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capri0mniMy father never told many stories about his father (my grandfather).
There was the story about how he worked, in the early years, on the new invention of the telephone, climbing the poles, testing the lines, and how he fell in love with my grandmother when she answered her phone during one of those tests.
There was the tidbit about how he became one of the earliest electrophysicists, and how it was so early in the field, his official title was "Professor of electricity."
There was the maxim, of sorts, that the point of going camping is not to "rough it," but to figure out what you need to be comfortable, and be as efficient as possible so you can carry what you need to where you want to be.
And then, there was this story, which my father told repeatedly, and I will now try to remember:
When Dad was about 10 years old (1937), he went for a walk with his father, who started to tell him about the structure of atoms, and how it seemed like atoms and the solar system had the same structure, but just on a different scale. How all protons, electrons, and neutrons in atoms are identical -- that it's not the stuff that differs from one thing to another, that makes us unique -- it's all in how this stuff is arranged in different patterns.
Dad nodded along, yes, he could see that.
And then, his father asked this question:
ASIDE BREAK:
Now, my father's family were, for the most part, Orthodox Friends (Quakers) who were taught that all our actions must be in accord with the Christ (or Light) Within, and that, no doubt, was what was prompting this question from my grandfather.
"If we are inside the universe, and there is no way for us to view the system from outside, than how is it possible for us to know whether or not what we are doing is working in harmony with the whole, or working against it?"
Grandfather had no answer, himself, it was just something he was pondering. And he left the question in the air for my father to ponder, too. Personally, I think he was coming up against the boundary between his personal faith, that there is an Light Within, but (maybe) not an external God in charge of setting down the rules, and keeping score for us.
...
So, for eleven years, or so, that question rolled around in my father's head, and then, one night, as he was riding home on the train from his period of duty in the Coast Guard (I think), he looked out the window at the stars, and the answer to that question popped into his head. And it was one of the first things he told his father when he got home:
"We know that we're doing right when what we're doing is fun."
:
The next day, after Dad had told him that, his father went out dancing for the first time in years, despite having a weak heart. He ran down the stairs of the meeting hall to retrieve the record player from the back seat of the car, and ran up again... and died, shortly after, of a heart attack.
*Sigh* I got the feeling that Dad blamed himself a bit. I also got the impression, as I got older, that his dad, my grandfather was a bit of an aloof and stern man -- someone who always had to be in control. Dad's answer of "Fun" may have given him the insight that it was okay to go out and dance, but it seems that Grandfather only learned half the lesson: that he was also allowed to trust others to help him; and not to take personal responsibility for everything. Dad's answer didn't kill him, it was still his own pride.
If I'd had more time with my own dad, that's the message I'd have liked to pass on.
And that's why my cousin Toni laughed out loud when the nurse at the hospital asked if father would like to speak to a priest, to administer last rites. "He'd be friendly and polite to the priest," she'd said. "But I think he'd rather talk to a quantum physicist."
There was the story about how he worked, in the early years, on the new invention of the telephone, climbing the poles, testing the lines, and how he fell in love with my grandmother when she answered her phone during one of those tests.
There was the tidbit about how he became one of the earliest electrophysicists, and how it was so early in the field, his official title was "Professor of electricity."
There was the maxim, of sorts, that the point of going camping is not to "rough it," but to figure out what you need to be comfortable, and be as efficient as possible so you can carry what you need to where you want to be.
And then, there was this story, which my father told repeatedly, and I will now try to remember:
When Dad was about 10 years old (1937), he went for a walk with his father, who started to tell him about the structure of atoms, and how it seemed like atoms and the solar system had the same structure, but just on a different scale. How all protons, electrons, and neutrons in atoms are identical -- that it's not the stuff that differs from one thing to another, that makes us unique -- it's all in how this stuff is arranged in different patterns.
Dad nodded along, yes, he could see that.
And then, his father asked this question:
ASIDE BREAK:
Now, my father's family were, for the most part, Orthodox Friends (Quakers) who were taught that all our actions must be in accord with the Christ (or Light) Within, and that, no doubt, was what was prompting this question from my grandfather.
"If we are inside the universe, and there is no way for us to view the system from outside, than how is it possible for us to know whether or not what we are doing is working in harmony with the whole, or working against it?"
Grandfather had no answer, himself, it was just something he was pondering. And he left the question in the air for my father to ponder, too. Personally, I think he was coming up against the boundary between his personal faith, that there is an Light Within, but (maybe) not an external God in charge of setting down the rules, and keeping score for us.
...
So, for eleven years, or so, that question rolled around in my father's head, and then, one night, as he was riding home on the train from his period of duty in the Coast Guard (I think), he looked out the window at the stars, and the answer to that question popped into his head. And it was one of the first things he told his father when he got home:
"We know that we're doing right when what we're doing is fun."
:
The next day, after Dad had told him that, his father went out dancing for the first time in years, despite having a weak heart. He ran down the stairs of the meeting hall to retrieve the record player from the back seat of the car, and ran up again... and died, shortly after, of a heart attack.
*Sigh* I got the feeling that Dad blamed himself a bit. I also got the impression, as I got older, that his dad, my grandfather was a bit of an aloof and stern man -- someone who always had to be in control. Dad's answer of "Fun" may have given him the insight that it was okay to go out and dance, but it seems that Grandfather only learned half the lesson: that he was also allowed to trust others to help him; and not to take personal responsibility for everything. Dad's answer didn't kill him, it was still his own pride.
If I'd had more time with my own dad, that's the message I'd have liked to pass on.
And that's why my cousin Toni laughed out loud when the nurse at the hospital asked if father would like to speak to a priest, to administer last rites. "He'd be friendly and polite to the priest," she'd said. "But I think he'd rather talk to a quantum physicist."
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 08:36 pm (UTC)(What I would give to be Professor of Electricity!)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-31 09:38 pm (UTC)Back in the late 90s, I was a regular participant in the usenet group rec.arts.drwho, dedicated to discussion of the BBC scifi series. At the time, there was much trolling and arguments over which actor was best, and accusations of being a Pro-Pertwee, or Pro-McCoy Troll abounded. At one point, I, tongue somewhat in cheek, admitted that I came into the forum looking for fun.
And a friend of mine, tongue firmly in cheek, accused me of being a Pro-Fun Troll. Whereupon the character pictured above, crystalized in my imagination. :-)
Thinking back on this story, I realize I've come to that philosophy by family tradition. :-)