First, Happy Fathers Day! to the brave readers here, grandfathers and fathers, sons and open-minded friends. You may be outnumbered in this particular space, but you are much loved, valued, and appreciated.
And a special happy day to the Legendary Husband. Bacon burgers it is, honey! (And thanks for the cheese to put on mine!)
I have, as many of you probably have as well, been thinking about my dad, known mostly in our family these days as Great Grampie.
He passed on before the girls came along but they know many of his stories. (Not, however, all of them!) They know he took their daddy fishing back in the days when you could barely see their daddy in the picture, peeking out over a very big life jacket in the back of the boat.
They know he would have loved them.
They know he loved to cook. And grill like their daddy does.
Well, kind of like their daddy does. Frankly, there are days I’m a bit relieved that we don’t have to negotiate with Harry about the omnivore and pescatarian and gluten free menu planning process that’s part and parcel of holidays these days.
It isn’t that he wouldn’t have cared. It just wasn’t in his view of the universe.
There are, in fact, many things in my world that work that way these days. Take, for example, yesterday’s virtual marching. I suspect that would have been out of Harry’s world view as well and not just for tech-y reasons.
(This was a very bright guy who never figured out how to run the VCR. And, yes, there is much in that statement that reminds me of me!)
He was also, as are we all, influenced by his time.
And, in his time, we were Republicans. We were management, not union. We followed the rules. And, unless we were male, we certainly didn’t make those rules.
These are different times. And one of the things he taught me, with all the moves and places and schools, was a whole lot about adapting to change.
There are days I’m not so sure how much in the world that is the current situation in the USA is actually change, and how much is the inability to deny any longer what’s been the hidden truth for a long time.
In some ways, it’s all the same. And, for me at least, a whole lot of things need to get different for a whole lot of people.
I have one vote. (At least I’m determined to!) And limited funds. I’m not much of a marcher. But I can hear. And I have (!) the tech-y skills to summon the resources of Facebook live (which is more than a bit ironic) and walk, in my spirit, with others in the March on Washington.
That’s what I did yesterday. That and cry.
My tears weren’t so much about sadness. Or futility. Or even anger. Instead they were, as theologian and writer, Frederick Buechner, would say, “the surest signs of truth we have.”
They’re back again, my tears, as I write these words. And there is more truth to go with them.
I have whole-heartedly joined and embraced The Poor People’s Campaign, circa 2020. It’s not a new idea. And history tells us that it’s far from a fast fix. It feels to me like a place full of people saying something pretty close to We must, and so we will.
The sore joints were already there. The blisters are virtual today. We’re going to need some more Kleenex. But there’s a bit of an old hymn running through my head. It’s filled with pronoun issues and less than inclusive in terms of faith traditions, and your day will probably be better if I stick with virtual singing, so here’s the bit inside me, demanding to be heard.
…the truth is marching on.
I suspect it’s time, again.
And Harry… he was into sticking up for what one believed. (Back in the day, it worked better if it was something he believed, too, but today I’m starting where I am.)
Oh, just in case you missed the march it “happens” again today and there’s a re-run. There are, indeed, advantages to new things!
ps… The art is some early layers of a painting called CODEX. That this one volunteered for today suggests strongly that there is more newness to come!