The Parallel Parliament

by Glen Pearson

Tag: posterity

More Than DNA

Fathers-Day

“THE HEART OF A FATHER IS THE MASTERPIECE OF NATURE.” Really? Antoine Francois wrote that a long time ago, but I sense I have fallen far short of that kind of nobility of soul. Because fathers never stop learning, it is almost impossible to arrive at anything near a “masterpiece”. Fatherhood itself is a series of rites of passage – births, first days of school, graduation, marriages, grandkids – which, no matter how many times they are experienced, leaves one with the feeling that we never get it quite right.

Most people are cursed with the idea that if only they could acquire something externally that they would be better people. Extra money, a better job, more patience or kindness, a sense of purpose – these are the usual suspects rolled out as objects worth procuring if we are to be more complete as humans. Because children, as they mature, constantly press the boundaries of their respective worlds, fathers always have to respond to so many challenges over the years that it can easily leave one with the sense that they can never be good enough to be the “masterpiece” dad.

Fortunately, in the great Circle of Life, there is a remedy inherent with humanity that eventually exposes the fallacy of such thinking. Over the years we come to realize that the great virtues of personality are not something external for which to reach but impulses that reside within us that must emerge over time. The cure for our underperformance is already housed in the very desire we feel to be better fathers to our children. The great religious teachers, moralists, and philosophers have always shown the way on this but in the pressures of living they are lessons often overlooked or forgotten entirely. The belief that we are better than our performance would indicate is one of the great drivers in human progress – and in fatherhood.

In this is the great genius of life and guardianship. We don’t become better guides for our children in order that we might assist them through life. It is actually the opposite: their very presence in our lives is what makes us fit to supervise their journey into adulthood. Those who witnessed the life of Abraham Lincoln never comprehended the depths of his soul until they saw him rolling on the floor with his children. The tenderness of such moments transcended the pressures of leading in wartime and introduced the world to a man of vastly deep treasures of human compassion.

In a very real way it is our children, through the very experience of raising them, that make us fit to mentor them. Love is not only the greatest parenting strategy there is; it actually is the great former and shaper of the parents themselves. It is their children that call those deep resources within their moms and dads to live at such a level where love can be free to operate.

For this reason many of us will never get over our fathers. We were never meant to because we, as their children, had a hand in raising them, in broadening understanding, in deepening their hearts. God put children in our lives for that very reason. People don’t become perfect, then have kids. They are blessed with parenthood and then learn to fill that responsibility as the years progress.

With seven children blessing my life, it is likely that any real strength of character or compassion that I have shown was refined by their very presence in my life, gracing my years and making me a better person. For all my failures, I have succeeded when they have been free to shape me. And now that I have four grandchildren, it is likely that such a refinement will continue until my final breath.

At times I wonder what it must be like for my kids to have walked along with me in this life. How do they see me? For all the benefits they have brought to me, have I sufficiently helped in preparing them for the rigors of life? Do they see me as a companion or some kind of distant moral instructor? I would hope it is the former, because that is what I have desired most. I have always concurred with Martin Luther King’s great observation that, “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” But that bending best happens in companionship and friendship, and I can only pray that my kids see me in such a light.

It is my ultimate hope that my relationship with my children is more than just about DNA. That’s a natural passing on of the building blocks of life. But the other stuff – the love, respect, gratitude, lessons learned, and just sheer companionship – is what I hope they can perceive. To a very large degree they raised me, protected me, drew out some of the better parts of me. On this Father’s Day I can only thank them for their ongoing love and faithfulness. I have become a better man for their very willingness to engage with me and point me in the direction of a better humanity. On this special day, if there is any gratitude to be expressed it is from one blessed father to his remarkable children.

Choose Posterity

Face to face with Jonah (1)

I have reached the age where it requires a longer gaze to look back than to look ahead – the years are passing more rapidly.  Belief in living one’s life for the broader world has providing for rich experience and times of failure because it has involved the stretching of the human heart and mind.  Yet even from an early age I sensed that the world would go on following my own passing and that the responsibility to give it a fighting chance for growth and depth would, to a small degree, depend on my ability to throw my shoulder into making it a better place.  Posterity mattered – not for me so much, but for my children, my community, my world.

I received a moving image of that future last week, cradling my newborn grandson Jonah in my arms. Embracing a new life is a rite of passage for anyone, but in those three days of being with him, I realized I was looking at my own resurrection.  It wasn’t a particularly religious moment, but more of an awareness that I still had a future.  Thomas Paine, said prophetically, “We ought to remember that virtue is not hereditary.” Indeed it isn’t; it must be taught, exampled, and given the chance of experience and growth.

It is a noble aim, much better than living out our days, checking out, with little thought of what we leave the world.  We most regularly forget that some of greatest blessings in life came from those who instinctively understood that their life would lose meaning if the next life weren’t equipped.  The result has been new charities, museums, inventions, research, remarkable works of literature and song.  Many of these would not exist if the next life hadn’t reached into the present.  Yes, we take such things for granted, but they are posterity’s gift to us.

Yet it’s a two-edged sword.  There are those who believe that fighting for posterity means invading other lands, years of devastation prompted by guerilla fighters, and mindless barons of capitalism and politics who rob the future of its wealth and resources to enjoy the controls and toys of the present.  They destroy when they should have built.

We have to stop thinking of posterity as something only those who are wealthy, powerful or famous can do anything about.  Much of that activity from the world’s elite is junk, piled in our generation, and reminders of ambition gone wrong.

But not Jonah – not my grandson, nor the rest of my family.  I would have moved heaven and earth to will that little life into being noble.  Alas, such things aren’t passed from generation to generation that way.  There must be moments of intimacy, trust, honesty, love, sacrifice, and time if we wish to leave a legacy for them. In those wonderful moments looking into his widening gaze I realized I was looking at what will be left of me.  I believe in an afterlife, confidently, but this is about life on this planet after I have been finally laid to rest.  Perhaps, in some tiny and meaningful fashion, my effect on Jonah’s life will move the needle of refinement just enough to make him better equipped to help others as they face the challenges of tomorrow.

There are those moments when a grandfather holds new life in his arms and whispers in the child’s ear about goodness, of how the universe has a purpose, of how virtue, honour and dedication matter, even though the baby can’t possibly comprehend.  I know because I whispered those things into Jonah’s ear.  What a grandfather says in such moments is not heard in the world, but can be heard in posterity.

But I did more than that.  I loved him.  I held his tiny head in the crook of my arm and prayed for all the wonderful things he will learn. I placed my finger of the carotid pulse in his chest and wished I could live to see his great heart take on the world.  As his finger wrapped around my thumb, I thought of how he will build and reach out to others.  I loved him and inwardly thanked God for my daughter Kathy and her husband Jeff for the honour.  In those moments I chose posterity.

Author Robert Bringhurst, in his The Tree of Meaning, beautifully concludes that, “When you die, your culture takes you in, and then, if you’ve given enough, your place is near the centre.”  I desire that because I desire a life that matters. We all should.

I love Jonah for who he is, but in my selfishness I also loved him because in that tiny frame I will live on.  He is my resurrection.  May the world yet know that I have lived.  And may the future matter because right now it belongs to him … and to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

%d bloggers like this: