Last night, Jan’s parents informed her that they would not support her decision, would not meet Jeff or his family, and would not attend the wedding. They want her to start attending a group where she will meet Chinese males. She is 31 years old, soon to be 32. It might seem a bit late for that.
find it ironic that Steve’s father flew the hump in WWII in a C-46. He
does work in
What I do not understand is why Jan’s parents are not curious about us. Don't they want to meet the choice of their daughter? And, perhaps, it is too soon.
find myself this morning remembering a poem of Norman Fischer’s called
“Hate.” The last three lines have guided me for years.
Hate is like throwing a handful of shit
Onto a red hot ingot
You have to pick it up first
When, this morning, I opened the book, Precisely the Point Being Made, from which the poem comes, the book fell open to this poem. It is the right poem to guide me now. It stretches this problem over time, and that is what is needed. Her parents are in shock. But, over time, they will come to see the wisdom and beauty of their daughter’s choice.
TO MY SONS by Norman Fischer
Perhaps after a time
When others review our presence
Our journals bound, strange
That we read and renew the scene
We can’t understand without words to
Make it real, adult life.
I could be talking right now
Over again about the script
A red and white camellia in a vase
In the alcove where the script reads
“Pine tree green a thousand years”
I throw a bottle over my shoulder.
What a relief!