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I post this writing, which I first wrote some six years ago (and tried to polish since), primarily to ask for your input as to its style, flow, cohesiveness, interest . . . well, you know. The reason is that I'm intently immersed in writing a novel and the views on this forum, which I've rapidly grown to respect, will play a large role in my further writing. Granted, writing a novel is different from writing this essay, given that I was personally vested in this piece; however, there will, I'm sure, be some views and comments that will apply to both. The essay below is a(n) homage to a man whom I knew for years and is my effort to condense onto paper, as fog condenses on glass, the whole of the man for his family and close friends. Not an easy man to understand!
Thank you for reviewing and, if applicable, any comments.
Bill
CHARLIE
Charlie was a complex man.
Not complex like the inner workings of an automatic transmission where hundreds of moving parts operate fairly predictably. Not complex like our government’s various tax codes, filled with detail and accounting minutia.
No . . . Charlie was complex like the Moon. It rests in its heavenly cradle, revolving around Earth, with which it seems obsessed, yet never allowing us to see its other side . . . well, no . . . Charlie was not complex like the Moon. He was not a romantic nor was he prone to stick to a rigid schedule.
No . . . Charlie was complex like a symphony by Bach or Debussy with its metric structure, cogent sound and appeal to our gentile nature and higher emotions . . . well, no . . . Charlie was not complex like a symphony. He was not poetic nor would he adhere to someone else’s scale.
No . . . Charlie was complex like the ocean. We can see its surface although it’s always changing and, except where the seas meet and mate with the shore on their tidal timetables, we shall never discover everything beneath the waves.
Yes . . . Charlie was complex like the ocean. Charlie was also my father.
I suppose it can be easily argued that we are all complex like Charlie was. I’ve learned that all things are complex if we try to understand them. It seems to be a law of nature that everything is simple if we refuse to understand, complex only if we try to understand, and simple again only when we finally understand.
But Charlie was complex in a different way. Once you thought you understood him, he would surprise you by showing another dimension, another behavior or another level of intelligence that you would not think he possessed. He didn’t do this consciously, to throw you off the trail of his true nature. It was his true nature! Society is filled with those who wear a set of personality traits, usually well practiced, while in the outside world and then shed those traits when in the presence of family or the closest of friends. Although Charlie may not have been aware of this very human foible, it was one of his most accomplished skills.
I first met Charlie in April of 1946, shortly after my birth. During my youth, I learned little about Charlie’s youth, gleaning bits from short stories he told about his family or experiences in the Navy during the war. As a youngster, I didn’t realize the significance of my father’s life experiences. In fact, I didn’t understand the impact of anyone’s life experiences on every day that follows. I only knew that he was the tallest, strongest, most intelligent, most artistically talented person on the planet.
Later in life, around puberty, I began to discover, much to my chagrin, that he possessed human characteristics. They seemed to spring out at the world as from inside a jack-in-the-box. I didn’t understand where they came from so suddenly. After all, up to that point, he was the real Superman.
As young children, we tend to live only in the present, don’t we? We don’t appreciate our past, as short as it may be, much less the pasts of our parents and other elders, as long as they may seem. We have much larger issues: which game to play, which new toy can we not live without this week, who is our best friend today, and other worries. And so, we accept our parents as we find them and expect them to stay that way forever. From a child’s perspective, life and our surroundings are static, and for the sake of our own security, we want everything to remain so, especially where our parents are concerned. Not until we are older do we realize that even our parents were changing as we were and each day’s experiences impacted every day that followed. And so it was for Charlie as it is for everyone.
It is arguable that our first impressions of parents and other elders varies depending on which of our various senses are available to us at the time. First memories of our mothers are usually based on touch or smell. Like the male of almost all species, seahorses notwithstanding, our fathers tend to appear comparatively aloof, a fact of life which is compelled by biology and/or psychology. And so, the first memories of our fathers are usually based on vision, as were my first memories of Charlie.
Charlie was a striking figure of a man. He stood about six feet, two inches tall and possessed a proud bearing with square, broad shoulders. When he entered a room, a restaurant, or a store, Charlie didn’t just walk in; he strode in. He didn’t stride like a Texas cowboy just out of the saddle, but more like a man who knew that everyone there was happy to see him or, if not, would be soon. He possessed a practiced presence as if he really believed that you are whom you project.
His dark, wavy hair, a gift from his father, Charles Senior, had a mind of its own. Although it was usually in order, kept so by a comb which he always carried, on occasion, it looked like a dark, stormy sea, the waves never quite organized. His sideburns were puffy, more so after he aged, and resembled a layer of gray cotton.
Charlie’s facial features were pleasant, even ruggedly handsome. Over the years, those features were sculpted by life’s salvos and finished by the sandpapers of time. He wasn’t blessed with dramatic, sharply chiseled features. Instead, he had pleasantly rounded, yet firm, features that might remind one of both Johnny Cash and Conway Twitty. His eyes were very versatile and they had the ability to speak. They sparkled childishly when he was pulling your leg or telling a joke. They glared harshly when he was frustrated or angry. And they resembled those of a Bassett hound when he was disappointed or thinking about someone close who had left life.
He carried large hands that were heavily veined and forever calloused. They appeared to be firmly and expertly welded to his wrists and reflected a life which required manual skills and strength. They added to the impression, along with his frame and carriage, that this man could take care of himself, and if you needed his help, he was up to the task.
Charlie was capable of displaying a sense of humor that belied his otherwise bucolic personality. When everything was right with his world, he could be quick witted with humorous observations that, at times, came straight at you, and at other times, from “left field”. When he spoke, he expected you to listen, and when you spoke, you could be sure he was listening as well.
Politically, Charlie was a conservative; behaviorally, Charlie was a liberal. This might seem hypocritical; however, if we look around, we find it to be the rule, not the exception, among society in general.
Very little deep reflection and insight is necessary to realize that, as individuals, we each have two sets of behavioral values. Each is a collection of expectations, ethics and mores. One set, chiseled in stone, applies to society, including ourselves, when we are outside our private sphere. When called upon, it is proudly and stubbornly held high so that all can see its righteousness and virtue. The other set is chiseled in sand and applies to us only. Its durability is subject to the winds of change and tides of time. It can remain set for decades or change every day. It is seldom taken from its hiding place to be examined in private, much less public, light. We not only see this most human of traits in ourselves but also in great and lesser characters of history, including political leaders, corporate executives, clerics, and next door neighbors. It would be easy to define this apparent dichotomy as a human fault; yet, it is more humane to define it simply as a human trait. After all, these two sets of values are not always, and need not be, mutually exclusive. In fact, the closer these two sets of values resemble each other, the greater the chance that who we think we know is who that person is, ourselves included.
Charlie never seemed to have a problem with this apparent contradiction in values. In fact, it probably seemed perfectly natural to him, given his “you are whom you project” philosophy.
Charlie was not a disciplinarian in any sense of the word. That’s not to say he wasn’t disciplined. He always expected the best of himself and strived to achieve perfection in any task that he undertook. However, although he expected the best efforts from his children, he usually didn’t apply discipline to compel them to achieve. He always believed that they would find their own way in the world and it might not be or, not to put too fine a point on it, probably would not be, his way.
Charlie was not a genius; yet, he was a very intelligent man whose time and circumstances of birth did not allow him the advantage of education beyond high school. Likewise, his personality did not allow him to flaunt the strength of his intellect if, indeed, he was ever aware of it. His priorities as a young man did not include evolution of his intellect; rather, his prime priority seemed to be protection of the one within.
Charlie was many things in his life: son, brother, husband, father, friend, sailor, farmer, petticoat-chaser, airplane pilot, cabinetmaker, carpenter, party animal, grocer, hunter, fisherman, building engineer, sheriff’s deputy, patented inventor and certified World War II Navy hero, among many others. He was courageous without hesitation and intelligent without arrogance.
There were many things that Charlie was not in his life: braggart, overachiever, long-suffering and faithful husband, or doting and overprotective father. He was not obnoxious, insensitive nor obstinate beyond reason.
In this Shakespearesque play called Life, with its drama, tragedy and humor, Charlie was a character who was appreciated by the vast majority of people who knew him yet none fully understood the character, much less the role.
Charlie was, in his own way, a Renaissance man in a minor key.
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! I may not even submit the next two if it's going to be such a pain in the butt.
