The (500-mile diameter) Family Circle
Storytelling is a fundamental part of creating a vision. Stories set tone and context. They make it possible to imagine yourself in the world of the vision. Add in laughter and you enter a gateway to immersion. My dad loved to tell stories.
Dad loved to tell stories. Snippets of entrepreneurial advice. Remembrances of his parents’ bike shop in Chicago. Adventures from my childhood. One of the stories he told often was about how he chose where to live after he graduated from college. He would pantomime opening up a big paper map, snatch the imaginary pencil from behind his ear, point to Chicago (where his parents lived then), and then draw a 500-mile radius circle around the city. He wanted to live outside that circle. Beyond the range of an easy day drive and into the long-distance calling range (this was in the 1950’s).
It is perhaps not a surprise that Dad named his company Mavrix, and definitely in character to have cowboy artwork as a favorite genre. He liked to do things on his own, his own way. Now, don’t get me wrong here, Dad wasn’t a lone wolf. He loved people, especially if they enjoyed his stories.
He had a really amazing way of enticing people to join him on his quests. From making it a game for us kids to help him clean the car every Friday night (Every week. We LOVED it. Cue the chamois, vacuum cleaner, the whole shebang)….to driving cross country to hike the Bright Angel trail from the south rim of the Grand Canyon to the Colorado River with no training other than a quick read of the guide book. (Had he known emergency helicopter service was available he would have found a way to make that happen.) On a similar hike in Zion National Park, we dipped our toes into the Virgin River at 5am and hiked straight through on the last possible day of the season. 14 hours. After about 30 minutes in the icy water we couldn’t feel our feet. My brother dropped the camera into the river an hour later. And yet, the hike remains one of my all-time great memories!
Dad was full of crazy hard ideas and made them seem (and be!) fun. On the other side of the spectrum was my mom. She loved the details, and was great at spotting why something wouldn’t work. She was like the Mom in the holiday show we watch every winter who says, “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Of course she was mostly right, but we loved the rush of the unknown. The tug of war between their two styles was on display every day — playing out on the stage of the dinner table. Mom tried to get us to use our silverware like proper dukes and duchesses. Dad led the resistance. We’ll never be invited to Buckingham palace! Who cares about how precisely we cut our food? And off we’d roar with Dad, on our latest quest learning how to eat spicy food by incrementally increasing the amount of hot pepper flakes on the pizza, with Mom looking askance.
The tug of styles has played out throughout my life. Brainstorming ideas in a business meeting: how to balance encouraging bold ideas but at the same time pruning things that are out of scope before the idea takes root. That is a hard one. Or with my kids — encouraging them to run, but putting boundaries on where (not in the street!). One of my favorite approaches is from a parenting class: tell folks what you want, rather than what you don’t want. Providing a vision helps to direct action. It also provides some wiggle room for divergence and creativity along the way.
Dad used to call me about once a week. Just to check in. We’d talk for maybe 2, maybe 10 minutes. Once he figured out I was doing OK — which he got from the tone of my voice — he’d be satisfied and he’d sign off. But not usually before he told another of his stories, often for the nth time. I used to get impatient, but came to understand this was his way of sharing wisdom without constraining or limiting me. Providing context from his life experiences gave me information I could use to reflect on my situation. The Book of Dad.
Dad and then Mom passed away this last year. Dad after a short illness, but one that allowed us time to talk, think, confront, resolve. Through the whole ordeal, Dad was upbeat, and kept reiterating that he lived a long and good life and was not angry about dying. He was so gracious. We kept laughing till the end. He crazily made death fun. Or, maybe, I was so used to him wanting things to be fun for us, that is the way I wanted the dying process to be for him. We managed to get in a few visits to him, even during the height of COVID at the hospital (for which I am ever grateful to the hospice staff!!!). Every visit we brought in his favorite raspberry shake. He’d smile, we’d share food together, and then we’d tell a story.
The last story we shared was about Mom. She collected her details and never let them go. The basement was packed. The dining room table, oh my. She kept accumulating her various papers on its surface. She desperately wanted Dad home from the hospital for Thanksgiving and so we started to clean it off. I have the funniest home video of her wearing a hilarious baseball cap sprouting fake hair, excavating one pile on the table and declaring that the bottom paper was “from 2010!” We both were breathless, laughing. Dad didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving, but we ate at that table, and took what turned out to be Dad’s last meal to him in the hospital. Over the weekend, we began cleaning out the basement — 50 years of accumulated life and good wishes. Our last moments with Dad were on a video call hosted by the hospice nurse, taking him on a tour of the basement project — look Dad! We can actually see the wall! And just laughing.
Mom went really fast. Less than 6 months after Dad and just weeks after we’d gotten her on the dance floor at a cousin’s wedding, dancing with her canes. We got to hold Mom’s hand as she took her last breath. Not over zoom this time (for which I am ever grateful to the hospital staff). We then found ourselves, my sisters and I, back at Mom and Dad’s house, bereft.
After a brief sojourn outside of the family circle, Mom and Dad had moved back and for the last 50 years lived within an easy drive of much of our extended family. The week of Mom’s passing brought so many people from all branches of kin who stopped by to help. They brought food and ate it with us. They cleaned out my parents’ closets. Helped dig the years out of the basement. Uncovered a trove of porn in the attic. Boxes of clothes from the 1970’s labeled for Mom’s rummage sale that never happened. Found that box of dolls Mom thought my sister and I had tossed. Made a zillion trips to ReStore, the used book store, and Goodwill.
It was an amazing outpouring of friendship and family. Most importantly they brought stories and we gristed new ones! Looking at old school homework and science fair projects. Counting mouse carcasses. Happening upon high school love letters that I thought I had thrown away years ago but were there in my desk, organized with Mom’s precision. Finding Mom’s diaries and scrapbooks. Sharing childhood pictures. Connecting with friends. Mom and Dad would have wanted it that way.
