Author: Douglas

I have no idea where souls come from. Whether God plucks them by purpose or random from a resevoir, they are created miraculously at the moment of conception, or begin as babies do and grow with their fleshly bodies I can assure you that yours has ended up in a family of generosity.

Over the years you will no doubt learn by their example.

The initial stage of generosity is the most concrete: gifts. These are convenient for celebrations and holidays. They commonly come in packages with bright wrapping paper and sometimes bows. Do not overlook the less conspicuous versions though: a bought meal, a loaned car, or a fold-away couch to sleep on. In general, you will find this kind of generosity to be fun to play with or easy to recognize and understand.

A little bit harder to notice is when people share their skills and abilities. They may teach you how to pitch a tent, fix your car, knit a sweater, or paint a picture. No bubble-wrap or overnight shipping here. This happens one on one. Hallmarks of this kind of generosity are sweat, a pat on the back, aching muscles, or a new skill of your own to pass along to others.

So the most subtle and strong form is in the generosity of a person’s life. At first you might think this is simply a compilation of the first two building to a lifetime of rich experience. But it is more than that and I am only just begining to understand and recognize it myself. What I know so far is that it takes years to accomplish and ironically makes the first two blur into unrecognizability.
You just look back one day and realize that someone has been so generous with their time that you can’t imagine having been without them in the past or being without them in the future.

Dad

So let’s talk about your name. No not that one, there isn’t much I can tell you that you won’t find out for yourself by wearing it. I mean the one that I have worn for 35 years and you Mother picked up a few years back, your last one.

It happens to be a particularly good week to discuss this topic since we kicked off the week by celebrating it.

Your last name is quite a mouthful so it may be a while before you get it pronounced correctly and even longer befor you can spell it right too. I have always thought of it as one of those crazy last names that people can end up with, certainly not as familiar as Smith or Jones or Johnson.

On the first day of school–every first day–you will have to listen for the teacher to make it to the part of the alphabet where you ought to come next. He or she will pause as if to think, “This looks like I should be able to say it, but maybe not.” That’s when you raise you hand and say, “Here!” I am sure it will be even more fun with Tessavale for a first name. Let me know.

On the phone when telling people your contact information you will have to spell it for them, carefully enunciating each letter so that the have time to absorb each one. I recommend starting with the catch phrase I picked up from your Grandmother, “F as in Frank.” Get used to saying this as well, “No, actually it’s from Austria.”

So on top of being Austrian its also a Catholic last name, which for the time being comes in handy for you since we are Catholic. Ultimately that will be your choice, but please stir clear of the LDS folks if you can help it. Anyhow, as I alluded to earlier in this disjointed entry, this is a great week to talk about your last name because the Tuesday before Lent–also known as Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday, and some others–is our day.

Each year I think about having some sort of party, but I am not too much of a planner or thinker-ahead or a party person for that matter. Maybe you can instigate a tradition of some kind for your generation.

So there you go, Tessavale, a totally unorganized, nearly contentless entry concerning your last name. I blame the quality on the amount of sleep you have allowed me.

Thanks. Remind me to ground you for a month or so.

Dad

Dear Tessavale,

Before you came, if I ever said that I loved your mother as much as I ever could, I was wrong. I love her much more now than I ever have before.

I knew that she would be a great mother. I thought she would grow into it along with me. We would start off with some basic skills and build into master parents with each new experience you gave us. It turns out that this is not the case.

Nothing scream at her rattles her patience or strains her love for you. You can cry for food and she feeds you and this isn’t enough, so you cry for changing. She changes you and this isn’t enough, so you cry for burping. She burps you and this isn’t enough so you cry for bouncing. She bounces you and this still isn’t enough so you cry for something mysterious, something we can not find.

Crying stretches your body into a rigid arc–head purple with rage–and you stop breathing for that brief eternity that would make a normal mother curse, but she continues to cuddle you and softly, calmly, effortlessly speak your name…

“Tessa. Tessa. Tessa. Tessa. We’re right here. Come back to us. It’s alright.”

And though it would be sweet and happy to say that you miraculously return to the world refreshed and smiling, you don’t. You strangle that cry into another more pitiful than I would have thought possible.

And again.

Then you just stop. You are back in her arms, eyes wide open, purple rushing back to pink like nothing ever happened.

“See I told you everything was alright,” your mother tells you.

It is then that I know you will never exhaust her love for you.

It is then that I know, tomorrow I will love her even more than I do today.

Sincerely,

Dad

So I had my first Dad dream earlier this week. Strangely I wasn’t the Dad, my father was.

I don’t recall the entire plot any longer, but that does not matter too much. My brother, sister and I were in a house loosely laid out like that of a old family friends. Inside there were more knick knacks than I recall them having. Outside there was an approaching forest fire.

I was in charge since I am the oldest, but none of us knew quite what to do. Should we get out of the house or should we stay put? As things typically occur in dreams, I found myself, without preamble, on the phone with my father. Now the fire was in the house. Licking up the walls devouring pictures, candle sconces, fake flowers, and post-its.

My father tells me, “Get out of the house. It’s on fire.”

__________

It is good to know that even in my subconscious I can count on my father to solve dangerous emergent problems quickly and effectively. I am encouraged to know that I have such a great example of fatherhood to emulate.

I hope that when Tessavale calls on me with a difficult life problem: she’s pulled her oxygen tube out again and her diaper is wet. She’s fallen off her bike and scraped her knee. She’s having trouble with long division in math. She’s just missed making first chair for violin. She’s hurt her ankle at a track meet and can’t qualify for state. She’s gotten too drunk to drive home from a party. She’s flunked her chemistry final and will maybe lose her scholarship because of the lower GPA. She’s been dumped by the guy she thought was going to propose at graduation. Or she’s wrecked her car on the way back from work and its raining.

I hope I will be able to tell her, “Get out of the house. It’s on fire.”

Dad