2002-08-01 - 10:27 p.m.
"We see human thought and feeling best and clearest by seeing it through something solid that our hands have made."-- Eudora Welty
We had a family birthday party last night for my daughter-in-law, K. My son bought two cakes at the bakery and two kinds of ice cream (Do you want: vanilla....or.... vanilla with fudge ribbons and chocolate covered peanut butter bunnies?) C and K are gracious hosts; their house is a favorite gathering spot for our family. When they moved in, they bought a dining room table big enough for all the big family gatherings on both sides.We usually end up sitting around it long after the cake and ice cream are gone, having some big conversation, trading stories, laughing.
I always like going to their house, because it is such a reflection of who they are. They bought the little 1920's bungalow about six years ago and have worked continuously on renovations, even to removing the siding from the outside and restoring the original stucco and wood trim. The hardwood floors they refinished are gleaming and the massive oak mantle and built-in book cases that C. built are crowded with family photos and memorabilia. Their handiwork fills the house: C's handmade Morris chair and ottoman, wood and art glass lamp, mission style picture frames; K's cross-stitch, pillows and curtains. And mine too: the stained glass window I made them for a wedding gift, my drawings of C. as a child, paintings I did in college.
After everyone leaves, I linger for a few minutes. C. wants to show me the doors he has made for the built-in book cases. They are beautifully constructed, of strong white oak, with mortise and tenon joints and delicate mullions dividing each door into nine panels. We go over the details; he explains his process to me, shows me what parts were difficult to figure out. We like to talk woodworking and construction technicalities. I've done a good amount of it myself. Enough to know how much skill and care goes into pieces like this. Although he may have learned something from me once upon a time, he has far surpassed me now. He is a precise and careful craftsman. I love to admire his work because it is here I see most clearly the man he has become.
C. has given me lots of proud mother moments....there is probably no bigger reward for raising a child than to watch him grow up and make good choices, growing into a thoughtful, kind and loving adult. But I have to watch myself, because at the core, I do not really believe that one human being is the achievement of another. I was privileged to help this little being grow up, but he owns himself. If he had certain advantages that contributed to his becomming a good human being (unconditional positive regard, loving family, educational and cultural values, creative freedom), he also had certain disadvantages that people use as excuses for messing up their lives: divorce, absentee father, poverty, inconsistent parenting.
Although he has respected my choices, I think he was always motivated to be different. He didn't want to be a frustrated, under-employed creative person like his mother. In the last few years he has achieved some of his goals: a happy marriage, a beautiful home, a well paying job in a technical field that has given them a lot of financial freedom.
But I know he has also realized that what he really loves to do is to is work with wood. Make things. Build things. And there is no realistic way to turn that into a career because our world does not reward craftsmanship no matter how amazing. So he, too, will take pride in perfecting his skills and come to know that the work itself must be the reward. Because nobody knows, when you are good at something, just how much effort it takes. It is something we understand about each other without ever having to define it. "What are you working on?" we say to each other.
I run my fingers over the smoothly sanded joints of the wooden door, feeling how perfectly they meet. Happy to stay a while. Happy that he said, "Hey Ma, do you want to take a look at my doors?"
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