A recovered memory

Not unlike a lot of people, I get particularly reflective at the close of one year and the introduction of another. And in that window of transition, I’ve developed, or at least tried to develop, the habit of cleaning out old things. I’ll toss files I haven’t looked at in a long time. Dig through boxes that contain paperwork and thoughts from years ago, all with the idea of shedding what is no longer needed to make room for whatever the next year might bring.

That’s what I was doing on the last day of 2018, when I came across a file filled with thoughts I had written many, many years ago. In it were two pieces of yellow legal paper with a poem I had scribbled out. I didn’t date it, so I can’t say for certain how old it is. But I remember that time, and that poem well. It took me back to a time in my life that is quite distant from today. To a time when I my kids were young – likely around 6 and 3. And to a time when life was a nearly-constant struggle, and when I couldn’t see a path to where it wouldn’t always be exactly what it had always been.

I wish I could share it with you, but honestly, I’m too embarrassed. It’s too personal, too melancholy, and too hopeless. And I’ve never felt like I’m very good at writing poetry. But I can tell you the gist of it: It was basically an apology to my kids for the circumstances of their birth. Because I felt at the time if they had been born to someone in a higher station – to a father who had been born wealthier, or better positioned, their childhoods and futures might hold a little more promise. And I wrote about the conflict I felt at the time about telling my kids what I called a “comforting lie” that I imagine a lot of poor parents tell their poor kids – that despite being born to young, impoverished, uneducated, and unprepared parents, there’s no obstacle that can stand in the way of whatever they want. So long as they work and try hard enough.

I warned you it was dark and melancholy.

Time, as it does, provides perspective. Today my kids are grown, and doing well. My daughter has a family of her own. She also started young – though not quite as young as her parents began. Her  husband and her have two daughters, who are both healthy and happy. And it seems they’re on a more stable financial footing than her parents were at the same point in time. My son is getting his feet under him, learning a lot, and working to perfect his chosen craft – music. Whatever fears I held all those years ago about my kids’ unfortunate lot in life and its effect on their futures has largely been replaced with faith in their abilities and optimism in the thoughtfulness with which they engage life.

Back when I wrote out those words, our family had struggled for enough years that it was hard to see very far in front of me. Like most parents, I wanted to provide the best world possible for my kids. And like most parents, that is in part restricted – or at least if feels restricted – where one is born into the world. I worked hard, but at a job that didn’t pay terribly well. I’d take a second job, and make a little more money – and in the process lose time with my family. It seemed that I couldn’t work enough to get financially ahead of what it took to maintain a family, even at lower middle class levels. As the years passed, and things never seemed to improve, it started to seem that they never would. And for a father who thought his children deserved more, and who wanted to give it to them, the never-ending string of setbacks that knocked every advance back to zero was chronically demoralizing.

Finding this old file was a good way to end the year and start a new one. It’s good to remember my state of mind from that time, and the crushing defeat I had felt for so long. And it’s good to remember that things change, and often get better over time – even if it’s hard to find cause for encouragement when you’re struggling every day to scratch out a living. It’s actually somewhat amazing that so many people can, and do, improve their lots over time, despite the fact that the odds are stacked against them.

It’s also good to remember that the feelings that drove me to write those words all those years ago, are the same sort of feelings that other families are experiencing today, and every day.