Wisdom of a Lifetime

Val had only few recollections of her father. They translated more as feelings and knowing’s, leaving her with more unanswered questions than the tangible memories she was able to muster. Recollection served her that her father was fun and devoted, loving both her and her brother well. This imprinted in her mind as actions, quality time, playing games and fixing toys. He was passionately devoted to their mother, Mimi. Val has sweet memories of them holding hands, laughing, and canoodling.

Mimi, kind and caring, chose not to marry again after his heart attack and untimely death. In the early 1940’s, Val was barely two, her brother Adam was four. Their mother faced, and conquered, the herculean task of becoming not only both parents but also the breadwinner, at this most difficult time. Being left her to fulfill “their” dreams alone, toughened Mimi and her resolve. In like manner, Val lost the easy, most gentle, and carefree emotional aspect of her mum at this time. Always able to glow when recalling and translating the particulars of their father to them, Mimi held him in high esteem, comforting their children as best she could when she herself was in anguish unattended.

“Who was he?” was the most haunting and reflective question that dominated Val as she moved through the stages of her life, in time passing his last age. The layered evolution of the question changed in scope, ranging from material to emotional and the consideration and sharing in the study of his intellectual interests. This also reached into the exploration of the spiritual, him as an eternal being with the potential of guardianship after death. “What lives on?” became the deeper, more open-ended question.

Materially he was deftly mechanical, evidenced by the craftmanship of unique desks he constructed by hand for each child, in the hope of these becoming heirlooms. During Val’s teenage years as she used the desk for homework and crafts, Mimi would recall that as a toddler, Val would sit on the floor underneath the middle of her desk, playing for hours and occasionally point upwards saying “Dada” and smile. Mimi had also recalled his favourite sporting teams, favourite colour, best subjects in school, as Val and Adam had inquired. Val took it upon herself to bridge a gap with her dad and teach herself some of the things he was good at. She was able to change the oil and replace parts in her car by the time she owned one and was quite proud of that.

How her parents met and fell in love were Val’s most cherished questions to Mini. From these stories she drew a picture of him as emotionally steadfast and loyal, just as she remembered. Val wondered if her father had imagined his part in her future, if he had his own wishes and hopes for her. She had often wondered what could have been if she had experienced a lifetime of support from both parents. In time she found the stark space his loss created could usually be managed, devoting her gains, explorations, and achievements as a homage to his memory. At every milestone she would take some time to reflect and offer her thoughts to him, as her way of cultivating and advancing her emotional and spiritual connection to the man she remembered.

When Val married Bill, she was able to love and caretake his son Quinn, eight and daughter Allie, six with unselfish wisdom and insight, drawing from her own experiences of what children desire and need to thrive to grow healthy and strong. In the tapestry of her life, she had also filled some of the longing for her father by becoming who she felt he would have encouraged her to be. She felt a strong connection to her father and mused at what she thought he would have done and said both in tough and bountiful situations and how proud he would been of her, her choice in husband and of these grandchildren. This became emphasized again when Val & bill were blessed with their daughter Ava, a few years later.

With the new baby’s arrival, the plan was hatched that they scrimp and save to allow Val to be a full time mother – her having the full knowledge of the value of the presence of parents. For several years Bill worked the job, moving up the ladder, shining as a husband and a great dad. Val worked her magic in the home making silk purses from pigs’ ears, stretching every dollar, caretaking and managing above the odds to find ways to accumulate a small emergency nest egg. This, with her part time work as Ava went off to school, grew into enough for a deposit on a home.

It was a dream home, enough room for everyone, even Mimi, and a pool, in a suburb that suited them in every way. Val’s dreamed had merged with Bills and together had come true beyond all measure of what she had previously seen for herself. It was a glorious position to be in. She felt whole. She had found what she had been looking for. Bill, she felt, was the type of involved father her father would have continued to be.

In preparation for the move, Val the consummate organizer, was emptying the drawers of her unique desk. Although busy with a long list of “to do’s”, she stood back to appreciate the lines of the desk. She noticed the wood was still polished, with just a few scratches. A fair bit of information about this desk was a part of the information she had received from Mimi. Val’s dad had been particularly proud of the Jarrah wood he had scored to create it, a hardwood from Australia, not easy to come by in 1940’s Los Angeles. Val noticed the course texture of the wavy grain had softened, and the reddish-brown colour had darkened to a deep burgundy. The middle of the draws in the two front stacks had a hidden underlying compartment, which Val had discovered previously to her teenage glee.

In this moment of reminiscence, Val decided to sit underneath the desk as she did as a child. She was thinking how she had not been under there since she was an upset, stubborn teenager. This sacred space had been her retreat from outer turmoil. Right there, her dad had been with her, someone who loved her, no matter her foibles. She was thrilled at the thought that this strong symbol of her dad would come with them to the new house. She had already picked out its spot. As she sat, she noticed what looked like a small hook shaped line, imbedded into the side of the back the panel of the casing to the middle draw of the desk. She had never noticed it before.

She pulled on it to see if it would move. It was a little stiff, but she ever so carefully wedged her nail into the head of hook. There was a bit of movement, so she carefully applied more pressure. It came out releasing a previously hidden compartment. In shock, Val just stared for a minute, as she unconsciously brushed some dust of her shirt. Then she reached her hand inside. Feeling around felt something, a smooth, silky cover. It was a little black book. It looked like one of hers, the type she used for lists and duties. Upon flipping the leaves, she noticed cursive writing. She opened it and read… there were words of love and encouragement. She flipped to the front cover, open it, and read an inscription: “To my darling Valerie. From Dad”.

In a wave of disbelief, shock and wonder, her throat tightened, tears welled and ran down her cheeks, a heady mixture of deep sadness, astonishment, crushing joy and love pervaded her psyche. Not knowing whether to cry, exclaim her elation or call for Bill, she wailed and sobbed as she wept the tears of her lifetime. It took a while to lull herself enough to be able to see through the residue of her tears. As she pressed & flipped through the pages, there were entries with dates before her birth, when she was “baby”, rather than Val. After her birth, her dad’s words reflected his love for her and anticipation of the girl, person, woman she would become and special day of a life they would mark. There were recorded moments of high points and achievements of his witnessing her as a baby and a toddler, her first words, first steps. His words were strong, emotive, and reflective. His voice was proud.

One of his last recordings described how he had been showing Val the book and the compartment. He revelled in her sweetly saying “Dada” and pointing up to the draw. He was amused. It was their secret. With this Val shuddered with the silent vulnerable strength of her tears and a deep yet exhilarating pain. She saw her life had come full circle in these brief, most intimate and exquisite minutes.

The last entry was the morning he passed; this entry was quietly joy filled with the proud words of a proud and contented parent, musing at the smallest of moments with his baby girl. The amazing mix of awe, sadness and bliss induced more sobbing. Val had received the honour of transcendent answers.

When later asked, Mimi had no idea that he had been recording these moments in a black book, nor of the hidden drawer built into the desk. It turns out Adam had a book hidden inside his desk. Mimi, deeply touched, was gifted with a last revelation of the dimensionality of her husband’s profound thoughtfulness. A reward beyond compare, she re-experienced his gentle kindness through his own words. This returned to her a sense of their teamwork and new depth of completeness to her efforts in the accomplishment of “their” plans.

Val & Bill continued the tradition and made entries into the same little black book remarking on her daughter Ava’s achievements, their hopes and wishes for her. They created books for Allie and Quinn, reflecting over their years of being a family. This beautiful tradition, that my great grandfather started, continued by my grandparents Val & Bill, is still alive, continuing to this day.

In our family, parents’ hopes, pride and joy are not a mystery to their children. The recipient children are gifted with their black books, and this part of their family’s heritage on their 17th birthday. We do this in order that they have time to comprehend and reflect on the wisdom and value these heirlooms. As they start to steer their own ship, they have a rich and personal record of passage of time, with the presence and depth of meaning, wealth and experience of their generations passed.