Respect and Raw Times
A little while ago, after a long day of travel from Boston to Northern California, I arrived home to a cold house and hungry cats. (The cats are well-fed, fat in fact, but there’s nothing like having a human around to remind them to whine for food.)
Dave and Nat are spending the weekend working on my mother-in-law’s house, so when I got home, it was just me, the cats, and family memories here together in the wee hours (these hours, while I’m writing).
After the cats were fed, and my bags unpacked, I noticed the late hour. Early hour, really, as I had parked the car at about 1:30 a.m. Pacific time, and close to 2:00, when I finally looked at the clock. I have such a hard time with time right now, that it didn’t occur to me to just walk in the house and go to bed.
I turned on the TV and watched the end of Raw, Eddie Murphy’s late ’80s stand-up comedy act, after settling in for the evening/morning. I remember the first time Nat and Owen watched this show. I thought they were too young to be exposed to such adult language and content. Their father, Michael, had a different orientation to information and humor, so we watched the show together, and he and I talked in code about the things the boys couldn’t possibly understand. Over time, Nat and Owen watched that show so many times, they could recite skits and got the meaning, and I thought often of what impact it had on their lives. Irreverance was a huge part of our family culture, and I thought all of us were strong enough to draw lines in the sand, and recognize where reality and humor met at the border.
Now, I think that was just a way to mitigate divergent values between Michael and me, while hoping the boys would figure it out for themselves. For the most part, I believe they did. Once in a while, though, I recall how different all of us are/were, and I wish I could take back some of our choices, take “Mulligans” for some of the bad strokes. Since that’s not a possibility, I relive our choices, Michael’s and mine, then Dave’s and mine, in our collective parenting skills. Our intentions were good, our values were different but often compatible, so I didn’t make much of a stink over the intricacies (on my good days, that is).
Over time, Raw became an iconic piece of comedy, and we’ve often talked about Murphy’s brilliance with words and his willingness to push his audience to, even over, the edge. Our collective family loves that – people who go beyond, and gain acceptance and respect in their art. The distance between acceptance and respect as it relates to comedy before its time, and the absence of acceptance and respect as it relates to much of our youth in late 2007, is so vast, that I believe we should all look up the definition of light year, if we want to grasp where we are as a society. Even, then, the factors that make up a society are too many, too diverse, too conflicting, to make a clear correlation between acceptance and respect…today.
Owen lived his life in acceptance and respect, and all too often, naivite. I didn’t always agree with his choices, and I was quite vocal about the things I thought could hurt him. He was vocal about where we differed. Much like Eddie Murphy, he pushed his audience to the edge, and sometimes experienced the same types of criticism for his willingness to put his thoughts out into the open.
Every person who comes in contact with us, has a different observation, a different experience of who we are. A very long time ago, I was told, “Linda, you are not a dancer, until a dancer says you are a dancer.” While I understood this, I also believed I was a dancer in my own right, no matter what others thought. Owen operated from that same place of self. He did what he did, because he was who he was, in spite of what others thought.
I often wonder if that’s what ended Owen’s life. He accepted and respected who others were, and I imagine those people who did not have that same sense of integrity. Or…did he choose to live by his values, and disassociate himself from the people who were there on that last night? This is my constant companion, my constant nightmare.
Owen loved this song.
Song for the night: Respect, Aretha Franklin
http://youtube.com/watch?v=-xALiBgzPzE
I heard this thing on NPR yesterday about perfectionism. They were saying that a new brand of perfectionism these days is parents who feel they must be absolutely perfect in their parenting. I understand the draw of this kind of behavior, but I haven’t gone there. I do worry too much about my parenting choices and how the things my husband and I do are going to affect our son, but I try to remember that we all learn from our parents’ mistakes, too. I wouldn’t want to deprive my kid of that opportunity!
Anyway, I know you are not saying you had to be a perfect parent, but don’t make yourself crazy either wondering about the consequences of your parenting choices. I’m sure you loved Owen and he knew it. There is nothing that matters more.
I have come to love Owen, because he did have such a sense of self. And even when he didn’t often fit in with others, he was true to himself. So many young people today are followers, without any sense of who they are, or who they want to be. They aren’t even seeking answers to those questions. But Owen always was, and I love that about him.
I can tell you that your parental choices certainly produced a deep thinker, and one who was mature beyond his years, in understanding, and a desire to know more. And yet he still retained an innocence that comes through in his gentle eyes and ways.
Whatever the situation on that horrible night, you can know that Owen acted with integrity-he was true to his beliefs, and true to himself. (To thine own self be true.) Perhaps he was a victim, but he most certainly was a victor also. I feel sorry for those who had any part in his demise, as they will every day have to live with the pureness of his expression, and the deepness of his transparent eyes that reveal his very soul.
You can know that your son was everything that you knew him to be-even in that tragic moment.