Upstream Memories

[dedalus_1947]

If you leap awake

In the mirror of a bad dream,

And for a fraction of a second

You can’t remember where you are.

Just open your window

And follow your memory upstream.

To the meadow in the mountain

Where we counted every falling star.

I believe the light that shines on you

Will shine on you forever,

And though I can’t guarantee

There’s nothing scary hiding under your bed,

I’m gonna stand guard

Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever

And never leave till I leave you

With a sweet dream in your head. 

I’m gonna watch you shine

Gonna watch you grow,

Gonna paint a sign

So you’ll always know

As long as one and one is two,

There could never be a father

Who loved his daughter more than I love you.

(Father And Daughter, by Paul Simon)

 

On a Tuesday evening, Louisville High School is a ghost town of dim lights, ominous shadows, and sad echoes of fading laughter drifting through deserted corridors. It is so different at night that I always think I’m in the wrong place. “This must be the convent up the hill”, I say to myself, “It can’t be the school”. Louisville is such a vibrant source of energy and light during the day, that I don’t recognize it at night. The only evidence of the lively girls who attend the school are the splashes of colorful posters and banners that festoon the walls and decorate the lockers. The night belongs to the sober adults and custodians who are here this evening, trooping down the semi-lit hallways, looking for Ms. Nick’s classroom. Kathy and I were there for an orientation on the Kairos Senior Retreat that Prisa would attend in three weeks.

 

We were part of the first parent cohort to receive this briefing. Prisa had purposely signed up for the earliest retreat date. She did not want a conflict with the basketball season that began in late November. I’d been surprised to discover that Prisa would not be joining us this evening. It was for adults only, and neither she nor her mother could explain why. Most Louisville activities promoted family unity and parent-daughter bonding, so it was odd that girls were not present. The somber mood of the evening was brightened when a medium sized lady with short, blonde hair met us at the door and introduced herself as Ms. Nick, Prisa’s religion teacher and Director of Campus Ministries. Prisa had mentioned her name often, and I was curious to meet the coordinator of school-wide liturgies, prayer services, and social service projects. I recognized her as a parishioner of a neighboring church we occasionally attended (Prisa was an avid fan of their youth choir and mass). She had a gentle, kindly face that inspired trust and confidence. Kathy had met her before, so as we walked into the brightly lit classroom, she engaged Ms. Nick in immediate conversation. Standing next to them, I gazed out at the neat rows of glossy topped, student desks that were filling up with mothers and fathers. The men looked just as misplaced as I felt. I did not know what to expect tonight. I could tell Prisa was excited about this particular retreat, but I wasn’t sure why. I could not lose the nagging feeling that I was missing something. I even developed a mild paranoia that the term Kairos was feminine code for a rite of initiation which women kept secret. I verbalized this insecurity to Prisa, one afternoon, as I was driving her home from basketball practice. Her amused laughter disarmed and assured me that this was not some Daughters of Eve conspiracy, promulgated at single sex, Catholic high schools.

 

In my recollection of that evening, Ms. Nick’s talk went something like this:

 

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman” she began. “Welcome to the parent orientation to Kairos. Some of you may have heard about it, and your daughters may have shared their speculations. I need to tell you that seniors who go through the experience are specifically directed to NOT TALK ABOUT IT with their fellow seniors or underclassmen. This may seem secretive, but it is vital. Kairos is a three day journey that must be experienced first hand. Talk or speculation only diminishes the power of Kairos. So, I would ask you to put aside the things you may have heard. What I tell you tonight is the essential information that you need to know”.

 

Ms. Nick had my full attention. Her quiet introduction had silenced the room, cutting right through my paranoia, and heightening my awareness. I did not want to miss a word.

 

“Kairos is the culmination of the retreat ministry at Louisville. The freshman, sophomore, and junior retreats laid the groundwork for this moment. Kairos is an ancient Greek word meaning the “right or opportune moment”. It signifies “a time in between”, a moment of undetermined length in which “something special happens”. At Louisville, we believe that this senior retreat is special. It takes place at a pivotal moment in the lives of your daughters. Just as they are planning to graduate, leave high school, and move on to college, we want them to pause, clarify, and deepen their relationship with God, family, and friends. The retreat provides the place and the time for a spark to ignite something special between your daughters and God. Kairos is an awakening event in their Christian life. Prayer and Sacraments are an essential part of the retreat, as well as the retreatants involvement in discussions and group exercises. We believe that Kairos is especially powerful because it operates on a peer-to-peer ministry model, with last year’s graduates and current student body officers leading the interactions and explorations. They hear girls they recognize and know talk about faith, prayer, Kairos, and college. This retreat is a 3 day journey, and it is held at Mater Dolorosa Retreat Center in Sierra Madre. The girls may not leave the retreat with all of life’s answers, but they will have a greater awareness of who they are and where they are going. It is a powerful, powerful, experience”.

 

No questions interrupted Ms. Nick’s elaborate description of the itinerary and events of the three days. She was doing a good job of impressing us with the uniqueness of the occasion, and its impact on our daughters. Then she brought us into the picture.

 

“The reason you are here tonight, without your daughters, is because each of you play a major role in the retreat. After dinner, on the second night of Kairos, we gather to discuss God’s Love and Grace as manifested through the support we give and get from school, family and friends. At the conclusion of the sharing exercise, some hand picked parent letters are read aloud, as illustrations, and then the girls are directed to go to their rooms. They will be surprised to discover a packet of personal letters from parents, relatives, and friends, awaiting them. It is the climactic moment of the retreat, when they are overwhelmed by our interconnectedness and God’s Love. These letters are the key to the Kairos experience. I will need one from each family member; as many relatives as you wish, but the letters must be positive, supportive, and finished by the time we leave for Sierra Madre. The letters must be previewed and bundled before the second night”.

 

Now the flood gates of surprise and concern were opened and the questions poured forth. Ms. Nick patiently listened, restated, and explained; clarifying the writing assignment, reviewing the details of the three days, and stressing the emotional and spiritual power of the retreat. I sat stunned and intrigued. The letter was such a challenge, and yet, such an unbelievable opportunity: to describe my love for Prisa; to memorialize my feelings for Prisa in writing at a crucial point in time. I was very aware of the ephemeral nature of this, her senior year. Prisa was about to change from a 17 year old high school girl into a young college woman, and I was afraid it would happen in a blink, if I took my eyes off her. I wanted time to slow down, so I could share every moment of the year before she went away to college. I’d had a preview of this transitory state, and how quickly childhood ends, when Prisa was in the 8^th grade, on the eve of her graduation from elementary school. It hit me when I saw her in the May Crowning procession. Seeing her so tall, elegant, and beautiful, it finally struck me that she was no longer a child; she wasn’t “Daddy’s little girl” anymore. I wasn’t prepared. All I could do was look at her gorgeous, glowing face, and, wiping the tears from my eyes, realize that the years had gone by too quickly. I had only glanced away for a second, and my little “chula girl” was gone. No longer would my arrival home be greeted by a beaming pixie who screamed in delight, jumping into my arms, and embracing me with all her might. I felt as though I had never adequately confirmed how much I loved her. I’m confident that I showed it, and said it, but I never WROTE it. Now here we were again, at another transitional moment. Only this time, my awakening was occurring in October, not May; and I still had the entire senior year to absorb every interaction I had with Prisa; to breathe her in, see her, talk to her, listen to her, be with her. Plus, I now had two weeks to compose a letter telling her how important she was to me, and how much I loved her.

 

I avoided this intimidating task for a week, because it seemed so impossible. How do you encapsulate Prisa’s 17 years of growth, learning, and development in one letter? How do you reduce your feelings of wonder, pride, and love to fit one sheet of paper? I’d also doubled the pressure on myself by deciding that the letter had to be good enough to be chosen and read aloud on the second night of Kairos. The letter had to be sincere, humorous, and exemplary. Ultimately, I used two guiding principles to get started: Write the truth, and keep it simple. I tried to stay apart from the jumbled mix of emotions I was feeling, and concentrate on a few key ideas and images that came to mind. In a few days, these ideas and images became my Kairos letter to Prisa. Kathy and I submitted our separate letters, on time, to Ms. Nick. Prisa would be leaving for Kairos on Tuesday, November 12, 1997. We would not see her again until Friday night, when the parents surprised their daughters in the assembly hall upon their return to school.

 

That Kairos letter, along with some memories of Prisa’s grandmother, came back to me on Monday, February 11, 2008, when Joe, Prisa’s boy friend came to call at the house, and he came alone.

 

“Ring, ring, buzzzzzzzzzzzz”, toned the doorbell, followed by its annoying aftermath.

“I need to fix that thing”, I muttered to myself for the hundredth time, as I put down my glass of wine. I had been languidly lounging in my favorite corner of the couch, after a hectic Monday of work, when the broken doorbell interrupted my viewing of the television news. Whether Kathy is home, or not, it is my job to answer the door. Kathy answers the telephone and I get the door; that is how we divide the communication duties in our home. I reluctantly hoisted myself from the couch and walked quickly to the door, expecting to be greeted by a smiling teenager selling peanuts and candy for school, or peddling subscriptions to the Daily News. When I opened the door, there was Joe, standing stolidly on the front doorstep, with his baseball cap in hand. I was paralyzed by the total unexpectedness of the silent, solitary figure. I don’t know how much time passed standing there; I holding the door, looking down, and Joe, speechlessly, looking up at me, in the shadows of the porch light.

“Joe”, I finally exclaimed, breaking the silence, “What a surprise!”

“Hello, Tony”, he replied without emotion or elaboration.

Sensing another ensuing silence, I plunged ahead with what I thought was the appropriate thing to say and ask, when your daughter’s boyfriend shows up at your doorstep, alone and unannounced.

“Joe, I didn’t expect you tonight. Is everything alright?”

For the first time, a smile cracked Joe’s stoic demeanor. “Everything is fine, Tony” he said. “I came to speak with you and Kathy about a very important matter”.

“Well, come in, come in” I said, ushering him in the door, as I had done on countless occasions. “Kathy is not here right now; she’s at a School Board meeting tonight”. I was about to assume my usual pattern of behavior when Prisa and Joe come visiting, and just walk back into the family room, when I stopped. “Wait a minute”, I thought. “There is something odd here”. It slowly began to dawn on me, that this was the visit I had been anticipating for over a year. Joe was here, he was alone, and he wanted to discuss an important matter. “This would be the night that Kathy is not here” I thought, in a mild panic.

“You know what, Joe” I stalled, trying to collect my thoughts. “Why don’t we sit in the living room, we can talk better there”.

 

This was not the scene I had envisioned in preparation for this moment. I had imagined that Prisa would call ahead; informing her mother and me that she and Joe had made a decision about their future and they wanted to see us. In particular, that Joe wanted to speak to me, but the conversation would take place with all parties present. I would have been prepared for the meeting, and well rehearsed in what I wanted to say to Joe and Prisa.

 

Joe looked boyish and lost, as he sat on the couch nearest the doorway, with his baseball cap in hand. I took my seat diagonally across from him, and we both seemed to wait for a signal to begin. Then, in what seemed “stop-frame animation”, Joe put down his cap, struggled to remove something from his jean pocket, took out a small velvet case, and opened it. Showing me a delicate ring of white gold, crowned with a row of clustered diamonds, he said “I’d like your approval to ask Prisa to marry me”.

 

There it was; the declaration I had anticipated and dreaded for so long. It was actually happening. Joe, the “Young Lochinvar” had finally come out of the west to claim my daughter for his bride, and I had to respond, alone. All I could think was “Stall, buy some time, until I figure out what to say”. This clarion call was the only thing that kept me from simply blurting out “Sure, Joe, you can marry Prisa. Welcome to the family!”

 

The first thought that flashed through my mind was Kairos, and how I managed to synthesize and express my love for Prisa in a letter. Prisa is my little girl, the love of my life. She is my baby, my angel, my Chula. Our love for her is unconditional and eternal. As I expressed in the letter, there is nothing she could ever do, or say that would lessen or jeopardize that love. It materialized with her conception, and will never diminish. In choosing Joe, Prisa would make him a part of that love. I’ve always liked him as her boyfriend, but how do I make him a part of the love that Kathy and I give to Prisa? It was at that point that I also recalled Prisa’s grandmother, Mary. Mary had always impressed me by the manner she accepted me into her family (see I Shall Be Released ). When Kathy told her mother that she loved me, and I her, Mary embraced me with the love she reserved for her own children. It was a passionate, all-encompassing, but conditional love. She made it clear to me, that if I fulfilled my covenant to love and respect her daughter, she, and her family, was on my side forever. This sounded like a bargain to me, and I gladly accepted those conditions. Tonight, those ideas made even more sense, and I knew I needed to borrow Mary’s approach to love and acceptance, and work them into my words to Joe.

 

Knowing what I wanted to say, I finally relaxed. Looking at Joe, sitting so uncomfortably on the couch, waiting for me to speak, I now wanted to stretch out this moment. I wanted to make his question and my response memorable for him and me. This was a special moment, one that needed to be treated respectfully, and it deserved to unfold at its own speed. I wanted to savor the bitter sweet question that was being asked of me, and I wanted to take my time with the response. Everything would change after today, nothing would be the same. My chula girl, would stop being an active part of our immediate family. She and Joe would soon begin there own. During this timeless moment, the only thing I occasionally said was, “What a surprise… This is so unexpected… I had anticipated something different”.

 

When I finally responded, it was a variation of the Unconditional/Conditional Love ideas I recalled from my Kairos letter and Mary. I said I loved Prisa with all my heart and soul, forever, and that I would include the man that she chose to marry, but with one condition. And that condition is that he love, honor, and cherish her. Should he break faith with her, he would break faith with me, and her family. That is the condition I would hold him to; that he be true to that love, and never betray it. It was corny, and a little awkward, but I said it, and I got my point across. Joe was not getting my approval simply by asking. I had some expectations, and I needed to state them. He nodded while I spoke, saying that he understood, when I finished. He said he loved Prisa, and would honor her by staying true to his vows. I concluded by saying, “Welcome to the family, Joe. Come here and give me a hug”.

 

The moment had come, and passed. Joe had asked for my blessing and approval. He had agreed to my one stipulation, and I had said “Yes”. It was at that point that I thought, “Oh, no, Kathy should be here. I need to get her here, quick”. While my private conversation with Joe seemed right, with just the two of us present, I now sensed that the situation was incomplete without Kathy. I needed to get her here quick. She needed to share this occasion, now, not after the fact. It was 8 o’clock. Her meeting should be over or ending by now.

“Hold on, Joe” I said, “I need to reach Kathy”. I dialed her cell phone, praying that she would answer.

“Kathy, where are you? Are you in the meeting? Still? Well I think you need to come home, now. Joe is here, and he’s alone. He has something to discuss with us, and you need to be here”.

A short pause ensued, during which I could imagine her crossword-puzzle mind making the connections of my scattered clues.

“I’ll be right there” she finally said.

 

During the remaining time we had alone, Joe mentioned some of the factors that had delayed the proposal until now, and the events which finally propelled him to act. He said the death of his 23 year old cousin last month sparked the decision. He finally stopped “over-thinking”. There would never be the “perfect time, the perfect condition” to ask; It was just time. He finally acted. He bought the ring on Sunday and drove out on Monday night to ask us for our approval and blessing to marry Prisa. And I was the only one home! I listened to the soliloquy of this once muted suitor. There was nothing I needed to say. I saw no point in verbalizing any of the questions or concerns I had felt during his period of dating and discernment. Joe and I share many qualities, but we are very different people. We act and react differently; but, this weekend and tonight, he had chosen to ACT, and I was glad. Joe is a good man, with a good and caring heart, and I trust Prisa’s choice.

 
Kathy arrived soon after, and we spent the next two hours reviewing the stories of Joe’s talk with me, his buying the ring, and the pending proposal. Kathy elicited some of Joe’s thoughts on marriage, the ceremony, and the future, but it was too soon to really plan, so we just talked. Joe was arranging to propose marriage to Prisa on the following Saturday afternoon, February 16^th, on the Ferris wheel on Santa Monica pier. We were pretty sure she would say yes.

 

Postscript: Kairos letter, November 5, 1997

 

"Dear Prisa Girl:

It amazes me how difficult it is to describe how much I love you, and how important you are in my life. Ever since the Kairos experience was explained to your mother and I, I have been overwhelmed with nostalgic memories and emotions about you. How can I say everything I feel? How can I convey even a portion of your importance to me in this letter? The clearest picture I have is of us talking in the car while driving home from a practice or a game. Those are moments of eternal bliss for me: Listening to you discuss school, friends, sports, college, and the future. I wish we could drive on forever.

 

I have a confession to make. You were not adopted from gypsies. You were actually the only child that was planned. You were the designer baby. I remember the day your mom informed me that it was time to have a girl. “A boy was nice”, she told me, “but a girl is vital” (How wise your mother was!). I was prepared for you. I was present in the delivery room when you were born. I would sit in the old rocking chair, holding you in my arms and feeling so comfortable and satisfied; that I wished time would stop. I taught you how to play catch on the front lawn while discussing the questions of life. I took you for your first driving lesson in the Volkswagen.

 

My greatest joy has been watching you experience life. You are a wonder! I should also admit that I’m a little envious of your abilities. I wish I had your SAT scores and grade point average. I wish I could catch fly balls like you. I wish I could hit like you. I wish I could dribble and shoot a basketball like you. I wish I had your compassion and empathy for others. But since I can’t BE you; I’d rather be your father.

 

Here we are, at a major crossroads in your life. I wish I could teach you how to avoid the hurts and disappointments that come to everyone’s life. I can’t (actually I could, but I don’t think you would listen). Life will continue to be your own experience. You have a wondrous capacity for joy and happiness. I trust you, and have every confidence in you.

 

Dearest Prisa, there is only one thing I want you to know, and believe. You are truly Loved. There is nothing you can ever do, choose, or say, that will ever jeopardize that Love.

 

I love you,

 

Dad"