He Is No Fool
I hate this painting.
Meaning, I love every bit of it. It’s Norman Rockwell’s Breaking Home Ties, and last week it shot across my bow in the form of my eldest on the last day of what they call Middle School—but which I refuse to consider anything other than what it is: Junior High. Which, in my day, was 7th, 8th, and 9th grade, and then thereafter, the demarkation between worlds we never understood.
That is, high school’s foyer and the threshold upon the wider world.
The painting is considered one of Norman Rockwell’s masterworks, as well as being one of the most widely reproduced.
The young man and his father sit on the running board of the family’s stakesided farm truck. The ticket protrudes from the son’s pocket, and the single rail visible at the lower corner of the painting, by which the trio sit, suggest that they’re at a whistle stop waiting for the train.
The son’s books are stacked on a new suitcase and bear a “State U” pennant. His tie and socks perfectly matched, he wears the pressed white trousers and matching jacket, signifying he is ready for his new life in college. The young man’s shoes are shined to a polished gleam, as, hands folded, and with the family dog resting his head in his lap, his gaze focuses eagerly toward the horizon, and on the next chapter in his life.
But.
The father sits slumped with both his and his son’s hats clutched in his hand, as if reluctant to let him go. The direction of his gaze is opposite to the boy’s. His watchchain dangles, near at hand, from his shirt pocket. There is a red flag and a lantern at the ready, near his right hand, atop a well-used trunk. With the son’s luggage unloaded and waiting next to them…
…there is nothing left for him to do but signal the train to stop, and his pose suggests that he is looking up the track, dreading the imminent arrival of the train that will carry his son away.
Though the two figures are not looking at each other, the sense of family ties is very clear.
I hate this painting.
I love it because, for me, 8th grade was a terrible year. Terrible. It began with my big mouth and ended too many years later with too many scars, none of which I’m interested in unearthing here.
But all of which were erased the day, last week, when I saw August stand when his row was called, walk confidently toward the stage, shake the hand of his principal, accept the document certifying he’d survived, and then walk off, smiling like the cat who got the cream.
And then I saw, years from now, the morning I rose to face the day I felt would never come and the one which, then and now, I’d sell my soul to turn back forever.
How will I handle, how will I truly handle, a house too clean, no longer proving the kid couldn’t pick up after himself if the fate of the free world depended upon it?
How will I not look Cute Redhead in the eye too closely lest she look right back and ruin my Holding It Together…because the Too Quiet is Too Loud?
How could I have been so stupid to think that a day would come when I’d be okay with my boy spreading his wings and tumbling out of my nest?
How on earth can I know that I know that I know that we did what we needed to do to get him safe?
Getting him safe:
A house on fire.
And that’s how I’ve always seen it. That is, when I had calm enough to get my wits about me and steady myself in spite of the tumult called Every Day.
A house on fire.
And it was mine.
Mine to do whatever it takes to brave the flames, suffer the burns, hold the child to me, and falling running falling standing running falling jumping
panicking
certain
horrified
undaunted
thankful
furious
finally
…getting him safely out of the house on fire.
I know, I know. Drama. But that’s how I see it. That’s how I’ve always seen it. And ever since the day I called his name for the first time…ever since the moment he stopped squawking, opened his own eyes to see my own brimming and looking into his…I’ll never stop seeing it.
I’ve said it before here, “Some would say I’m injecting far too much. I’d say they’re not seeing things as they are.”
And I hate that painting.
Because keeping
means relinquishing.
And holding close
means letting go.
and
“He is no fool
who gives
what he cannot keep
to gain
what he cannot lose.”
Yup TC, your super powers are that of Dad! Well done. You are a good steward of your family, it is deep in your heart.
Learn to love, to care, to dream, to care, to give anything, even life, to be open (minded, hearted), to suffer, to worry, to let go, to wait… Learn to LOVE.
That’s being a parent. You’re. You are.
They say being a parent is one of the most terrifying things anyone can every experience. But most take that to mean a fear of the responsibility.
You however have nailed it.
It’s not the responsibility that’s terrifying ( although that too can be scary ) It’s the fear of letting them go when they are ready ( and we are not/will never be ) that keeps us awake at night.