More Than Kids

Shoes Under My Feet

I am ending this month writing about something simple, and until recently, uninteresting. I am writing about shoes. I have begun appreciating how shoes allow us to live. I have also begun visualizing how shoes tell stories from a child's perspective.

I like shoes. My wife likes shoes, and so do both of my little children. And everything would be alright, except that life begins every morning, and so does the "shoe drama." Shoes disappear. Shoes have suddenly become too small. The kids dump sand onto our floor from the previous day's adventures. The adults are not innocent either.

So, as much as we may say we like shoes. We even collect shoes. We often forget to appreciate shoes. I am trying to change.

I wish that I could say that my moment of shoe clarity occurred after prayer or meditation. Instead, I changed after acting petty and selfish.

One day after work, my wife saw my dress shoes in the front room. When she asked me to put them away, I responded defensively about her two pair of sandals in the same living room. While I was factually correct, I had been watching her sandals just in case she said something about my shoes. I was keeping score, a behavior that will destroy any relationship. I convinced myself that I was better than she was...all for two pair of sandals that my wife left in her house.

I told the story to two friends. Both times, I was quite proud of my clever defense. I realize now that I hadn't defended myself. I attacked my wife. After I told the story to a woman friend, she told me,"These arguments -- it's never about the shoes."

My friend is probably correct, and most arguments are usually about something else. Unfortunately, our anger towards each other keeps us from appreciating shoes. By refocusing my energy, I hope that I will be able to see how shoes allow children a chance to play, or a chance to walk or swim, or dance or jump in a puddle.

I hope that I will continue to appreciate the shoes, because it won't be like this for long. Some day my children will grow up, and the shoes and their little feet will be gone.

shoes for children - Images by bryan farley

Upward Bound, University of San Francisco

Since May, I have worked for the Upward Bound program at the University of San Francisco. My work is enjoyable and important. But the students have been doing the most important work this summer. And today, we tell them good-bye for the summer. Some students will return to high school; some will move onto college, all will be more prepared for their future.

Earlier this week, I heard one of my favorite songs from high school. The song is by Crosby, Stills and Nash ("Southern Cross"); I like the song for many reasons, including the line, "We never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do." And I started thinking about failure and its role in education. Yesterday when I said good-bye to a large group of our students, I reminded them that I was proud of them and that I respected their effort, even the students that didn't seem to do much.

I told them of another quote by the legendary UCLA basketball coach John Wooden. "The team that makes the most mistakes wins." As educators, it is important that we teach students to embrace mistakes.

The Upward Bound students give up their summer to improve their lives. During the summer, the students make many mistakes. Sometimes mistakes happen, because they are trying something new. Sometimes, students are not prepared. Sometimes, the students just mess up. But, assuming that students learn from their mistakes,our students will be better prepared for life. When Upward Bound students become the first from their families to make it to college, they will see other young people making mistakes that the Upward Bound students are making now at age 15 or 18.

As educators, it is important that we remember the benefit of failure, and not shame our students or ourselves. Mistakes are an essential part of the learning process.

The slideshow below is a collection of a few of our Upward Bound students. In the first photo, I included one of my many mistakes. (In photography,I mess up often... much more often than people realize.) And sometimes, my happy accidents become "keepers." In the first photo,by accidentally aiming too low, I focussed on the student's expression, thereby capturing her confidence, determination and resolve. These characteristics are common for most of our students, and though I am sure our students will committ many more mistakes, our students will also succeed.

Upward Bound Summer Farewell - Images by bryan farley

The Happiness of Tree Swings and Tree Houses

Recently, a friend wrote to me, "...forgive me, but, I gathered from your writing that you may be sad." Her message was incredibly kind; I treasure it. And she is correct. I am sad.

I am also quite happy.

For a few years, I had stopped feeling, even unable to appreciate my son's constant laughter, and for a sentimental person like me, I was aware of the loss. I just couldn't feel it. So, I appreciate being able to feel sadness.  And I enjoy feeling happy and smiling and laughing with my son when he tells a joke that makes sense to a three year old.

Which brings me to tree swings and tree houses. Somehow, a tree swing is both relaxing and exciting. It provides isolation or builds a community. A tree swing always seems to meet a person's needs, and the swing almost always leaves a person feeling happy. I enjoy watching the excitement of children and adults as they connect with nature, as they calculate whether the rope will hold their weight, and whether they will crash into the nearby tree or branch. Tree swings are much more interesting than playground swings.

Tree swings and tree houses are a place to gather, for old and young. They are a place to learn cooperation. They are a place to experience happiness. We could use more of these places.

Tree houses are mythical. When I was 8, we played in the fig trees at the end of the block. We found boards from the new home developments and hammered 2x4's into the trees, hoping that we would create something more unique than the new track homes that were replacing the fig orchards. Even now, I think that we did. I miss our happy fig tree houses, and I miss the fig orchards. Such happy memories.
tree swing - Images by bryan farley

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Somewhere in Lilliput

This weekend, I visited creative people from my past. My first stop was with Jay Esparza, someone I met in a high school club. The Fresno High Senate connects graduates with current students, the past with the future. The graduates mentor current students; the club is the oldest of its kind in the country...or West of the Mississippi. My second stop was with "Uncle Charlie" and his daughter. Uncle Charlie is one of my father-figures. His artist daughter is no longer the 10 year old that I once baby sat. She is a beautiful young woman of 35. I have known these three since I was a teenager, when I didn't think that 35 was young.

A few years ago, after a successful career as an art director in the video game industry, Jay returned to Fresno to be near his high school daughter. (She just graduated.) He opened the coolest tattoo shop/ art gallery in town Resistance Tattoo Gallery. Now his art doesn't become outdated after one year or one season. It is permanent...or for a lifetime. He still paints and draws large scale art, but his tattoos are small. And important. Even if some don't appreciate ink as much as they appreciate Sega.

Uncle Charlie channels his creativity into miniature house replicas. While visiting Saturday, I photographed him and his daughter "around the house." I remember when Jennifer was younger, she had a small playhouse that I assume Charlie built. I have wondered if he builds these replicas to connect to those younger years. Fathers often find ways to connect to their children, consciously or otherwise.

When I was about sixteen, Uncle Charlie would take me with him to San Francisco to train for a marathon. Then, he was just Mr. Figg, 50, and mostly out of shape. I figured he was changing his lifestyle to stay alive longer, now I assume it was to be around longer for his daughter. He would play Rachmaninov during the drive and introduce me to other smart people things. When I got older, it was Cashmere and Single Malt Scotch, and Mont Blanc pens.

When I went to college, my girlfriend and I watched Somewhere in Time, the romance/fantasy about a man who goes back in time to be with the love of his life, but for some reason, he dies of a broken heart. Stupid movie. Great soundtrack. (Rachmaninov music.) Until last month, when I learned that the hero dies at the end, I loved the movie. I should have known the movie had a sad ending with such melancholy music. I also should have guessed that Uncle' Charlie's had a stronger connection to the movie. I learned more this weekend.

Figg attended high school in Michigan. The movie was filmed on Michigan's Mackinac Island at the Grand Hotel ("it really is a grand hotel," says Charlie.) Well, it really is a stupid movie. The guy goes all the way back in time, and still dies of a broken heart. So anyway, when Uncle Charlie was in high school, his class went to the hotel for a trip, and soon his class will visit for a reunion. Figg had already seen the movie, which is why he listened to the soundtrack. When my girlfriend played the video, I had no chance. I thought I was smart because I recognized the familiar melancholy melody. Not that my becoming melancholy was Uncle Charlie's fault. Besides, somehow, I never figured out the moral of the movie. I thought that I could go back in time and fix things.

The moral of this post though is different. Art comes in any size, and fathers love daughters more than anything, and sometimes art is the way we communicate. Sometimes daughters understand it. Other times they don't, but it doesn't matter. Fathers love their daughters anyway, anywhere, all the time.

Around the House - Images by bryan farley

20 Year Reunion Crasher

High school reunions are about reflection, visual memory, and imagery. People read their old yearbooks before the event. During the reunion, classmates share photo albums, yearbooks, and other old photos, take new photos,and all these pictures access the stronger visual images stuck in our mind. Having attended two 20-year reunions recently (mine in 2006 and my wife's reunion last night) I now appreciate this American tradition. I am also fortunate that my wife and I graduated from the same Central Valley high school. We spoke once very briefly in high school, though when asked, we tell people that we met ten years ago through common friends. We have many common friends, some I have known since elementary school.

Reunions are the epilogue to the Frost poem about two roads that diverged in a yellow wood.

People reflect on all the choices made, all the paths chosen or not taken. We hope our paths have led us to peace or happiness. But the imagery of the Frost poem tricked us when we were young. We thought that we only had two choices; the contemplative poem also gave us the impression that we had more time to choose. As adults, we realize that the road map is interactive, with constant decisions. Speed changes along the path, and often the biggest decision is the one not made. We also have realized how other people's choices affect our lives and how we affect others. Deciding to marry and having children is not an isolated choice in the woods, and by the 20 year reunion, many graduates have experienced profound loss. I wonder what happened to the people who didn't show. Did they not realize that 20 years had passed, or were their lives so miserable that they couldn't face our group? Or did they feel completely disconnected to their high school years?

Reunions can also be a time to examine and heal old wounds, and look at our shadows. During high school, many of us developed survival skills that were useful, but later didn't serve us. When we were younger, we were also petty. We were selfish. We concealed our true desires at the same time being impulsive.  Hopefully, by the time we near 40, we can let go, and change the image that we have of ourselves and others. Hopefully. We all seem to be growing up, but at times, I don't feel as if I am growing up as quickly as I would like, because even when I know which road I am supposed to take, I continue down the road of habit, but I think that I am changing...I really think that I am changing. 

At my wife's reunion, one image from my senior year has forced me to re-examine how I perceived myself as a high school student. I reconnected with a woman I knew 23 years ago. I barely knew her, but the image of meeting her in the salad bar line is one of my favorite memories of high school. I was a popular senior...a very popular senior; she was a sweet freshman. She smiled innocently and kindly, the way that I used to smile before I was bullied by a group of 6th grade boys who were angry because the popular girls liked me; she smiled the way I did before I was mocked in middle school for being nice, again after the most popular girl liked me because I was nice (maybe there was more, but she told our friends I was nice.) I didn't process the bullying and mocking as prooof that I should continue being myself. Instead my competitive streak led me down a different path. I learned to hide that I was nice and sensitive, and I decided that some day I would beat the bullies at the game that obviously frustrated them enough to humiliate a sweet 11 or 12 year old boy. In winning, however, I lost a part of myself.

In high school, many people wanted my popularity, but it was shallow and full of anger. I really wanted to be more like the sweet freshman girl who was comfortable, relaxed, and confident enough to have a real discussion with the most popular person in school.

The simple smile, and those of a few other people like her, kept me anchored during my period of detachment. During the following years, I would drift even farther away from my nature, and I am surprised at how often I was saved by simple acts or someone's small decisions. I barely held on until I met my wife, now one of the beautiful and more accomplished women of the class of 89, and certain to become even more so. Interestingly, my wife and I met briefly in high school. We both remember the meeting, even though it lasted less than 15 seconds. She seemed preoccupied rushing to class, and I said, "you should smile more." We all should; if it were only so easy.

Reuinion Reflections - Images by bryan farley