Poetry of Life

My father was an Irish American with an Irish poetic nature. He seemed to care little for money. He was not very practical in many ways. He enjoyed talking to people more than anything else. His life was very spiritual in that he connected to people of all kinds and I think he did in fact see the face of God in them.

I often look at the world through a lens that is perhaps one part my own making and one part his. And often when I look through my lens today, I see many things that are soul sapping. I often wonder what my father would make of it -- maybe you wonder what those you have lost long ago would think as well.

We are now in a state of developing and buying an endless supply of gadgets and technology that are sucking the life out of us. Often such things are backed by some expert suggesting that it is good for us and quite often they are also backed by some mega-industry that spends huge sums of money to make sure we understand just how good we have it and how lost we would be without what is they are selling.

Still, you have to be quite gullible to believe all of it. A case in point woud be the commercial of the guy who sits in his bathroom with his friend watching a movie because he doesn't have the right kind of TV service.

Call me naive, but cell phone or phone-like instrument use continue to astound me. I saw a woman today who was riding a bike on a bike trail. She was all decked out in a colorful spandex outfit with all the latest gear. No doubt she was aerodynamic in most every way and no doubt she was getting great exercise. But for this woman, getting great exercise and communing with nature was simply not enough. She had to multi-task. She had a special headset connected to her helmet that allowed her to talk on her cell phone as she sped along the trail.

I have to wonder who was this woman talking to and what it would be like to receive a call from someone riding a bike. Was she calling some subordinate with a great marketing idea that she wanted put in action immediately? Was she making a duty call to an elderly mother? Was she calling a girlfriend to gossip about a date or a friend?

I don't think I've been called by someone riding a bike yet. But occasionally, I get a call from someone who is fitting me into their lives at an opportune multi-tasking moment for them like this biker. They are driving home from work or walking in the city to a store close to where they live. They might be washing dishes or they have something that they are doing at the time that gives them some dead time for the brain and they decide to fit me in. I don't get angry or upset at this. I take the call as best as I can. I am not a very good phone conversationalist -- in fact I am awful, but I know they are reaching out to me in some imperfect way. Perhaps much like I would have done if the cell phone was available to me when I was 25 years old. Often these callers are my kids who are reaching out. I wonder if the cell phone was not around, would I still hear from them? Perhaps they would call me on Sunday nights and our conversations would be very brief.

I am blessed to have a Mother who is lively and almost 90 years old. I do make some duty calls and I am very bad at it. She knows it. But, we still have some poetry between us because I get my fanny in a car and drive down to see her on a regular basis. My wife and my two young children come along and we make it an outing. Almost every other week we go to see her. On some days, we get there and I wonder why the hell I made the trip. I might be out of sorts or the traffic was so awful it took two hours to get there. But for the most part, the visits are a lifeline - not just for my mother, but for all of us. She has always tried to be as pleasant as possible and she is good company. For our part, we try to be the same for her.

On some occasions, we will pack sleeping bags and spend the night. We may order a pizza at a place just a block from my mother's apartment. My mother, my wife and I will sit out on my mother's little patio next to the apartment parking lot and have a few beers with our pizza. We have some very good conversations and laughs - the kind you never get with a cell phone. Often, I pick up my mother at her apartment and she comes to stay with us for a few days at a time. My wife loves to shop and off they go to a local junk shop to look for something very cheap that they can admire and that gives them a little joy.

My son is a master at cell phones and computers. But after spending years studying a certain technology, he has decided he likes people better than machines. I am proud. He got involved with helping foreign students at his university adjust to life in the US. And now this has become a passion for him. He wants to teach foreign students. This summer he is involved in a program at school where he is teaching and touring with a dozen students from Taiwan. He has friends from many countries and from every race. He has become our eyes to the world and if there is ever a hint of some underlying prejudice on my part in conversation, he chips in to help me along.

The Good Lord has my number. Maybe you feel the same way. If ever in my life, I have seemed to make a harsh judgment about someone, pointed a finger and criticized -- it has come back to haunt me. Now the Good Lord gets some help from not only my son, but my two young daughters who are his eyes and ears when he is not around.

I have a long way to go to understand people who are different than myself. A long way to go. but, I think that in coming to an understanding of people who are different from us, the joy is in the little things. This past weekend we had a house guest from China -- a friend of my son who stopped in to visit on her way to school. She was absolutely wonderful -- sweet and strong at the same time. She followed my wife around and wanted to understand all our habits and what Americans do in their homes.

On Saturday morning, I had burned some toast to the point where there was enough smoke to set off the smoke alarm. I quickly grabbed the toast and threw it out the back door onto the deck. Our guest saw me toss the toast, but she did not know it was burnt. She kept looking outside at the toast. It dawned on me that she thought this was some kind of American toast tossing ritual and she was puzzling about what it was all about. When I told her that the toast was burnt and once the smoke cleared I would grab the toast and toss it into the garbage, there was a million dollar smile of understanding on her face. You don't get that from a cell phone. My father would have loved this girl.