Oklahoma
Ah, family. I left fat with catfish, pie and spent my time in good company. We visited with numerous relatives, some distant, some close. With only two full days, we spent most of our time with my grandparents, but we saw aunts and uncles, and cousins. I miss them already.
My cousins interest me a great deal, and worry me a bit. The two boys are bright, rock-ribbed young lads with a world of choices in front of them. They both have no particular ties to one location. One's see-sawing between the Air Force and work as a dental assistant. He's undecided and gabs nervously about the subject of employment. The other wants to go back to school and has his eye on a future in athletics. He talks less on the subject, and so seems more resolute. Every door is open for both those boys. Neither has any idea which door to choose and as each day goes by, another door closes.
We visited my great-grandmother's grave. Next to a pile of freshly turned earth, lovely flowers, wet and toppled lay atop the grave. I am sad that I missed seeing my great-grandmother one more time before she passed, but I felt better at being able to say goodbye. My great-grandmother never had the choices I had, even ten years ago, and she never had the choices the boys have right now. Her generation was tied to land and family in a way which we can only imagine now. She got married, ran a farm and raised a passel of kids and grandkids. She survived her husband and continued to live near her family and friends. She lived a strong, fulfilling life and it has culminated now in, among others, these two boys and their world of choices.
I recently read an essay on Edward Abbey, the author of Desert Solitaire as well as several other books. He lived a meteoric life: bright, fiery, focused. He held his passions close to his breast and lived through them, changing people's lives with bold political and environmental opinions. One cannot but admire his attitude, his choices and the fruit that came from them. My response to reading this essay was, how do you impart even some of his motivation, some of his lust, to young people? And I'm not talking about the impassioned youth, the young CEOs if internet boom companies, or other brilliant young prodigies. I am talking about people like me, and people like my cousins: young, ready, able, but completely bogged down in too many choices, and too many distractions. Of course, this is the same question asked by parents and grandparents, uncles and cousins since man first settled in caves and young kids started drawing on the walls. “Drawing on the walls with charcoal! What lazy, senseless behavior. There are so many Mammoths to kill and stone axes to make and be proud of. Why do children these days only want to scribble graffiti?”
As I look back on my short path, I see a bit of luck, a bit of perseverance, and some hard work. But I also see so many places where less dilly-dallying and just a smidge of effort might have provided more doors open for me now. Then again, I am so happy now with a great many things. I just hope the boys make choices they can be proud of, close few doors, and put fire in their hearts, even if it's painting on the walls.
My cousins interest me a great deal, and worry me a bit. The two boys are bright, rock-ribbed young lads with a world of choices in front of them. They both have no particular ties to one location. One's see-sawing between the Air Force and work as a dental assistant. He's undecided and gabs nervously about the subject of employment. The other wants to go back to school and has his eye on a future in athletics. He talks less on the subject, and so seems more resolute. Every door is open for both those boys. Neither has any idea which door to choose and as each day goes by, another door closes.
We visited my great-grandmother's grave. Next to a pile of freshly turned earth, lovely flowers, wet and toppled lay atop the grave. I am sad that I missed seeing my great-grandmother one more time before she passed, but I felt better at being able to say goodbye. My great-grandmother never had the choices I had, even ten years ago, and she never had the choices the boys have right now. Her generation was tied to land and family in a way which we can only imagine now. She got married, ran a farm and raised a passel of kids and grandkids. She survived her husband and continued to live near her family and friends. She lived a strong, fulfilling life and it has culminated now in, among others, these two boys and their world of choices.
I recently read an essay on Edward Abbey, the author of Desert Solitaire as well as several other books. He lived a meteoric life: bright, fiery, focused. He held his passions close to his breast and lived through them, changing people's lives with bold political and environmental opinions. One cannot but admire his attitude, his choices and the fruit that came from them. My response to reading this essay was, how do you impart even some of his motivation, some of his lust, to young people? And I'm not talking about the impassioned youth, the young CEOs if internet boom companies, or other brilliant young prodigies. I am talking about people like me, and people like my cousins: young, ready, able, but completely bogged down in too many choices, and too many distractions. Of course, this is the same question asked by parents and grandparents, uncles and cousins since man first settled in caves and young kids started drawing on the walls. “Drawing on the walls with charcoal! What lazy, senseless behavior. There are so many Mammoths to kill and stone axes to make and be proud of. Why do children these days only want to scribble graffiti?”
As I look back on my short path, I see a bit of luck, a bit of perseverance, and some hard work. But I also see so many places where less dilly-dallying and just a smidge of effort might have provided more doors open for me now. Then again, I am so happy now with a great many things. I just hope the boys make choices they can be proud of, close few doors, and put fire in their hearts, even if it's painting on the walls.
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