Parental Passions
My parents’ passions were pretty much all in their heads. My father’s life was science. Making new discoveries and getting them published was his highest aspiration. Based on the time he spent with each, it seemed clear to me that he loved his lab more than his family. As for my mother, she wanted to “have it all” decades before that became a term. Having children was part of it, but mothering seemed less important than the work part of “all”. She ran a social work agency. She was president of the local Hadassah chapter. She was a university professor. As I was growing up, she got a PhD. In fact, my recollection is that she nurtured her thesis more than she nurtured her sons. When I was ten she required me to help her proofread her dissertation, a long and agonizing undertaking. My reward was a complicated game called Brainiac that never seemed to work right, and that I never enjoyed.
Such cerebral passions were hard for a kid, even a nerdy one like me, to accept. But I vividly remember two instances of physical passions, each of which made a deep impression because they seemed so out of character. One time, armed with plastic pails, we were all gathering blackberries. The pails quickly filled with shiny, jewel-like fruit. Except for my father’s. Why not? He put virtually every berry he picked into his mouth. Soon his hands were stained purple, as was his white shirt (he almost always wore white shirts). He had a goofy grin and vocalized crudely—mostly “umm, umm, umm!” I found his visual and audible display of blackberry passion more upsetting than endearing.
My mother’s physical passion also involved eating. She loved corn on the cob. She would slather it with butter, then shake pepper over it until it nearly turned black; the corn looked like it was crawling with ants. But what impressed–and disturbed–me most was not the peppery excess, but the intensity with which she applied it, and the lust with which she consumed the corn.
Although it didn’t increase my sense of being nurtured, seeing my parents experience such pleasure from food reassured me that they were at least somewhat normal. But at the same time these behaviors seemed undignified and embarrassing, in fact almost carnal. My reaction recalled the time, while rummaging through the top shelf in my parents’ bedroom closet (they were, of course, both at work), I discovered a big red box of Trojans. Yikes, my parents actually did it! How unexpected, and how gross!
My childish feelings toward my parents are an example of how we tend to reduce people to a few salient features. In other words, we make them into cartoons. This can be useful since it gives us a handle on who they are. But it’s way too simple: though my parents were indeed in their heads much of the time, they were more complicated than that. Their heads were connected to their bodies. And these bodies were passionate about certain foods, almost certainly enjoyed other sensory experiences, and yes, even made love.
If we can avoid reductionistic views of people, we can more fully appreciate them in all their contradictions and complexity. I aim to try to do so in all my relationships. Enjoy those berries, dad, and have another ear of corn, mom!
This is such a valuable reflection on your own process, as well as an encouragement to examine our own attitudes toward others, especially now in this time of division and hate-filled rhetoric.
Really appreciate your thoughtful posts
I do agree with Annie’s comments! And now that I am a parent myself I welcome the invitation (to our offspring) to examine and revise attitudes towards others, including those closest and most familiar to them!
Yikes! You’ve brought back memories that I got my eldest son (at about 10 years old) to “word process” my PhD on an ancient Amstrad computer, as I dictated it to him. I didn’t have to force him (or pay him!) because he loved all that. Now in his mid-forties, he still (somewhat mockingly) quotes bits of my thesis to me! It’s strange when your own children are old enough to be nostalgic – mine can remember when their school had only one computer. This same 10-year-old son of mine, who was instructed by someone who visited the school, was then charged with teaching his teachers how to operate it! He still works in IT. I believe – I hope – that my children think of me generously!
Thank you, Kenny, for that valuable reflection, as Annie stated. The picture of the corn is beautiful, although it is much more adorned than the corn I tend to enjoy. There are so many things I could have done better as a parent, and I hope that my children will remember some good things in spite of myself 🙂
A very poignant and enjoyable read indeed! Thanks for sharing these memories. Ari’s recollections of me will doubtlessly include many, many instances of lusty food consumption!