Family Heritage

In the early 20th century, my grandparents immigrated from Belorussia to the United States making my family relative new-commers compared with my wife's family that includes at least two of the passengers on the Mayflower.

Two hundred years after landing on Plymouth Rock, a number of them had found their way to Maine and in the 1820s, Isaac Carter homesteaded an island just off the coast. The farmhouse still stands and the island, farmed until about the time my grandparents arrived, is now a family vacation home. 

It's the place my wife, Dottie, feels most at home, having made the drive north and the row across the channel since she was a little girl. My son, Jon, also feels the island is his home. 

And this year, Jon's son, Matthias, having turned one last Sunday will set foot for the first time on the beach at Grandpa's Cove, the rocks of the Foreshore, the chilly water in Merry's Bathtub, the front room of the White House, and the rest of the familiar island landmarks. (Still in diapers, he will get a pass and not have to cross the threshold of Trail's End--the island has no indoor plumbing.)

Dottie, Jon, and (eventually) Matthias feel the connection to the island in a much deeper way than I do, though I've been going up there for 35 years. It's their heritage in a way that it will never be mine. I'm family by marriage; Dottie, Jon, and Matthias are family by blood.

How odd to use that phrase, "by blood," in 2013 when the word on the street is that a family is whatever you'd like it to be. "Love makes a family," we're told. Well, actually, no. Love may make for a happy family, but marriage, adoption, or, above all, blood make a family. And from our families we receive our identities. Family has to do with you we are, not who we'd like to be. Family is our roots whether we like it or not.

And the island--including all the family dynamics and issues that go into managing a shared property--is a reminder for Dottie and Jon of their identity. And, one day, the same will be true for Matthias. Or at least I hope so.

Be a Clown

Judy was chief of staff in the Office and the Secretary of Defense. Her husband, Gary, was an executive at Fannie Mae. Now that they've retired from those positions, they're still actively employed if not gainfully employed. Judy and Gary Kopff are a couple of clowns.

According to an article in The Washington Post, Judy and Gary spent years struggling with infertility and finally recognized "their inability to be parent as an opportunity to help others." So Judy, dealing with her own disappointment, took a class on how to make balloon animals, taking her new-found skills into the SecDef office and offering balloon hats to honorees at various office functions.

According to the article, Judy was wearing a three-foot tall balloon hat she had made when:

"Secretary Rumsfeld came out, and he saw me [wearing the hat] and kind of did a double take.... I said: 'Very nice to meet you again. Would you like my hat?' ...He looked at me with this big smile and said, 'I think I'll pass.'"

Judy eventually bought a clown suit and began visiting hospitals, rehabs, and other facilities. Meanwhile Gary, who was in the midst of the banking meltdown, started to catch the bug as well. "Watching a $2 trillion global crisis I think prepared me well for clowning," he told the Post.

The article goes on:

The Kopffs could make as much as $400 an hour as professional clowns, Judy Kopff said, but they’re not in it for the money, red noses or paddle shoes. 

They do it for the 85-year-old blind woman who smiled upon touching a balloon animal. 

They do it for the veteran who broke into tears after hearing a balloon pop because his post-traumatic stress disorder triggered memories of exploding bombs. He asked for another balloon, determined to overcome his fear and give his child a life with balloons. 

And they do it for the autistic boy who smiled all day, his father said, after Judy Kopff twisted a balloon for him at the Pentagon. 

“While we’re physically tired, it’s always a privilege to be able to [help people], and we don’t have any sense of regret,” Gary Kopff said.

I'm not sure why Gary felt compelled to say there wasn't "any sense of regret." Clowning around--though sans balloon animals, makeup, wig, and funny outfit--and always been my idea of time well spent.

Rather than have regrets, the Kopffs, it seems to me, have found a very good life after mid-life. 

The Next Twenty (?) Years

Yesterday I met with a distinguished friend who is 81 years old. We met at his office in Washington, DC. This was in spite of the fact that he "retired" in February. Before that he was working 50-hour weeks, traveling, leading meetings, mentoring, writing, and speaking. Now that he's "retired" he's doing all the same things, but I suppose not putting in quite so many hours--maybe. He no longer runs his business unit, but aside from his title, only difference I can see is that they moved him to a smaller office and he has a new assistant. He's still full of life, energy, and ideas.

I thought about my friend and his "retirement" later in the day talking with another friend. Though I'll turn 60 next year, I keep thinking and saying that I have another 20 years to give to the cause. Another 20 years to contribute. How I came up with 20, I don't know, but that's the number I'm working with.

And why not. If God grants me life and breath, why should I stop? My dad died at 70 as one of the newest and most popular professors at the local community college. My mom died at 84, working nearly full-time as a travel agent until her last brief illness. Why not die with my boots on the way they did, the way Chuck Colson (age 81) did and the way my 81-year-old friend is sure to do?

The world is a troubled place. We live in a troubled culture. People over 70 and over 80 are still making a positive difference in the midst of the trouble. I get excited thinking about all that might be ahead and about being a part of fighting the good fight.

Other People's Children

As of this graduation season Sarah, the three-year-old who used to call me "funny Uncle Jim" (the "uncle" was honorific and Sarah, for reasons that are unclear, supplied the adjective) is now the proud possessor of a Bachelors of Arts in Psychology "with all the honors, rights, and privileges to that degree appertaining."

I'll have more to say about colleges and college degrees in my ReligionToday column in a few days, but for now I'm letting it sink in that the little blond girl twirling in front of me in her new pink dress has graduated from college. It's sobering.

Years ago (1985-ish) I watched Dr. James Dobson's video series "Turn Your Hearts Toward Home" and still remember something from the first tape (in 1985, you'll remember, videos came on tape). Regardless of what you think of Dobson and his politics, he had wise insights into life and child rearing. If you don't feel as though you're getting older, he said, take a look at the children you know. When the kids you remember as three-year-olds graduate from college, it's safe to say you've gotten older.

Sarah's graduation is a reminder of my advancing age and of why I'm writing this blog. I want to finish well and I want you to finish well. And truth be told, we have less time than we'd like to believe.

In light of that, consider the words of the Roman Stoic philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca (4 BC-AD 65): "It is not that we have so little time but that we lose so much. ...The life we receive is not short but we make it so; we are not ill provided but use what we have wastefully."

Keeping that in mind and battling our profligate tendencies is, I'm convinced, one of the keys to finishing well. And that three-year-old who just flipped her tassel brings in all into focus for me.