Jun 2013
Where/Why and the Who, I Am
I am a child of emigres,
Sojourners in a land that was not theirs,
Early risers, both long distance travelers,
- a traveling salesman who never forgot a customers name,
- a lover of Rembrandt, ceremonial Judaica, Broadway,
who shared her love for small stipends, traveling large distances.
They were transformational people, transformers of all they met.
Not great successes, yet well-reputed.
emphasize the small in smaller businessman,
emphasize the part in part-time lecturer, writer,
emphasize the fullness of full time mother,
An odd couple, continentally divided,
Germany and Canada and born many years apart
Never understood the pairing, the mystery of "them,"
Different in so many ways, but inspirational to many in their own way,.
Never till just now,
got the light bulb turned on to what was their secret sauce,
the connectivity essence that wove their web
and I had a front row seat!
Story tellers both,
and if their biggest dreams went unrealized,
no matter, no matter as long as they could tell stories,
Entrancing the many Sabbath table guests, Sisterhoods,
Their Passover table included everyone on the block,
Long before 'regardless of faith, creed and color' was extant
Even interlopers, those who would beg a meal,
The professional beggars who knocked at ten pm
never went away empty handed,
Any crying child who crossed their path taken in, was restored,
Authors of good night stories that incorporated your daily escapades
Their was no commonality in their separate tales,
Their upbringings were as different as Jupiter and Mars,
But in the telling was their planetary passion released,
His ramrod posture, highlighted by eye twinkling charms,
Germanic, on Saturdays he wore a Homburg and striped pants.
Was oft disturbed by the pressures of the real world,
Never took me to Yankee Stadium.
But to this day, his children are approached by strangers,
Grown men and women now,
Who all say the same thing,
I knew your father.
The where and why of my life is still a mystery to me,
What I will leave behind that is worth cherishing may be
Less than a zero sum game, but now I see that
Nature trumps nurture, for the story telling gene is
Strong in their offspring, inheritance, both sides.
What they gave me, all their children, was this:
The fearlessness to sign your name
to a public document like this poem,
to do small acts of public service kindness
and thousands of small private one for no thanks,
that lays yourself out, open to snide critique and ridicule,
Above all, tell stories.
The Where/Why of my parents lives'
explains mine somewhat,
or maybe even,
its entirety.
Feb 2012,
above the intersection of
Wyoming, Colorado and Utah
I am a child of emigres,
Sojourners in a land that was not theirs,
Early risers, both long distance travelers,
- a traveling salesman who never forgot a customers name,
- a lover of Rembrandt, ceremonial Judaica, Broadway,
who shared her love for small stipends, traveling large distances.
They were transformational people, transformers of all they met.
Not great successes, yet well-reputed.
emphasize the small in smaller businessman,
emphasize the part in part-time lecturer, writer,
emphasize the fullness of full time mother,
An odd couple, continentally divided,
Germany and Canada and born many years apart
Never understood the pairing, the mystery of "them,"
Different in so many ways, but inspirational to many in their own way,.
Never till just now,
got the light bulb turned on to what was their secret sauce,
the connectivity essence that wove their web
and I had a front row seat!
Story tellers both,
and if their biggest dreams went unrealized,
no matter, no matter as long as they could tell stories,
Entrancing the many Sabbath table guests, Sisterhoods,
Their Passover table included everyone on the block,
Long before 'regardless of faith, creed and color' was extant
Even interlopers, those who would beg a meal,
The professional beggars who knocked at ten pm
never went away empty handed,
Any crying child who crossed their path taken in, was restored,
Authors of good night stories that incorporated your daily escapades
Their was no commonality in their separate tales,
Their upbringings were as different as Jupiter and Mars,
But in the telling was their planetary passion released,
His ramrod posture, highlighted by eye twinkling charms,
Germanic, on Saturdays he wore a Homburg and striped pants.
Was oft disturbed by the pressures of the real world,
Never took me to Yankee Stadium.
But to this day, his children are approached by strangers,
Grown men and women now,
Who all say the same thing,
I knew your father.
The where and why of my life is still a mystery to me,
What I will leave behind that is worth cherishing may be
Less than a zero sum game, but now I see that
Nature trumps nurture, for the story telling gene is
Strong in their offspring, inheritance, both sides.
What they gave me, all their children, was this:
The fearlessness to sign your name
to a public document like this poem,
to do small acts of public service kindness
and thousands of small private one for no thanks,
that lays yourself out, open to snide critique and ridicule,
Above all, tell stories.
The Where/Why of my parents lives'
explains mine somewhat,
or maybe even,
its entirety.
Feb 2012,
above the intersection of
Wyoming, Colorado and Utah
