Separation

Growing up, older, maybe wiser, they part ways with me. On their own, finding their path, going their own way, I see them fly.

Perhaps they stumble, perhaps they fall. Sometimes, I pick them up and hug them, offering words of encouragement, maybe direction. They wobble, then stand again on their own, and move forward, leaving me, once again behind them, watching them go.

They are on their own, even though I want to pick them up and save them from their scrapes and tumbles.

I am not their rescuer, though that is what I want to do. I am not their protector, though that is the job I willingly seek.

I am that old number on their phone, that place where there will be a cheerful voice, full of encouragement and support. I am the voice that will say “I believe in you” whenever they want to hear it.

Time moves on. They are no longer my babies. At least, that is what I say when I’m asked about them. Deep inside, they still are my kids, my little ones, needing me to hold their hands, and kiss their boo boos, and give them the love that they need. Yet, I must let them fly, go out into the world and be who they are becoming, and find their own wings.

I am, now, their believer.

First Smush

Smoke swirled
Flames hot across fresh wood
We sat, ash floating
Between us.

Marshmallow on a wooden stick,
Passed around, until we all had one,
Until all the sticks were over the coals
Except

His —- he whispering to me,
I don’t know how to do this—
No one else noticed, when I took two
Graham crackers, two squares of
Chocolate, and waited
Until our marshmallows caught fire, until
I helped him blow his out and heat blackened white

Again, until I asked him to slide white lava
On the chocolate, scooping it off the
Stick with the other cracker
Half, and asked him to smush it—-
Like this —- just
Smush it down.

Smush, he
Whispered to
Himself.

Now what? looking at me,
Lost still, around the circle, around his first
Fire, until I, nodding, smushed, then
Stuffed mine into my mouth.

Good? I asked, seeing his mouth
Full, he — finally nodding —
Smushed wonderment in his eyes, new melted
Goo
Dripping out of his sweet mouth.

—-Neal Lemery 7/11/2015

Taking Up Again, At Our Fortieth Reunion

It was that class we took together, both out of our element. A business class, way outside our academic path, but it was really about what we we both passionate about, human interaction. The psychology major and the political science major, finding the “juice” of our college experience.

Our big assignment for the term was to get together every week, for a day, maybe a weekend, and spend time together, interacting, observing each other. And, most importantly, observing ourselves observing others and how we behaved, inwardly, within a group. We had to write about it all, without any real direction on what the professor wanted, how we were going to be graded.

It was, we agreed, standing outside in the hot evening after our class reunion dinner, the best experience of our undergraduate years, studying how people related with each other, how that really was the gist of becoming a better person, how we used those skills, those observations, in growing our lives, in making a real difference in the world.

We took our experiences together, all those late night conversations, the four years of living on campus during the social upheaval of the Vietnam War years, and went our separate ways. We kept in touch, sharing news of our careers, our marriages, our kids, and how our lives were enriched by what we learned at college, and in navigating our lives in the world.

The best things in our lives, we realized, weren’t the things we thought we’d do, once we graduated and moved on. Life happens, and we used our skills and brains to do unexpected things, growing ourselves and learning even more about life, and who we are.

One of the reunion organizers asked us to ponder whether or not we had changed the world, like we’d all talked about in those late night gatherings, and if we’d made a difference in our lives.

“Yes, indeed,” we answered, but not in the ways we had thought, back in the days of Watergate, and the week we staged a sit-in in the college president’s office, angry at Nixon bombing Cambodia.

The conversations that night were about good relationships, connecting with people, making a difference about how people felt about themselves, how we could make their lives better, simply by being who we were. No one showed their bank statements, their stock portfolios, their photos of their real estate or talked about their job titles, or the cars we drove to get here that night. We didn’t wear any fancy clothes. We laughed at the photos of our days on campus, the wild hair, how much beer we could drink back then, and the times when Angela Davis and Anais Nin spoke on campus.

We talked about the people we had become, how that one class, that one professor made all the difference to us as we went on about our lives, how we became better people, how forty years gives you a perspective on life and the world that we may not have had back during our days as eager, curious college students. And, who we are today is still about who we were then, curious, looking inward, and figuring out how we can connect with someone, and change their lives.

—Neal Lemery 6/27/15

Fathers’ Day — Shifting The Sun

Fathers’ Day raises a wide range of emotions and reflections for me, giving me a rollercoaster ride of thoughts. This poem helps me sort all of that out, and make some sense out of being a son of a number of men who were dads to me.

Today, I was a dad to a young man in prison. We were out in the garden, admiring his gazebo he had built. It is his first experience with wood, hammers, nails, and drills. He has struggled with its design and construction, but has accepted the help of others, and has applied his own talents, and his own eye for beauty and simplicity.

His gazebo is a work of art, and his very own creation. It looks good, and fits well with the rest of the garden.

I expressed to him my thoughts on its stability, its beauty. He tried to put himself and his creativity down, but I kept at him, praising him and his talents. He told me he wanted his dad to be happy with it and tell him he liked it, but he was afraid of letting his dad know what he had built.

I saw that familiar fear of rejection, that sense of “I am not good enough” in his face.

I became his dad for a few precious moments, letting him hear words of praise and adulation fill his ears. I let him know he was a good man, a man of talent and ability.

He smiled, and shook my hand. And, perhaps, in all of those few minutes, there was a feeling that he was, indeed, a man of worth, a man of value and talent. And, there was a dad in his life who thought he was worth something after all.

Shifting the Sun

When your father dies, say the Irish,
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Welsh,
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Canadians,
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the French,
you become your own father.
May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians.

When you father dies, say the Indians,
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the English,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever.
And you walk in his light.
~ Diana Der-Hovanessian ~

Fathering Time

Fathering occurs unexpectedly, often in the richest, most productive ways.
Undefined, unlimited by the clock and the calendar, those moments of rich, intense interaction suddenly come into our lives, without us often being aware until it comes upon us. In the moment, space opens up between us, and the energy, the love, flows.
Wisdom comes out of our heart and, often unspoken, shared. Emotions pass between us, and the gifts of the moment are exchanged.

The refrigerator calendar announces that Fathers’ Day is coming, but the fathering moments don’t pay attention to that, nor do these heart to heart conversations need to have a Hallmark card or a boxed up tie to get the juices flowing, to say what is deep inside of us, as we reach out to someone we love, and just be a dad.

This work we do, being the dad, a small moment of reaching out, giving a compliment, a hug, sharing a few words of wisdom, comes at unexpected moments. The phone rings, there is a welcoming silence in the car, or time to put your arm around someone and give a squeeze, and then, the moment is gone.

Life gets busy, and the daily to do list is calling. But, I try to find those moments to do my real work, the important work, of just being there, listening and speaking with my heart, just being a dad.

—Neal Lemery 6/16/2015

A Man of Service

This week, we said goodbye to a good friend, a man of compassion, a man who quietly built up others, offering his hand in friendship.

Herman Gonzalez was quiet, his voice low as he spoke to the men and women who came to court. They were scared, not speaking the language, not knowing what would happen, not knowing what to do.

One by one, they came before the bench, listening to the judge, then listening to him, as he translated the strange words about law and court and traffic tickets into their own language.

He smiled, and so did they. He explained things to them, and they nodded. They told their story and the judge listened to them, asking a few questions.

It was OK to tell the truth, he’d say. That’s what court is for, to find out the truth, and figure out an answer that was fair. And, everyone gets to have their own say, to tell their side of the story.

He’d talk to the police, getting a bit more of the story, a few more ideas of making things right, and finding the answers.

It was OK, coming to court and talking to the judge, he would tell the people. The cops were just people, just doing their job. They are good people, just people like you and me. It is OK to disagree, to speak up, and tell your own truth.

Herman offered a few questions of his own, giving out information, explaining their stories and explaining the judge’s questions and ideas of how the ticket could be resolved. Some of the suggestions seemed too hard, too overwhelming, until Herman offered to help them, to find the solution. He’d go with them, showing them the way, doing the talking for them, and getting things done.

It may have been a trip to DMV, or to an insurance agent, or maybe a quick trip to the auto parts store to fix a mechanical problem with their car. Or maybe it was food for their child, or to find a job, or a place to live. He was always looking for true justice.

Nothing was impossible for Herman. He would find a way, and he would help them out.

People called him all the time. They came to his house, and knocked on the door, knowing that Herman would listen to them, help them out, show them the way. He’d make a few calls, he’d give them directions, the name of someone who could help.

He didn’t know a stranger, and he’d greet everyone with a smile, a hearty handshake.

Sometimes, people would lie to him, trying to get him to do something that wasn’t quite right. Or, they’d shade the truth, or not tell him the whole story. He’d catch on to that, and then you’d see his anger. You didn’t need some of the words translated; his red face and edgy voice told the story. And, then, he’d offer his lesson in honesty and decency, about living life with purpose and love. Father Herman, setting things right and getting people back on the right track.

It was always a good day in court when Herman was there. People’s stories were told, and all the important parts were sure to be included. People were able to resolve their problems, and move on with their lives, feeling better about themselves, and about the cops and the court. They found some resources for themselves and their families, and were able to be a better part of the community.

Respect, that’s what they really got.

Herman loved to fish. He always had a fishing story to tell. And jokes, so many jokes. He always had you laughing.

At the funeral, the priest asked us to read this prayer together:

I pray that I may live to fish

Until my dying day.

And when it comes to my last cast,

I then most humbly pray:

When in the Lord’s great landing net

And peacefully asleep

That in His mercy I be judged

Big enough to keep.

We laughed; we told Herman stories. We smiled, celebrating a life filled with love and purpose. We cried, too, at all the good memories, all the funny stories. We missed him so much.

We honored a great man, a man who made his community stronger, who made all of us more compassionate, better fishers of others in our midst.

—Neal Lemery, June 7, 2015

Planting Our Gardens

This was a week of planting flowers.

A few days ago, I’m able to tend some flowers in our town’s community garden. Over a cup of coffee, a young man and I talk about changing attitudes in this community. Two street preachers have periodically shown up on Main Street, condemning homosexual love, accosting young people, telling them they are going to hell.

One brave high school girl made a sign, and stood next to them on the street corner, contradicting their views. Her hand-lettered sign spoke of the idea that love is the highest human value, that everyone should be able to love who they choose to love, that homosexual love is an aspect of Christian love and compassion.

She was joined by others, and a Facebook group was created, #TillamookForLove, its members now close to 3,000. The preaching and the counter demonstrations became the talk of the town. The young girl’s actions were mentioned around the world, tweeted by Ellen DeGeneres and becoming a featured story in the Huffington Post.

The young man I had coffee with joined the girl and her supporters, taking a public stand on an issue dear to his heart. As often happens in a small town, and across America, people criticized him, condemned him, telling him he’s a sinner because of what he is willing to say. His job was at risk for what he believed in, what he spoke about on his own Facebook page.

Yes, fear and bigotry and discrimination, right in his face. Change his opinion or lose his job. The old beliefs, the old discriminatory, bigoted ways aren’t just something to talk about, not just some textbook First Amendment clash between freedom of religion and free speech. Now, it’s seeing the reality of imposing one’s own religious beliefs, and beliefs about who you can marry, to the point of crushing someone else’s right to their own opinion, to the point of getting fired.

Our coffee cools as we wrestle with his story, his pain and anguish, his moral dilemmas hitting his wallet and his conscience. Being called out for what you believe in and threatened with losing his job, his challenges and choices aren’t just an academic debate. He’s on the battlefield, and the spears and the clash of swords on the front lines aren’t confined to a history book. The blood being shed is real.

Bigotry and fear run deep in our little town and across our country. He’s still in shock about how deep the cancer grows, how quickly the moral question got personal. The ugliness is something we both don’t like to see, don’t like to admit is thinking that is all too common. What is the price of his own conscience?

Yet, he knows his own mind, and he knows his standards of ethics and morality. Quietly, firmly he speaks his mind, knowing that he can sleep well tonight, knowing he made the right call, knowing that his beliefs are truly his own, that getting fired for what he believed in was really the best response to his boss, his own epiphany for what we are facing.

I shake his hand, seeing real courage across the table, feeling proud that he knows himself well enough to know his own mind, that he’s confident enough to follow his Truth, and live according to his own heart.

This flower garden is growing well. The weeds have been called out and named. Weeds are being pulled and beautiful flowers have been planted. Strong plants send their roots deep into the soil of this young man’s heart, his morality strong and fertile.

Today, I plant some flowers of my own, going to a nearby prison and planting flowers inside the fence, behind the locked gate that slams shut every time I leave.

The young men I visit, several other volunteers, and I weed flower beds. We work on setting the supports for a new arbor in fresh cement, finish the week’s projects, and tidy up the garden. This weekend, the young men will host a Family Day, with food and games, and tours of their garden. Proudly, they will show off their hoop house, their raised beds and chickens, showing off all the growing that has been going on.

The youths clean up the garden and carry out their tasks, making the place shine, their flowers and vegetables thriving under their careful and meticulous gardening skills. They are learning a great deal in their class, where they are studying a wide range of subjects. I help correct their homework, and work with them, one on one, as they delve into the hands-on work of both the academic work and their hoop house and raised bed projects. Their work is top notch, and their gardens reflect the pride they are taking in their agricultural work, and the rebuilding of their lives. It is garden work on many levels.

We work happily together, asking questions, sharing our knowledge, expanding our curiosity about how sunshine, dirt, seeds, and tender care can produce vigorous growth. The young men ask great questions, get their hands dirty, and do the weeding, pruning and fertilizing they need to change themselves, and move on with their lives, becoming healthy, and vigorous young men. I’m given the task of adding several flats of marigolds to some bare spots in the flowerbeds. I create my own slice of Eden, being a role model for the young men, and adding some beauty to this world behind the fence and the barbed wire. A young man takes the time to admire my work, and ask me some questions about pruning. Our talk goes deep, until I answer what he is really asking.

Lives are changed here. I’m thankful I’m able to dig my trowel into the receptive soil of these young men, and plant some flowers.

This week, the gardens of our community have needed a great deal of work. Hard decisions have been made, and the spade work, hoeing and planting have made us sweat. The gardeners have new blisters, some new aches and pains. We’ve pulled the weeds and planted new flowers, and we are ready for a little more sunshine and truth in our lives.

—-Neal Lemery, May 29, 2015

Prayer for a Magnanimous Heart

Keep us, O God, from all pettiness,
Let us be large in thought, in word, in deed.
Let us be done with faultfinding
and leave off all self-seeking.
May we put away all pretense and meet each
other face to face,
without self-pity, and without prejudice
and always be generous.
Let us always take time for all things,
and make us grow calm, serene and generous.
Teach us to put into action our better impulses,
to be straightforward and unafraid.
Grant that we may realize
that it is the little things of life that create differences,
that in the big things of life we are as one.
Lord God, let us not forget to be kind.
—Queen Mary Stuart (1542-1587)

“we are pleased to offer you…”

Acceptance
Came in a moment—
Months, years of work,
Then waiting, life on hold.

Others now seeing
What fills his heart,
Hot coals from his passion fire,
Scorching their sense of
Who he is becoming,
All his possibilities.

Perseverance, determination
Pushing him onward
To who he will be,
Marbled sculpture in progress,
Tender heart beating strong.

Now, he dances with joy,
Knowing, at last, he is worthy,
Dreams now reality, validated,
Passion fire burning brightly,
Touching, reigniting
Other hearts.

Today, others
See him for who he really is, to
Know his heart—
Dreams
Turn to joy.

–Neal Lemery April, 2015

Taking Flight

Proud young eagle
healthy at last, eyes keen
for all that lies ahead. He
looks back at chains he has broken,
today the beginning of his new life,
ready to
fly.

Strong now, ready in all ways
he dreams of taking flight,
stretching, flapping his wings
under his own power,
gaining altitude, able to look down
over his world, choosing where he will
truly live, flying on his own,
eyes focused on his dreams.

Taking off, wings long, catching the wind
gaining height, every muscle ready,
focused on what is ahead, what will come
in his airborne world,
ready, finally to
fly.

Today, the door will open and he will go,
wings outspread, flapping strong,
his young heart filled with purpose,
knowing what is right,
at last, believing in his true self.

No longer broken, no longer afraid,
at ease in his own soaring
high above the ground,
living his dreams, knowing his
purpose, and where he will
go.

—-Neal Lemery 4/2015