That, however, stopped working for me. I am no longer a loyal dissenter. I’d tolerated the wrong of opposing birth control and divorce for a couple of generations now, but at some point I woke up and saw the specifics of the Catholic Church preaching against condoms in Africa (among other places), against gays being treated equally, and when I add that to the harm done through all this time, I couldn’t take it. It’s not just neutral; it’s doing evil. For years I forgave the church leaders for their ignorance, granted them their good intentions, but enough is enough. They are doing harm to many with their preaching. It’s not just an opinion when it comes from the pulpit. With great power comes great responsibility.

I haven’t given up on God, or Christianity in its non-literal metaphorical and most valuable truth, or on believing that doing good or trying to do good (well, maybe that’s just not doing harm) matters. I still feel it all and believe it in my own way.

(Image: broken church, by Rob the Tog, via Flickr cc)

Everything sparkles along with Eva’s three-year-old eyes and her three-year-old smile beams as she greets me from ear to ear, “Grandad.” This is an all-at-once event, past and future gone for a moment, melting into this lovely little girl greeting me as Grandad with a huge smile and a hug.

And behind her, his own little face beaming, the younger sib adapting instantaneously, and, remarkably, since he’s still getting his one-year-old voice and vocabularly, there is Boyan, beaming, and also saying, surprisingly distinctly, “Grandad.” And, just like his sister, giving me another huge smail and a big hug.

And then there followed a short, but sweet, visit. I picked Eva up at school, we dillied and dallied on the way back home, she showed me her parks and her playgrounds with pride. We read and read and read about princesses and princesses and princesses.

And Boyan, instantly familiar, flashing his smart smile and his mischevious grin. I’m so glad Paul has video, he’s amazing onthe scooter at barely 20 months old. You have to see it to believe, and even then, remind yourself that this little guy is not even two years old until next February.

And thus passed another good visit with Paul and Milena and Eva and Boyan. I sure wished they lived closer.

Some of the pictures here are from the New York Children’s Museum, which was our Saturday excursion.

The link back to the TED talk itself is: Ken Robinson says schools kill creativity | Video on TED.com.

We celebrated the next day, Oct. 3, a Saturday. Martha arranged it, and gave a very nice speech. Then Jay pulled out his haikus. I hope to post the video on YouTube, but I’m also going to try to recreate some of his commentary, aside from the actual haikus themselves. Where I don’t have commentary it’s because I don’t remember.

This first one is very familiar to the three of us, me and Chip and Jay, who grew up watching football with Dad.

Grass is greener
Things not great on the field
What the heck is goin on?
Put in that freshman.

Unholy Thing
Dad drinks his vodka
he likes it mixed with milk. Yuk.
I want to throw up.

Everybody in our family knows that dad has always liked his licorice more than any other sweets. Not unlike me. Here’s Jay’s tribute:

Black Goddess

Dad turning ninety!
Think of all the licorice
This man has eaten.

Good, True, and Beautiful

He comes from the Church
Virgin Mary watches him
St. Michael protects

His Lucky Day

After tragic loss
He sure did strike it lucky
When he found liz

First, we learned that wonderful Irish grandfather Jack O’Neill was actually mom’s stepfather, not real DNA for us. At least we were 100% Irish on Dad’s side — until the discovery, 10 or so years ago, that the Dudley in dad’s background was actually Dudelein, and we was French

Le Crushing Truth (Family Tree Shockeroo!)

Presumed all Irish
Til shocking revelation
Dudley’s Dudler

Jay pointed out how quick dad was to warn us about “ballooning up” and other familiar “don’t get fat” phrases. And that he had eaten 39 its-it (an ice cream treat popular in the San Francisco area) in a single weekend.

Dad’s World Record

Ya gotta, gotta
push yourself away from that
thirty ninth It’s it.

It turned out later that Uncle Cal had secretly bought a ping pong table and had been practicing for months when he, with pretended nonchalance, challenged dad to ping pong.

Ping Pong Apocalypse
Uncle Cal ready.
Dad plays with gin on table.
Dad whips Cal’s butt bad.

Jay wasn’t sure this actually happened and suggested he dreamt it because of something that had been said. Martha thought it did in fact happen (he is an ophthalmologist).

Weird Day Job
He removes eye balls,
Brings them home to show his kids.
They gleam on the shelf.

Controversy broke out in the neighborhood as the Knights planted trees that threatened the view. There was a discussion but Mr. Knight was unmoved and unsympathetic.

Bad Night for Mr. Knight
Tiptoe to Knight’s yard
One strange and moonless evening;
Too bad for that tree.

For many years in a row, Gram sent dad balloon seat pajamas for Christmas. We all laughed.

The Gift She Keeps on Giving
Each Berry Christmas,
The gift of hysteria,
Balloon Seat Classic.

Mushy But True
Language is useless.
Words don’t capture the feeling.
We love Dad so much.

He is a role model and encouragement for me and other baby boomers as we pass 60 and continue aging. 

And dad has something to tell us all about relationships too. After his wife (my mom) died when they were both in their 60s, he married again at age 69. He and his wife Liz had a 20th anniversary earlier this year.  That’s them at right, taken a couple years ago. Both of them were then in their 80s.

Yosemite means a lot to me. My dad took my brothers and me there many times when we were growing up in the San Francisco area. As a teenager I went backpacking into the Yosemite high country every summer. Later on, my wife and I took our kids up into the high country every summer. That first picture is me with our three oldest in 1980, on the shoulder below Half Dome.

I’m very much looking forward to the Ken Burns series on National Parks starting this month on PBS. He calls it “America’s Best Idea.” I second that. I’ve lived in Mexico and Austria as well as the U.S., and I’ve traveled to dozens of countries, but I’ve never seen anything like our own national park system. It’s a great privilege to be able to hold the polluting effects of civilization at bay in some of these great parks. Poor Mexico, my country-in-law, has tried hard but is just economically unable to hold back the tide, even though it has some natural beauties that truly deserve it. Too bad. Let’s be grateful for what we have. The website for the Ken Burns series says tell your story; and this is mine.

The second picture here is our family plus pack burro  on the far side of the river campsite at Little Yosemite Valley. That was in 1988. They used to rent pack burros in Yosemite for use by families and groups going out into the high country. We’d rent a burro for $15 per day and relieve ourselves of actually packing the stuff on our backs, which made it possible for a family to make a 4-5 day trip up into the mountains. My wife made those high-country trips into great family vacations. And we were always broke, so the $15 a day lodging cost was attractive. They don’t do that at Yosemite any more, because of problems like insurance, and people not respecting the implied privilege. And that’s too bad.

I’m particularly excited today because I’ve missed Yosemite since we moved to Oregon 17 years ago.  I do get into the Oregon Cascades a lot, but I’ve missed Yosemite and I’m anxious to visit again.

This last photo, taken above Nevada Falls in 1980, is of our three oldest children, now 37, 35, and 33 years old. I can’t say that I would be looking forward to backpacking tonight (we have a hotel room reserved) but I am very glad we were able to do it when we did. And very happy to visit again, later today.

Photo credits: first one by my wife Evangelina Berry, second by some teenage boy who was talking up our teenage daughters at the time, third one by me.

Compelling – will anyone care about your story? Is there a hook, a draw? Is there inherent emotional and intellectual appeal? What question is your story posing to the reader, and is the answer compelling enough for anyone to care?

Hero – yeah, we know we need a protagonist, blah blah blah. But is your lead character heroic? In what way? Do we empathize with what they need to do? What is at stake for her/him? What do they need to conquer, both internally and externally, to reach their goal? Why do we care about that goal? What is heroic about their ways and means of getting done what must be done in your story?

Conflict – nobody wants to read about a walk in the park. Really, they don’t. What opposes your hero’s quest? What does this conflicting force – usually a bad guy, a villain, but not always – want or need? What is at stake for him/her/it? Most importantly, how does this conflict exert the force of dramatic tension into the storyline, into each and every scene in the story?

Context – the most overlooked and taken-for-granted nuance in storytelling. What is the contextual sub-text at any given moment in your story… how is the past influencing the moment at hand?… how is the inherent conflict of the story exerting context into the moment at hand?… what forces influence the characters as they speak, take action, make decisions?… what is the thematic context of the overall story, and how does it manifest in the moment at hand? This is truly advanced stuff… master it and you’ll find yourself on a bookshelf somewhere. Context and dramatic tension – often synonymous, but not always – are what makes your scenes work.

Structure – that sound you hear is me once again beating this drum. Does your story unfold with a proper set-up? With the properly-placed and paced revelation of the hero’s new quest and need following that set-up? Has the context of the hero’s new journey, in a personal sense, been clearly established, and how does it affect what is said and done going forward? Are there shifts and surprises, valleys and peaks, both in terms of narrative exposition and dramatic tension?

Resolution – does the end of your story deliver an emotional payload to the reader? Does it makes sense? Will it linger once the final page has been turned? A killer resolution forgives the sins of softness in the story, but only if the hero is empathetic, the conceptual heart of the story rich and compelling, the thematic gift of the story penetrating, and the technical execution of the story optimized to make your ending the best it can be.

She was right and she showed it by cutting him out of her life. Brother and sister, cut off. Who won? Who was right? Who lost?

“So much loss,” the priest said, “over nothing more than who’s right.”

I got an email over the weekend from a neighbor whose brother had helped her buy her house (or something like that) and is now kicking her out of that house (or something like that). She wrote that email to a group of people, including us. She doesn’t know us very well. She’s calling him names. He’s kicking her out of her house. Her daughter wants to divorce the rest of the family. Her mother is siding with her brother.

Family fight. Nobody wins. Time goes by, people lose each other, and for what?

Samuel Johnson said happiness was anticipation, more than realization. Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning indicated it was being needed by loved ones, helping loved ones. Towards the end of this talk, she puts up an interesting set of slides about quantum change in values.

And what does Sheryl Crow say, in Soak up the Sun? It’s:

It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got.

You can click here for the actual TED site.

Happiness seems really important to me. I guess I’d have to say I think I know it when I see it, but I wouldn’t want to have to define it.

This is an interesting talk.

I started wanting it as soon as I realized they were selling new ones, rather than just refurbished old ones. More so when I actually saw them around. And then when Cristin graduated from Whitman, I gave her my RAV 4 and bought — it took about a year, because of the waiting list — a new 2005 Mini.

Cristin would say things like “at least your midlife crisis was just a Mini-Cooper, not a Porsche.” Not so bad.

I got it in April of 2005. That wood I refer to got darker and darker into 2006 — the Mini made it better, me and my car, but it didn’t solve anything — but finally started clearing up in 2007, thanks to reading, Carl Jung, meditation, and some related phenomena.

The car and I parted company very happily, four years later, when I gave it to Megan as she started adult life down in Palo Alto with a fresh new degree and a fresh new job. I drove it down there with her, for two perfect days.

When I got the new Audi TT to replace it, Cristin came home that day and said, “Dad, you turned in your hippy car for a preppy car.” Gulp. But then yesterday I took the Audi over Fox Hollow after dinner, I’m starting to really like it. And I love having left the Mini at a good place.