Call me Ishmael

If any of you have taken a look at my current reading selections, you might have unconsciously winced as the words "Moby Dick" skittered across your vision. I know, I know. It's one of those novels that for years the public school system has crammed down our throats, telling us over and over again that it's a time-honored classic and a truly great American novel.

Who would have guessed that they were actually right for a change?

After some inward debate, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that I held a duty to the academic world to actually read the books listed in the literary cannon. Whether past or present makes no difference, nor does the actual inclusion on the list. . . . What actually matters is whether or not the work is or has been considered a classic piece of literature. And going by that definition, "Moby Dick" certainly should be included.

Calm down. There's no reason to roll your eyes. I'm not about to dive headlong into a long-winded, incredibly dreadful, 'I'd rather sit through an eight hour insurance seminar' diatribe about why all of us should actually read such Great works of classic literature. That's for each of us to decide on his own. But I am going to try to persuade you to pick this one up and give it a chance--assuming that you have not yet done so, of course.

Right from the first line, "Call me Ishmael," Melville introduces the reader to the main character in a warm, friendly greeting and in only a few pages you feel like you've known Ishmael for quite some time. He's an easy character to like. Simple. Straightforward. And Quite funny at times. If I remember correctly, I think I actually laughed out-loud when he met Queequeg, the island cannibal with whom he sets sail. Captain Ahab doesn't even appear until around the midway point of the book, but when he does the fact that something is wrong with his mental state is immediately apparent. The way Melville sets him up is brilliant. He has more than one secondary character drop his name in idle conversation, along with hints to the ever-present darkness that lingers around him. Even after they set sail, none of the crew see him until the voyage is nearly a week old and when he finally does emerge from below deck, he is not a disappointment. Of course, there are some things I could have done without, such as the whole chapter devoted to the different species of whales . . . and the odd section where it veers away from first person narration to be dictated in a play-like fashion . . . I admit, I nearly slept through that entire batch of writing. Overall, however, I love Melville's style of prose. It's full of imagery and symbolism that can be surmised by the above average reader, so you won't have to be a literary professor to figure out key underlying points in the story.

If any of you have read it, or decide to pick it up, drop me a line and tell me what you think about it. I'd love to know.

The First Day of School

To tell you the truth, from the time I left my secondary school days behind me up until the day my daughter started going to school some nine years later, this day always just, you know, faded into the background. Okay, maybe not entirely.

I admit that occasionally while strolling the Wal*Mart aisles buying books or movies or groceries or whatever people buy at that infernal store, seeing children huddled around the school supplies may have tickled a memory from among the dark recesses of my mind. Believe it or not--and I know many of my old schoolmates will not believe it--but I actually liked going to school. I liked opening new packs of paper and pens and pencils. I liked wearing new school clothes and shoes. Every year we're given the chance to start over. To do better. To build upon the knowledge we'd accumulated over the years. If we were athletes or band members, we held the advantage of another year of experience. To our cliques, we added one more year to the foundations of our friendships. And maybe the most important of all, it was one more chance to build up the courage to speak to that girl you couldn't forget about over the summer.

No, not everything about returning to school was bad.

I won't go into detail about those things which caused dread to fill my heart with every new school year. For the sake of keeping this post out of the cellar of sorrow, let's just gloss over it and say there were plenty of those as well. Then again, I wouldn't be me if I didn't say I hope teachers and parents learn from past mistakes and try their best to instill in today's youth a profound understanding for tolerance and diversity. After all, the people we think are so very different from us in our school years aren't really that different at all . . . they just may be experiencing the world in a much different manner at the time.

So, my daughter started fifth grade today and this is only the second school year since my separation/divorce that she has started school without me. I hope she's doing okay. I know she was waiting with excitement for the new year to start--and, why not, she's a queen of the school. Her and her cohorts rule the playground. They dominate their territory like mighty jungle cats. Until next year that is . . . when they quietly ascend the educational ladder to middle school, yet still somehow manage to sink in peer status. I hope she's doing okay. I hope she's having fun and learning something new, even if it's just the new kid's name. And I hope she's not just building upon her foundations of knowledge and friendships and experiences, but tolerance and understanding as well.

Define Yourself

How often have you read the words of an "inspirational" quote and actually been inspired? Did the words resound within you; did they make you feel that catch in your chest? You know the catch I'm talking about. It's that feeling you get when you read or hear words that could have originated from deep within you if only you'd had the ability to articulate your innermost beliefs--those words which propel your mind and emotions to action. Maybe words alone have never made you feel this way. Or perhaps you're the type of person who can find meaning on the side of a Starbucks cup. Either way, inspiration only goes so far. The real question is, how often have you used those words to propel yourself forward, as the impetus for action in your life?

The quote I've chosen for this week's Quote of the Week, is by Harvey Fierstein and when I read his words they did make me feel that catch in my chest.

Most people I've been associated with throughout my life--whether classmates, friends, or co-workers--don't realize just how much my family struggled during my adolescent years. (Now, before my family gets bent out of shape, reads this and starts assuming that I'm defaming the family name, that's not what I'm trying to do at all. I love my family, as flawed and dysfunctional as we are I can say that with the utmost sincerity. But that doesn't mean I can't envy those families who are able to show love and respect for one another at all times.) It wasn't just that we were poor and often ran out of grocery money after the first week of the month or had to heat bath water on the stove at times because the gas had been turned off, it was more than that. Much more. Like the pervasive alcohol and drug use that ran unchecked through my extended family. The volatile holidays with brothers fighting, flinging one another around the room and into the Christmas tree. And the extended shouting matches between Uncles and Aunts and Grandparents. Of course, all of this was considered "normal" by family standards and I didn't really think much about any of it until after I left Ohio and was able to see how the other half lived.

What does any of this have to do with Harvey Fierstein's quote? I'm getting to that.

You see, for the past few years I've been trying to change my life: to actually live in a world where the dreams I have are not just dreams but life goals. I thought I'd been doing a pretty good job of it, too, until someone casually mentioned that at times I, "hide behind my background." Those words hurt more than I wanted them to and I couldn't understand why, until I realized that they were true. As much as I've accomplished over the past few years in terms of obtaining the education I've always wanted, in certain situations, I was quick to assign failures to background related issues.

Here I am in the midst of living life on my terms, yet I'm still letting an underclass background define me.

Maybe I've grown up thinking that a person is always going to be a product of his environment, but if that's the case, I've been very wrong. To paraphrase someone who found the words while I was grasping for meaning, our environments and personalities exist in a fluid--ever-shifting--symbiotic relationship; each has influence upon the other, but only for a short time do they actually effect our current situations. Afterward, they're stored as experiences and, both, personality and environment change because of the addition to the foundations of each. Those who have the courage and insight, take these new experiences and motivate themselves as they move forward on the path of life, to achieve whatever dreams and desires fill their waking moments. Achievements can be many things and the greatest are glorious deeds.

While my background might have added to the foundation of who I am for a few years of my life, it can never define me. The only thing that can truly define who and what we are, is action, and each day we're given the opportunity to remake ourselves as we want to be seen. Of course, now that I realize my own excuses have been holding me back, showing me a false vision every time I look into the mirror, the only thing left to do is define myself from this moment forward.

Take some time and think about it. What moment or action have you let define you? Is it really who you are? And what has it stopped you from achieving?