should have covered something similar to the Well Woman visit for men. There’s a lot that could be done. But we have to start by acknowledging that there’s a sort of fatalism about the life-expectancy gap.

“I’ve heard people say, “Well, men are bound to die younger,” but that hasn’t always been true. Also the gap can be two years, it can be six years, it can be eleven years, depending on where and when you ask the question. There’s nothing automatic about the fact that men are dying so much younger than women.”

—Richard Reeves, author of Of Boys and Men: Whythe Modern Man is Struggling, Why It Matters, and What to Do About It (2024).

In the 2020s, fewer men than women attend college, and women are more likely to enter professions. Boys are more likely to drop out of school.

Reeves also writes: “There needs to be more investment in male-friendly forms of education and learning. That could include apprenticeship, career and technical education, and also extracurriculars; these show better outcomes for boys and men. I’m very worried about the decline in participation in sports among boys, so maybe supporting some coaching initiatives. Also fatherhood programs, ways to keep fathers in their kids’ lives, especially if they’re not living with the children. And supporting men’s mental health generally. There is a suicide crisis among young men, who too often suffer from loneliness and disconnection.”

How can we support men and encourage them to be healthy and progressive fathers? How can we provide our youth with the tools to be the kind, thoughtful, and inquisitive kids that we want to see grow into healthy adults and become good citizens and parents?

Yes, we live in challenging times. And, yes, we are busy with our lives and often have difficulty in being good parents and family members. Yet, Fathers’ Day offers us a space to reflect, to ponder, and to have conversations on what good parenting is, what needs to happen in our work as parents and family members. Maybe there are some skills and some conversation topics that need to go on a list on the refrigerator. Maybe we take the time at the family barbeque to share our hopes and dreams, and to express some heartfelt gratitude about parenting and love and family.

Let’s make this Fathers’ Day a day of celebrating family love and the potential in each one of us to be a loving, kind, and thoughtful person.

6/13/2025

Graduation Inspiration

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 5/26/2025)

I made a serious run on the graduation card rack at the store this morning. Four great nephews and nieces are graduating in the next few weeks. I needed to fulfill my duties as a great uncle, to acknowledge their achievements, give them a round of applause, and note their collective plans to go on to college.

Inspiring cards were selected, along with some gift cards. Giving money for college expenses is part of the family tradition, too. Inspiring, heartfelt messages need to be composed, to go along with the cards and money. The older generations need to speak out, and proclaim their praise and kudos to yet another generation of college-bound kids.

Each of them has already started on their college career, with dual credit classes as high school seniors, visits to college campuses, and early applications for admission. This uncle sees them as bright, ambitious, and starting to live their dreams of being responsible, resourceful adults.

These accomplishments continue a community and a family tradition, of getting out in the world and finding a useful, satisfying career, and to give back.

This is a time to remember and celebrate the ancestors, too, with visits to cemeteries, and taking some time to ponder their lives this Memorial Day weekend. The ancestors were big advocates for education, traveling the Oregon Trail and later paths of emigration to the Northwest, eager to homestead farms, build schools and raise families who had brighter opportunities. They, too believed in getting an education.

Settlers to Oregon established numerous colleges and academies. Schoolhouses were one of the first community buildings erected in new settlements. Property taxes were assessed to fund schools. When Oregon was surveyed, and homestead sites were platted, one section (a square mile) of every township (36 square miles) was designated as a community asset for local schools. Today, Oregon has numerous private universities and a flourishing state university and community college system.

Funding and administrating our public school system remains a vigorous topic of our politics, and schools remain a core value of our culture.

A century ago, my grandmother had a dream: a college education for each child. She did some research, and then moved her family from a Canadian prairie wheat farm to the Willamette Valley, where there were a number of colleges. Two of my aunts and all three sons earned graduate degrees. Not a bad accomplishment in the 1920s and 1930s.

When I was six and she was 84, she gave me the same heartfelt, forceful message, insistent that I work hard to better myself and live a productive life.

Now, I am in the oldest generation, and can look ahead two generations to see family members who have worked hard and be set in their ways to advance themselves. Our family has been around here for nearly 180 years, and the path to self-improvement and building community is a well-worn, and expected, road. When I talk with young people about their future, I hear my grandparents and parents’ voices, urging “get an education”.

At the funeral of a family matriarch who was a strong advocate for education in my wife’s family, the minister asked the crowd who among them had pursued an education because of her urgings and counsel. Over one hundred people raised their hands. Her encouragement continues to motivate and inspire young people today. She left a powerful and long-lasting legacy.

This graduation season, my family’s graduates are also getting a book, The Man Who Planted Trees, by Jean Giono. It’s an allegory, a story of a shepherd and war veteran who transforms a community devastated by war, into a new forest, a place of hope and possibility. More than tree planting, the work lifts people up, spreading optimism and self-confidence. It is a lesson in restitution, giving back by helping nature recover, of bringing new life to a devastated community. The tree planter does his work without seeking fame or fortune, and quietly does his work behind the scenes, anonymous.

We can all be tree planters, making a difference from a simple act every day. If you look around, there are a lot of people among us who make a difference, quietly, and persistently, acting with love, kindness, and hope.

I see that same drive and passion for self-improvement in today’s immigrants, reminding me that the flames for self-advancement and hard work continue to fiercely blaze, changing lives and our community. That energy and drive is a welcome strength and vital asset.

The voices of our community advocates for education continue to be heard and listened to. And for that, I am grateful.

5/26/2025

A Few Lessons in Compassion and Caretaking

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 4/3/2025)

This week, life gave me some perspectives of my role in community building and healing. It was time for me to be in school, and to get reacquainted with taking a positive, proactive role, to quit my bellyaching and whining, and take some positive action.

A friend invited me to coffee, seeking some guidance and direction on their new role parenting a young relative. They thought I had some wisdom on the subject, but I suspect they were more in search of affirmation and encouragement, with me as a cheerleader and proverbial optimist. I can certainly play the role of cheerleader, and have the scars to prove I’ve played the role of a parent of teenagers.

Yet, I celebrate my role as parent, having just had a rich conversation with one of my sons this week. That unexpected phone call was filled with rich stories, laughter, and his comment that he had called “just to hear your voice”. Our talk about relationships, marriage, and our mutual desire to keep learning affirmed my thoughts that I’d done a decent job with him.

At coffee with my friend, I listened, commiserated, encouraged, and offered a few suggestions. My friend thought I was a genius, as they acted on my ideas and found success and affirmation. My theory is that they instinctively knew the answers and the ideas had ripened and were well received. They had done the hard work, and just needed to see they were headed in the right direction. It’s not too hard to give a gentle nudge when people are already doing the right thing.

It was a reflective week, as well. A friend had given a talk about their passion in cleaning cemetery headstones, and helping families find their heritage, while sharing some nearly forgotten local history. In that work, they celebrate the lives of those who have gone before us, and giving us all a sense of foundation and heritage.

I took that message to motivate me to visit my own family graves, and do some much needed maintenance and rehabilitation. As I stood there in the cemetery, gently brushing off old leaves and debris and applying a cleanser to wash off decades of gunk, I took a good look at the names, and the dates of birth and death. I ruminated over all the good times and hard times represented by the dashes between those dates, and the impact those ancestors had on me.

It was a time of contemplation, gratitude, and respect. I hadn’t taken the time lately to acknowledge their contributions to my life and the importance of the ancestors’ various roles in their raising of me. Like most of us, I get caught up in the daily busyness and worries, and ignore who I’ve become and why. A lot of that comes from those family members whose headstones I was cleaning. A few tears came, and also a flood of good memories and gratitude.

These days are abundant in harsh words and comments, with people taking the opportunity to be snide, hostile, and even indifferent to another person’s crisis. The daily news cycle overflows with crisis and uncertainty. I’m trying to limit my exposure to social media and its recent abundance of nastiness, and political discussions having a dominant theme of adversity and opposition. I want all that clamor to instead be a vehicle for addressing challenging community needs.

I left the cemetery, and that coffee shop after seeing my friend, with a new sense of gratitude and peace, knowing that in life, we do a lot of good things, and help a lot of people on their own walks in life. The daily news cycle may seem important to people now, but knowing that I’ve been both the giver and the recipient of good thoughts, support, and kindness is worthy of my celebration and thanks. That’s where I need to put my focus and my love.

4/2/2025

From Catastrophe to Opportunity

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 3/11/2025)

Often, a disaster turns into a positive asset, and life improves, comes into focus, and good things emerge from the gray somber atmosphere of disaster.

Such change comes unexpectedly.

The Chinese character for catastrophe is the same character for opportunity.

There was a time in college that I had lost direction, adrift despite the abundance of good opportunities and challenges from my professors and fellow students. I was adapting well, mastering my subjects and, at least outwardly, achieving great strides in my abilities and my knowledge of my favorite subjects.

Yet, I was adrift, often wondering what I was doing there, and what direction I needed to take. There were a lot of possibilities, but I didn’t have a good sense of what was right for me. Everyone around me seemed content, hard at work, and feeling directed and motivated. Maybe I needed to take a term off, get a job, and get my act together, stop spinning my wheels.

During one Christmas break, one of my aunts suddenly died. We were all in shock, as she had been healthy, vigorous in her retirement, and embracing her passion for botany and nature conservation. Her heart attack on a hiking trail doing what she loved left all of us feeling lost, shook up.

She lived far away from me, but would visit several times a year, telling stories of her adventures and always bringing a special book for me. When I was little, she’d read to me, animating the story with her voice, her laughter, and her passion for kids. We’d have great conversations, she being a vocal advocate for education, reading, and bettering the community. “Being of service” was the theme of a lot of our conversations and letters.

Her sudden passing brought my “lost in college” questions to the forefront. I recalled her wise counsel, her urgings to me to make a difference, and do something in life. Reminiscing about her life and her messages to me brought my dilemma into sharp focus, giving me impetus to regroup, to rethink my intentions of why I was in college, and what I was doing with my life.

Mourning her death, and celebrating her life woke me up. I applied that grief into fuel to regroup, to have a serious talk with myself, and strive to make a difference in my life. There were some hard lessons on not realizing the value of a person in your life until they are gone. Having my aunt in my life made a big difference in my own life, and I resolved to continue her presence, her message in my life, and our relationship.

Her funeral was on the day I went back to college, to start winter term. The eulogies, and the story telling among family recharged me, and I began the new year and the new term with a revitalized focus, looking for possibilities and opportunities. I felt her spirit and vowed to remember her with my own zeal for making a difference.

Recently, a good friend passed away, and again I am shaken by this loss, this departing of a mentor, whose wisdom and talent were bright lights in my life. We’d met for lunch a year ago, telling stories, laughing, and, true to her form, mentoring me and calling me out to refocus and regroup. She’d plant seeds with me, giving me story ideas and action items, sometimes acting with such subtlety that I didn’t realize that her seeds were even in my garden. She was a master of “guerrilla gardening”.

She was a writer, capturing the joys and treasures in ordinary life, always aiming at celebrating the community she loved and cared for. She wrote about simple things, events and happenings, but always with an ear for the deeper message, the profound experiences of friendships and listening to our souls.

She was blunt, open, honest, and passionately cared about people. Her stories of daily life were much more than a casual observation. They were deep and profound, and the reader was often gently lured into her observations, not always expecting the strong message she had set out to convey. She got her point across, with love and humor, but also with a depth and intensity you didn’t notice until you came to the end of her writing.

There were many gifts in her writings and in our conversations. She was a literary craftsman, with a big heart. Kindness was her mantra.

My friend and my aunt would have been dear friends, soul mates, and I imagine they would find much to laugh about and comment on. My sorrow for missing my aunt is rekindled by my friend’s passing. I’m reminded that out of catastrophe comes opportunity.

In my grief, there is renewal, there is new hunger for opportunity, for change, growth, betterment. My aunt and my friend are still there for me, still offering their gifts, and their love, still teaching me, still changing the world.

3/11/2025

Cleaning Up After Fathers’ Day

By Neal Lemery

(published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, June 18, 2024)

I’m always relieved when Fathers’ Day is over for the year. For me, it is a mix of emotions and experiences, with memories both sweet and awkward, sometimes excruciatingly painful, for me and my kids.

The greeting card industry portrays the day as an overly sweet and happy day, offering cards with sentimental words, and traditional gifts such as T shirts and golf balls, and barbecues and ball games. Dad as hero, the perfect parent in our lives. In our society, reality often doesn’t resemble what commercialism tries to paint as warm, fuzzy, and normal.

Yet, it is a day of awkwardness. What if one’s experiences and relationships with a father was strained, dysfunctional, full of abandonment, or downright dangerous and frightening? What if those wounds haven’t healed, there’s a lot of unresolved anger and neglect, or simply rage about not showing up in your life?

The kids I call my kids wrestle with all of this. Some simply ignore the day, while others send a short, yet sincere one line message on social media. Often, the pain of dealing with hard relationships is best kept quiet. I respect all of those responses. They are genuine, real, and honest, and not found in the greeting card section of the store.

Most of my kids take the safe path, and don’t open up to express what they are feeling, or how to be the kid on Fathers’ Day. For most of us, silence is golden, safe, and non-committal.

I know they love me, and I love them. I also know I’m not the perfect father, that I’ve made mistakes and caused some harm. I like to think I’ve done more good parenting than bad, and that I’m still learning how to be a good dad. I’d like to hope they know that about me.

I’m here for them, after all these years, and perhaps that is enough of a role to play on a day when we are supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy, that Dad is a hero, the fulfillment of the ideal Dad. I don’t need a card or a new box of golf balls to get that recognition. Hokie commercial gifts don’t really express what we feel for each other, anyway.

The father-kid relationship is complicated, anyway. My feelings for the best fathers I’ve had in my life aren’t based on genetics, but on genuine mutual respect, working to be solid mentors and supporters of a kid trying to navigate life and to figure out who I’d be when I grew up. Even as an adult, I needed that genuine fathering, that relationship where one could go deep and feel respected and nurtured.

Family life is better anyway, when there is honesty, mutual respect, and acknowledgement that we all struggle with emotional pain and needing to feel good about ourselves, that we all have the potential for doing good for others.

I used to think that biology and genetics didn’t really matter. It was what happened today, building a good home life and showing compassion and empathy. But, recent scientific work is showing me that past generations’ trauma and anxiety lies deep within us, and is passed on to new generations, being a deeply ingrained aspect of our own psychology and thinking. Part of our work on becoming better people is recognizing that genetic influence, that power of past trauma to cause pain, working on giving air to that history, and patterns of behavior. Healing ourselves, and facing our past, even back several generations, is part of our work in changing our world, and in raising our kids. That work is part of parenting, part of building a better society today.

Perhaps that work, that realization, should be woven into a good Fathers’ Day observance, a day of recognition and healing, a day to celebrate healthy love between parents and kids. Those conversations, those “going deep” talks with loved ones would go far in helping us be better dads, and make for a well-celebrated and well-observed holiday.

6/18/2024

Holding Space

published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 12/19/23

By Neal Lemery

A number of years ago, a counselor friend introduced me to the idea of “holding space”, being simply present for someone in crisis, someone needing a human presence in their life.

And not necessarily a friend who could offer advice or counsel, or direct them to some professional help. But, simply being there.

I’m a verbal person, willing to talk about most anything, and sometimes too free to offer advice, even when it is not sought. Holding space is an idea that is more about just showing up, being around, willing to offer the proverbial ear to someone having a really bad day. Zipping my lip is not my first response, but often holding space is what is needed and what is sought.

Yesterday, the phone rang. An old friend, a guy I’d mentored and worked with when he was in prison, was on the line. He was in tears, needing to talk. One of his parents had just called him to break their lunch date for the holidays. He’s been suicidal and had acted on it, and was now in rehab.

My buddy was devastated. He was worried about his parent, but glad they were alive, and relieved they were in rehab and getting the help they had needed for a long time. His tears flowed and he choked up several times, getting his family woes off his chest.

I listened, and listened some more. I set aside my judgmental thoughts about the parent’s drug use and depression, and the impact that had on my friend. My friend wasn’t calling for advice; he was calling so I could listen to him, so he could put into words what he was going through. He needed to vent, and to cry on my shoulder. I zipped my lip, yet occasionally offered words of condolence, sympathy, and concern for my friend’s wellbeing.

I reminded him that he was a good man, a good son, and one of my friends. And, I listened some more. The torrent of tears slowed, and he became reflective of the ravages of addiction and estrangement that had plagued his family, and strained his relationship with his parent.

That’s all that he needed, and all that he wanted from me in this phone call. I listened, and withheld my judgement about the parent and their relationship with my friend. I told my friend I loved him, and that he loved his family, and that love for a person who hurts you can be painful and difficult to navigate, but loving others is what we are here to do in our lives.

An hour later, I heard a quote from Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor. “The purpose of our lives is to help others along the way.” She’d written that in a letter she had written, to be read at her funeral, her final words of wisdom to be shared with the nation.

At the end of the phone call, we told each other we loved each other, that it was good to talk, and good to share troubling news, and that sometimes, family life and the ravages of drugs and depression are tough to navigate.

My friend and I are here for each other, just a phone call away, when the tears overflow and life gets a little too challenging. Yesterday, I held space for my friend, and helped him on on his way. I know he’s there for me, too, when life gets too much to handle by myself, and I need someone to hold space for me.

12/20/23

Fathers’ Day — A Mixed Bag of Emotions

–by Neal Lemery

Fathers’ Day is a challenging holiday, and I’m relieved it has come and gone. The event is idealized in our culture, presented as a day of barbeques, family time, and lots of smiles about idyllic childhoods and loving, kindly fathers who have inspired us, who have taught us all about love, family, and healthy parenting. It comes across as cuddly and warm, yet for many, the message is one of conflict and contradiction.

On Sunday, I had good communications with many of the men I am proud to call “son”, and good friends, guys I can talk with, heart to heart. I’m relieved that they are doing well in their emotional lives, and able to freely express their feelings with me about fathering and growing up. We’re at a stage, finally, where “I love you” is more easily spoken or written.

Yet, I have others I’ve mentored and parented who choke on saying the word “love”. I know they are struggling, challenged by how to find themselves and make sense of the confusion and chaos in their lives. Depression, addiction, broken relationships, and even jail time challenge them, as they keep searching for the tools and the paths to heal themselves and be able to move on in their lives. Guys don’t easily pick up the phone or text that they’re suicidal, high, or behind bars. There aren’t any texting emojis that say that they aren’t good enough, that they’re failures and can’t get their lives together.

I love them anyway, and try to communicate that, but often it is a one way street. Some of my letters addressed to a prison don’t get a reply, but I write anyway. I’m a gardener and planting seeds and adding water and fertilizer on what appears to be infertile ground is part of that work of faith.

Like other holidays, what we are supposed to be honoring and acknowledging conflicts with our own reality and our emotional journeys through life. None of us have lived the idyllic life, being parented with the ideal, perfect father, and living our own life free from emotional baggage left over from our childhood. We experience our own roles as men, fathers, and the complex task of helping to raise kids and navigate our own turbulent emotional waters of adulthood. The road is often bumpy.

It is a day of conflicting emotions and fake messages, including this Instagram posted on this Fathers’ Day from Bill Cosby, once television’s ideal dad, and now an imprisoned, convicted sexual predator:

“Hey, Hey, Hey…It’s America’s Dad… I know it’s late, but to all of the Dads… It’s an honor to be called a Father, so let’s make today a renewed oath to fulfilling our purpose – strengthening our families and communities.”

Emotional predators, especially those who have projected a wholesome image through the media, and hold themselves out as a role model of virtue and integrity, have no credibility coming across as the ideal dad. No, Mr. Cosby, you are not “America’s Dad” anymore, and I reject what you are trying to project upon us. Your social media posting is a mockery of what Fathers’ Day needs to be.

I’m not alone in thinking about the challenges of being both the child and the father, and dealing with sons and daughters who are conflicted about dealing with the idealization of parenting, how to emerge whole, or at least not emotionally ravaged from childhood.

I Googled “father anger” and saw there were 185 million hits. It is a rich topic for writers, and all of us who are trying to make sense of masculine anger.

“It’s not being a man that makes men prone to anger, but being socialized to be “masculine,” which studies suggest is hard to separate from a propensity for angry emotions. Societal expectations about how to be a boy are evolving, but many men are still taught that anger is one of few acceptable emotions for them to express. When toughness and independence are highly valued in men, this inevitably leads to outbursts.”

–Virginia Pelley

https://www.fatherly.com/love-money/relationships/good-dads-anger-problems/

The greeting card section at the grocery store doesn’t have Fathers’ Day cards about anger, about emotional abuse, and the challenges of having a real deep conversation with dad about growing up, and how to navigate those troubled waters.

Talking about emotions and childhood trauma are still taboo topics for many men at social gatherings, as well as one on one. I’ve also seen adult children who are called at a funeral to eulogize their parent struggle to put into words stories about their parents’ lives, trying to balance truth telling with unresolved emotions about the tough times with mom or dad. A funeral isn’t expected to be very healing for anger and rage.

However, the subtleties in the stories that have been edited to be spoken at a funeral can convey a willingness to be real, to connect with family on what has often been stuffed away in the family closet of secrets. There remains the deep need to tell the truth, and to heal.

Being open and honest about such experiences has been seeing the light of day in recent years. Popular figures have been telling their stories, and numerous books dig into the challenges of familial rage and dysfunction. The “Me Too” movement and other acts of cultural courage over the past few decades have modeled the benefits of being open and having the courage to start to heal.

In the last few years, work on addressing Adverse Childhood Experiences(ACEs) has been a breath of fresh air and provided opportunities for understanding and healing, much to the benefit of our society. Educators are now becoming informed and are implementing innovative approaches to helping kids.

Many of the men I’ve mentored have had the benefit of good counselors and therapists, friends, and lovers who have helped in removing the thorns of abuse, self-debasement, and emotional sabotage. For many people, the vicious cycle of generational emotional paralysis and impotent rage has been exposed to the light of understanding, and been broken, or at least interrupted. For all that work, I am heartened, and I can see society moving and changing, Bill Cosby’s recent comment notwithstanding.

I try to convey to my sons and the other men in my life that we are all entitled to our anger and our rage, that the wounds we have experienced should be acknowledged, and that healing is possible. Dealing with the mixed emotions of Fathers’ Day is part of that work. It is a reminder of how far we have come, and how far we need to go in our journeys.

6/17/2019

Defining Family

“What IS family, then?” The young man asked.
He’s getting out in less than a year, and we were talking about his plans for when he is “out” and life no longer has the physical limits of being “locked up”.
Going home is not the most attractive of his choices. There, old ways, old relationships, and old expectations for how he is to live and move ahead in life are all in play. He’s no longer a young teen, struggling with addictions and bad choices, and the labels that comes with the mistake he made at a tender age, the mistake that cost him his freedom. He’s earned a fresh start, and be able to move ahead without the baggage of prejudgment and assumptions. He’s not who he was, and he’s rightfully proud of that accomplishment.
Yes, being “inside” has given him many opportunities, and he had taken advantage of them, growing into a smart, sensitive, and thoughtful young man. A young man I’d be proud to call a son and live with me, become part of my family.
He’s looking ahead, and looking for options, possibilities for a new life, moving ahead with his life and seeking his dreams. At the core of that is being part of family.
So what IS family? Yes, the first, quick answer is the biological answer: the family I was born into. Yet, family can be and probably should be so much more.
Being a part of a family is a choice, a conscious, deliberate choice. We can do that in many ways.
When we marry, we intentionally create a new family, blended or mixed from both spouses biological families, or the families each partner is currently a part. We mix it up, sometimes adding kids and also adding in-laws, and close friends from both sides of the marriage. New rules and new expectations emerge, along with new dynamics.
New territory and new challenges await us as we navigate these fresh and often turbulent waters.
What is it that this young man needs, what I need, in a family?
We made a list: love, respect, a place in which to belong, be accepted, nurtured, cherished. A place to grow as well as a place that you come home to after a day out in the world, being challenged and jostled. A place that takes you for who you are. A place where there’s a chair and a table setting just for you at dinner.
“We each need to make our own family,” I said. “And the definition needs to fit what we need, creating a place where we grow to our full potential.”
My young friend has figured it out. He knows what a family is, the family he needs and wants, a place where he will flourish. Like all of us, he just needs permission to seek that out, and be good to himself, to find his very own family, creating his own happiness.
And, yes, its OK to want that, and its OK to make sure that having that good family is part of our lives, helping every one of us at achieve our dreams and live a productive, love filled life.

— Neal Lemery 9/30/2016

Family

“How’s your family?” someone asked the other day.

“Oh, fine,” I replied. The standard response.

“No, really. How are they?” they asked, again, wanting me to be honest, to engage with them.

I shared some successes, a few challenges, feeling myself break into a smile as I talked about the people I loved, people I shared my life with, people who really mattered to me.

The conversation got into how I was really doing, at this point in my life. I’m really close to retirement, and busy with my music, my mentoring, and the usual busy schedule of late summer.

It felt good to connect with that person, and have someone really care about me, and where I was in life, and how things were really going. It was one of those times I was glad I lived in a small town, where you could run into people who really cared about you, who were good friends. I felt that warm, deep feeling inside of me, that feeling that people really cared about me, that I mattered, that what I do in my life really mattered.

As I walked down the street, I wondered, “Well, what do I mean when I mention my family?”

My lawyer brain first thinks of the dictionary definition of family. I look back at those in my life I’m related to biologically. Except for a few, they aren’t family now. We don’t have anything in common, except some DNA and some quirky personalities and mannerisms. Some of them share a last name with me. But, all that doesn’t add up to family for me. Not anymore.

I ran down the list of names, the names of my family, their faces popping into my head, more warm feelings filling my chest, my gut, being part of the smile across my face.

It struck me, hard, that who I feel are family to me aren’t related to me by blood. We don’t share the DNA, or any of the quirky family traits of personality, or habit, or behavior. We don’t share last names, or common ancestors.

No, my family doesn’t fit the Webster’s definition. But, they are my family.

They’ve come into my life through my marriage, my work, my life in this community. Some of them have lived in my house, and sat with me at the dinner table, as I’ve watched them grow up and move on, making something out of themselves.

And, some of them are people I just see a lot, sharing some laughs, telling stories, having fun spending some good times. They are the people you don’t need to worry about when you see them, worrying about what you will talk about, or what you will do. Like your favorite pair of worn jeans, they fit right and they’re comfortable, without any effort, without any work about being formal, or proper, or even polite.

They know who they are with me — family. And, when I try to explain to someone else how they are related to me, how they are family, the usual words of relationship and kinship just don’t work.

“Step son” or “former foster son” or “mentee” or “former co worker” or “wife’s former step daughter” or whatever I might use to “define” our relationship all are just words. And, they don’t work very well. They don’t describe who we are or how we are related. And, all those words aren’t what we are to each other, anyway.

And, some of the phrases just become nonsense to me, anyway. How can one be a “former” son? Once one, always one. English needs to develop some new words for who’s who in my family.

We’ve had a lot of shared experiences, a lot of fun, a lot of struggle sometimes, a lot of water under the bridge. More wrinkles, maybe less hair, bigger stomachs, all marks of aging. We all have a bit more gray in our hair (some, including me, a lot more than others!)

If we all got together for a big family portrait, you wouldn’t be able to tell that we’re related by looking at our faces, or how we dress, or how we smile, or sing. But, you would know us by our stories, by our affection for each other, for our shared experiences, and love for what we really are to each other. You would know us by that love that is deep in our hearts, that love we have for each other, that no one can define.

And, in all that, we are family.

9/18/2012