Tuesday, June 24, 2014
my dad used to write us letters.
most of them were penned by hand, his distinctive all-caps block type interrupted here and there with 'm's that looked like the chinook coming down the foothills into the plains. most of them were stories.
although we could all read plenty fine, i distinctly remember being read these letters aloud. mostly my sister did it, sometimes my mother, and the entire experience lingers in the delicious category of my memory. somehow we weren't running around or doing chores or chasing bedtimes and baths. somehow the babysitter was done for the day. somehow we were all sitting still and quiet enough to hear the words. and they filled our imaginations, those words, they swelled our hearts and made us miss the man even more, though we were satisfied with being taken along on even a handful of his adventures. he wrote about water and canoes and rivers and heroes and giants and land and trees. before we left our home, he had built a dream for us to go to. those months–of leaving and packing and moving and driving and goodbye and let's go–could have been the most tumultuous of our lives; all i remember are the letters.
i heard once that george lucas, back when his storytelling was better, consulted joseph campbell prior to the writing of the original star wars trilogy. apparently, lucas knew that it was important to construct myth, and he wanted to get it right.
the letters from my father were constructed myth. though much of the stories was based in 'fact', the most important stuff, the stuff that sticks in my head and can be recited by all of my siblings word for word, that stuff was myth. it started off true and then went somewhere better, became bigger, made more sense and elevated our imaginations to greater possibilities. for kids growing up in the 80s with nikes on their feet and mcdonald's in their bellies, it was important, it was imperative, to construct myth, if for no other reason than to elevate.
throughout much of my life, i have had the luxury of long talks with my dad. early on, it was about anything and everything and most of it was just learning, and it wasn't hard, and it was my favorite time in the car or on the bike or before dinner was done. we would daydream together about going to italy some day, picking up a pair of brand new colnagos or pinarellos at the factory, and then riding and eating our way through the entire country. we would dream about having horses with hooves as big as my head, and a barn to keep them in, and the cool farm chores i could do. making any of those beautiful dreams come true was beside the point. the point was that we could and should dream, and we could do it together, each with his own honest smile, giddy in his heart.
it is important to construct myth.
it is important to have ideals, and embed those in good stories, and tell the stories to children and young people and old people you love. we must remember risk and adventure and challenge and triumph. we must recall comradery and the power of two hands holding together over rushing water. we must remember giants.