A CHILD OF THE SPACE AGE

Willy Ley and Werner von Braun were among my childhood heroes.  I was thrilled by the first faint beeps from Sputnik.  Alan Shepard and John Glenn took me with them into space.  I will remember to my dying day where I was when I watched Neal Armstrong take his one small step.  Those feelings and memories are of enormous importance to me.  They help define me. I am a child of the space age.  If we turn our back on space, what will my grandchildren have to take its place?  We NEED to be explorers!  It is our birthright and our legacy.  Please do not allow it to be taken from us.

I wrote the above paragraph as an attachment to a letter to the president of the United States from the Planetary Society.    http://www.planetary.org/     By the time you, my grandchildren, read this it will be apparent whether or not the efforts of the society and the others who support the space program were successful.  What I want to talk about here is that one sentence, "I am a child of the space age."

The space age is usually defined as beginning on October 4th 1957 with the launching of the first man-made satellite.  I was six weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday.  For me it began even earlier.  Along with cowboy shows like "Roy Rogers," kid's TV at the time included "space operas."  When I was eight or nine years old I was thrilled by the adventures of "Captain Video" and "Tom Corbett, Space Cadet." Never mind how quaint or even silly those names sound today, they evoked a sense of wonder and the belief that there were no limits to what we could do.  Science fiction was by far the biggest part of my pleasure reading for many years.  My ship of imagination didn't just take me across oceans, it took me across the universe.

I grew up in a wonderful, terrible, time.  "Wonderful" because science and technology were making the world a better, richer place every day.  Television was just beginning to bring the world into our living rooms. Terrible diseases like polio were succumbing to the power of medicine.  The commercial jet airplane made travel something anyone could do. "Terrible" because that same science and technology had created the power to end civilized life through nuclear war.  The Cuban missile crisis occurred the same year I graduated from high school, and in grade school I did take part in those ridiculous "duck and cover" exercises.

Through it all, more than anything else, it was the effort to get man into space that held my imagination.  I grew up believing that we would have colonies on the moon and be on our way to the stars.  I have to admit that my belief that those things will happen has diminished, but it still remains a part of me.  I hope that you have a "space race" to inspire you to believe we can still reach for the stars, and that nothing like the threat of nuclear war exists for you.  "Go in peace" is an often heard benediction.  May you have peace, and also the opportunity to "go."

" I GOT HALF-A-DOZEN PAINTINGS FROM THAT SHATTERED PLATE.".

The quote that titles this essay is from Georgia O'Keefe.  For any who don't know, she was an artist from the American Southwest.  At first, I couldn't quite get what the quote was about. Finally, I figured out that she was observing that an event (a broken piece of dinnerware) that most people would have been mildly upset about, or more likely would have dismissed out of hand, was for her a source of inspiration.

Every day, along with the little triumphs and occasional moments of serenity and joy, we deal with small tragedies like a broken plate. If only I could, like Ms. O'Keefe,  use them for something good.  I guess the message is a lot like, "Every cloud has a silver lining," except we all know that one is a load of crap.  Some clouds are just clouds.  Not every shattered plate yields half-a-dozen of anything.  But some do.  It's our job to find them. 

Just so you know, I don't have all these quotations just queued up in my head waiting their turn to be put in my blog.  Usually, I just happen across them or I remember a fragment and look up the rest.  If I have an encyclopedic mind, it's a Funk and Wagnalls, not a Brittanica. 

I don't suppose there is any chance you understand that metaphor.  Before the internet, the most used reference source was the multi - volume encyclopedia with articles about every subject imaginable.  Preeminent among these was the Encyclopaedia Britannica, more than twenty massive tomes crammed with articles by leading authorities in every field.  The EB was huge, and so expensive that it was owned almost exclusively  by libraries and schools.  It was the Rolls-Royce of reference books.  At the other end of the encyclopedia spectrum there were the sets such as Funk and Wagnalls Encyclopedia, that could be purchased one volume at a time at the supermarket.  With pasteboard covers and fewer articles (mostly by uncredentialed authors) they sold for about a buck a volume and were probably worth somewhat less than that.  Still, they were something that even poor families could afford and the set my mother bought for us did get a fair amount of use.  As I am writing this, the most used reference source in the world is probably Wikipedia and the traditional encyclopedias are either gone or struggling to survive.  Every piece of information you could possibly want is as close as the keyboard, but somehow we have still lost something.  The physical presence of the books, just sitting on the shelf, was always just a bit tantalizing; "There's knowledge in here.  Don't you want to come sample it?" seemed to be what those volumes were saying.  It was fun to pull one down at random and let it fall open to a page just to see what was there.  Even more often, looking for one thing you would happen across something else that would grab your interest for a few minutes.  I do not get much of that from having a computer sitting on my desk.  I can't just let it "fall open to a page," I have to follow a "link" to what the computer thinks I want to see.  An Ebook tablet certainly doesn't have the presence of a five foot shelf of leather bound books even though it can hold their entire content and a whole lot more.

It just occurred to me that my great grandparents probably had similar thoughts about how the automobile might be more efficient than the horse and buggy but it didn't have a personality like old Dobbin and couldn't find it's own way home late at night.  I wonder what you kids will feel that way about when you are my age.  Any guesses?

SHARING THE EXPERIENCE

In keeping with Zak's wish that these chronicles help you know a little more about me, I want this time to write about something I'm doing now instead of about long long ago.  For a while now I have been spending Tuesday afternoons at the White County jail talking one on one with inmates who are looking for help in dealing with their alcohol and /or drug problems.  I'm not a psychologist or licensed addictions counselor or anything like that, simply an alcoholic who has been in recovery for a long time.  In the parlance of the recovery program that saved my life, I am trying to "share the experience, strength and hope" that I have found to help others.  Talking with these, mostly young, men does a great deal for me. The feedback that I get from them and other people associated with the jail says they are benefiting as well.  My hope, of course, is that I will play a part in their beginning a lifelong recovery from their addiction.  What I know is happening is that I am getting the opportunity to give back something, no matter how small, in exchange for the multitude of blessings/gifts that recovery has granted to me.

Those blessings and gifts are the core of what I talk about in these sessions.  I know it is useless to tell these guys, "You should do this," or "You should do that."  Instead, I try to tell them what I have done to overcome my addiction to alcohol and what the rewards have been. Rewards such as: I am still married; your grandmother and I just celebrated our 38th anniversary.  It is not possible that she would have continued to put up with me the way I was when I was drinking.   Thanks to recovery, I have a positive relationship with your dad and his brothers.  They even sometimes ask for my opinion or advice.  I was able to finish a thirty year working career at Caterpillar so that I now have a comfortable retirement.  Last but not least, I have not died of some alcohol related cause.  I surely would have been dead years ago if I had not found recovery.

Talking about the benefits of recovery will, I hope, encourage the guys I'm talking with to continue their own efforts to recover.  I know it helps me to appreciate the life that I now have.  I embrace life the same way that someone who has survived a life threatening disease or near fatal accident does.  Every day is a gift and every smile and friendly word a reward.  I love the life I have now and am grateful every day for the blessings that I have been given.

Of course I hope that none of you ever have need of a recovery program.  On the other hand, I would love for you to be able to see the world as I do. 

THOUGHTS ON SOME FAVORITE QUOTES

"Tell me I've been a good man."

In the movie “Saving Private Ryan,” Ryan the old man, while visiting the graves of the men who fought alongside him, turns to his wife and says, “Tell me I’ve been a good man.”  It’s really a question.  Face to face with the sacrifice represented by the grave markers of his fallen comrades , he is asking if he has been worthy of that sacrifice.  What a profoundly brave question.  The answer will sum up in one word whether his life has been a success or a failure.   Success in life is not best measured by trophies in a case, certificates on a wall, money, property, or even how many “friends” we have on face book.  “Have I been a good man?”  Only if the answer is “Yes,” has our life been a success.  I wish I was brave enough to ask that question out loud, and I fervently hope I would like the answer.  Being too aware of my weaknesses and shortcomings makes me fear that I would not.  When I am at my best, I can use this hope and fear to drive me to do more to earn that right answer.  Asking myself the question is the first step.

 “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”

This quote, usually attributed to Edmund Burke, has long been a favorite of mine.  I try to remember that while it will be up to others to decide if I have been “a good man,”  whether or not I “do nothing” is up to me. 

“God is love.”

I was probably introduced to this Bible verse from 1^st John when I was in the Nursery class at the Reynolds Methodist Church Sunday school class.  I have no memory of learning it, so I must have first heard it before my memories started to form.  The thing is, I have known the words all my life but never thought about what they mean until I read them in a book by Andrew Greeley.  He actually begins the book with them, “God is Love.”  He then goes on to explain that his interpretation of this verse is that it requires no interpretation;  it is simply a literal fact.   Love is the substance of God, what He is made of.  To me, this means that when we love we become part of God.  Of course, there is a danger here because it also means that if we are unloving we are ungodly.  When we hate, when we cause hurt, we separate ourselves from God.   When we try to do good, when we try to “love our neighbors as we love ourselves,” we move closer to Him.   A caveat here;  “God” is a term I use because it is a convenient shorthand for a concept that I cannot really define.  I know my human mind is not capable of framing an image of that concept.  The ancient Jews expressed this inability by saying that no one could look upon the face of God and live, not a bad analogy.  Nonetheless, if I know that “God is Love,” I know what I need to know about God.  I have the ability and the obligation to have God in my life; in a sense, to be a part of God.  All I have to do is love and act with love toward those I come in contact with.  I am also vulnerable to separating myself from God, by refusing to love and by failing to act lovingly.  When I am not good, when I am not kind, when I take when I should not take, when I do not give when I should give, I separate myself from what is good; I am no longer a part of God.

TWO ROADS, MANY, NO ROAD AT ALL?

" Two roads diverged in a yellow wood..." If there is a poet who speaks to me, it is Robert Frost.  In spite of being an English Lit major in college I find most poetry tedious and pretentious.  But that's a subject for another time.  Today I want to reflect on my life using "The Road not Taken" as a jumping off point.  Frost's poem ends with "...and that has made all the difference."  I have always taken that to mean he likes where he has wound up or at least believes he made the right choice when he "took the one less traveled."  But there is ambiguity in that line.  We do not know for certain that that is what he means.
     My thoughts about my life as I reflect on this poem are that I did not choose any road.  I have gone through life rather like a hitchhiker who doesn't care where he goes but must keep traveling.  I didn't choose a career at Caterpillar.  I took a job there because it best suited my needs at the time.  I needed to work nights so I could go to school during the day to get that degree in English Literature and Cat offered better pay than anyone else.  I became an English Lit major because first chemistry and then religion didn't work out.  I never "chose" to fall in love; it was something that happened when it happened and was literally beyond my control.  
    I'm not sure there is a lesson here, or if there is, if it is one I should be passing on.  The consensus seems to be that we are not supposed to just let life happen to us.  We tend to, or at least claim to, admire the person who chooses the road less traveled.  The "rugged individual" is an American icon.  We all like to think we are unique and in charge of our destinies.  Another poet cried out, "I am the master of my fate!  I am the captain of my soul!"  I don't know if he believed that or just wished it were so.  The cynical part of me thinks that being one of several hundred million "unique" individuals is something of an oxymoron.  I know that I for one have never been that rugged individual, master, or captain.  But, my journey along the road more traveled has been largely a pleasant one with good companions and plenty to see along the way.  For me that is enough.

THE GOOD LIFE REVISITED

LIFE IS GOOD!  Believe that with your whole heart.  Be good!  Life is better if you are a positive participant, adding to it not taking away from it.  Being good doesn't just mean obeying your parents and teachers or the law or even the ten commandments.  It means helping when you can help, giving when you can give, sharing when you can share, loving when you can love.  Do these things and I guarantee you will enjoy your life. 
    

 I wrote the  preceding paragraph in my first blog entry and then quickly went on to get some of my other thoughts down before they could get away.  “Life is good” is worth spending a lot more time on.

  

 Too many people I have known seem to live their life with the premise that, “life would be good if only….”  The surest way to be unhappy is to be convinced you could be happy if you just had more.  This brings me to something I sometimes use in recovery meetings, I title it “The Richest Man I know.”

  

 My dad, your great-grandfather, worked as a tenant farmer for much of his adult life.  This is not a job which brings in a lot of money;  I believe at one time his salary was one hundred dollars a month.  When he was in his mid-fifties, he quit farming and took over managing a gas station, a job he kept doing until he was at least seventy years old.  He and my mother had purchased a small house in town when he left farming and they lived there the rest of their lives.  His car (they had only one) was a modest sedan; they didn’t own a boat or a camper or a vacation home.  When they traveled it was to visit family;  they didn’t take cruises or “see the world.”  He watched sports on tv and fixed bikes for the neighborhood children.  He liked visiting with the neighbors and talking to his siblings and his sons on the phone.  This is just about the sum total of the things in his life, but he was the richest man I know.  I give him that title, because I have never met anyone who was more content with what he had.  A bigger better house or fancier car would have been wasted on him.  The best meal he ever ate was Mother’s cooking.  His life was complete; he had everything he wanted.  It is impossible to be richer than that.   I am now close to bestowing that title on myself.  There is little I want in this life that I do not have.  I love the home I have.  It is filled with family pictures and dogs and movies and books and I wake up in it every morning loving, and being loved by, your grandmother.  I don’t know what more I could ask for.  I hope that you can also be “the richest man in the world.”  It’s a great thing to be.

FATHERS' DAY

     In a previous attempt to get me to record something of my life, your dad asked me to write about something that made me feel proud.  As I was thinking about Fathers' Day, it occurred to me that one of the things I am most proud of is that my sons look to me for advice and assistance when they have a problem or something needs fixed.  Usually, this is just something like building shelves or a plumbing problem or trouble with a car, but it's the idea that it is me that they turn to that makes me proud.
      Many of the skills that I employ when they call I learned from my dad.  Farming did not provide the sort of income that allows you to call a professional every time something needs built or repaired, so whether it was carpentry or plumbing, rebuilding an engine or welding a broken implement, Dad just did it.  He seemed (at least to me) to have been born with a wrench in his hand.  One place where he excelled as a dad was that he insisted that my brother and I work alongside him.  This of course is traditional on a family farm, but the basic training in tool use that he made sure we received has served me ever since.
      When Dad died, I told the minister preparing the eulogy that Dad's legacy to me was in my hands.  Every time I pick up a tool his hand is guiding mine.  One time not long after he passed I was repairing the fence around the property we had just bought here in Indiana.  Fence building and especially repairing were activities that we did a lot of on the farm, and as I was pulling a strand of barb wire taut and tying it off I felt him there with me.  I don't mean like a ghost or anything,  just that he was there in each thing I did to mend that fence.  That sense of his presence was so strong that I think I stopped mourning for him in that instant.  I know he will be with me in that way for as long as I live, and how can you be in mourning for someone who is still there.
     I don't know if I have passed anything like that along to your dad and your uncles or not.  I know I did not push them to be my apprentice carpenters, plumbers, and mechanics when I was  fixing things around home while they were growing up.  I apologize to them that I did not.  I advise you, my grandchildren, to seek out opportunities to learn and practice manual skills;  building and fixing provides a special kind of satisfaction not available anywhere else.  I hope that you have some opportunity to practice these skills alongside your dad so you can understand and share the bond I had with mine.
     As usual, this essay has gone in a somewhat different direction than I thought it would when I started.  That isn't only OK, it part of the fun.  I've spent a few minutes enjoying remembering my dad and hope you haven't minded being dragged along.