[Soundtrack for this post: The Australian Open on TV]
[Beer for this post: Dark Horse Brewing Company’s Crooked Tree IPA]
On to the fifth and sixth essays in Manhood for Amateurs.
The Memory Hole
In this essay Chabon talks about throwing away his kids’ artwork. He says he keeps some of the better pieces, but throws most of it out. He also mentions how his parents kept very little of the art he created in his youth.
One of the first things that I think about when I think about this essay is: what did his kids think when they read it?
I have a hard time thinking that I’d ever want to throw away anything that Carver created. But I know the time will come, probably soon, when I will. Well, I might not want to throw it away, but I’ll realize that I need to. I’m kind of a hoarder by nature and we have too much stuff in our house already, so there’s no way we can keep every bit of art Carver makes. And even if we chose to, if we put it in bins and then put them in storage, what would be the point? Chabon says that the good stuff they keep just goes in a bin that goes in the attic and is never seen again. Carver, Anne, and I are probably never going to want to look at every single piece of art that Carver ever makes, so it would just sit there in the dark.
My mom has in her house a couple drawings I made in my early youth that she has framed. I love that they are there, and I love being able to see them, but I think having a few meaningful pieces is enough.
My dad maintains my “baby book” (his term), which now fills an entire armoire. And the thing is: what’s going to happen to it? When my dad moves on, it’ll be left to me to decide, and since I’m a hoarder who doesn’t like to throw stuff out I’m going to want to keep all of it. And then what am I going to do with it? It would inevitably just sit in some dark storage area. I’d probably prefer that it not be there, at least most of it. But I’d tell my parents: “Do not feel obligated to throw away my baby book stuff. Actually, don’t throw it out.” I could never encourage the destruction of evidence of my existence and testaments to who I am. Which is what that stuff is to me.
The Binding of Isaac
In this essay Chabon talks about watching President Obama speak at his election victory party in Grant Park. He has his five-year-old son on his shoulders. He’s caught up in the joy of the moment, but then he suddenly feels sorry for Obama’s daughters, for they are about to lose access to their father as they’ve known it. But then he feels sorry for Obama. And he talks about how a child’s want for his father’s attention is insatiable, and how all fathers abandon their children, in some small way, countless times.
First, I wonder if Carver is going to be mad at Anne and me for not taking him to the election night celebration (and, in case you don’t know us that well, it was a celebration for us too). We were about four miles away, holed up in our apartment. Carver was just shy of two months and I had no interest in fighting the masses to get into Grant Park that night while trying to pacify a two-month old. But part of me now really regrets not being able to tell him that he was there on that night.
I think a parent can be a positive influence even if they aren’t there all that often. I like to think that President Obama can be a fine father, and a fine example for his daughters, even though his new job undoubtedly keeps him extremely busy. I think the same can be true of military parents—even in absence their service can be a shining example. I think some sort of presence is required, but it doesn’t need to be constant. And I also think it is important to have happy and fulfilled parents, so if that means the parents need to tackle time-intensive jobs, then so be it. Setting an example is just as important as being available.
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