Back to the Past
Something occurred to me yesterday. I never heard my parents complain or talk about current events. When the Mass went to English. Not a word from my mother. When the schools integrated, or Emmett Till was killed. Not a word from either parent. Hard to believe they didn’t talk, though. They were children of their times. It’s most likely I simply wasn’t listening, which partly explains how it was I was so accepting of all the changes that came along during my youth. That and one other thing, we moved a lot. So, no peers to speak of. I was left to my own devices.
And these were those devices. Basically, I was taught to be kind and respectful by my parents, and kindness was to be doled out in equal measure to everyone, although I think that was something I surmised from all those gospels that made their mark. For instance, take the parables of Jesus and the woman at the well, or the Good Samaritan. When the civil rights movement came along, I found my Samaritans and learned what blacks in America had to endure. It didn’t really seem fair, and it certainly wasn’t nice, nor kind.
When it’s all taken together, I think it’s sort of dumb luck I ended up being the person I became. All those words and teachings flowed through my young brain, clicked a bunch of switches and now here I am. Totally accepting of change, willing to change, introspective, empathetic, a sucker to some, a fool to others, a man with weaknesses. It’s a puzzle for sure and even though I’m old the job feels incomplete, as though there’s still more to learn and a better me to be discovered.
Part 17, Living in America: An Old Man’s Journey into His Past