Legacies

Last night I sat at a table in our local food court as one of three generations of my family. We had a long discussion of weaknesses and strengths. We spoke of the challenges that we had faced, were presently facing, and were about to face. My mother spoke with wisdom. I spoke with wisdom. My niece spoke with curiosity. We did this on the eve of what would have been my father's seventy-third birthday.
It's an odd trick of time that keeps my father in center stage so many years after he left the family, first by choice and then by accident. But there he is, whenever we get together: when my son and I bought our cheeseburgers together, when we talked about the story of our lives, when I opened my wallet to show off pictures. He's everywhere, and we're still here.
This morning I stood in front of a shelf of LED Christmas lights, pondering a change for the environment. Aside from the practical concerns about actual savings and energy use, in the back of my mind was a voice that asked if I was somehow betraying the memory of my father's big bulbs. And so I chose to think about it some more. I have surrendered to the notion that I am a product of my upbringing, and I was lucky enough to have both parents' attention as well as their collective history. This weekend has already been an exercise in funneling all those stories into bite-size nuggets for my niece and my son. It's fun to see what they chew up and what they spit out. My son and I went up and got doughnuts this morning, like I used to do with my dad. When we returned with a box of various forms of fried dough, my niece turned up her nose. She recalled being oppressed at an early age by her father taking her to get her first doughnut. Then she and my mother went for a walk in the neighborhood to find a treat that was a little more heart-healthy. Some of it sticks, and some of it doesn't.