On endings

Unlike beginnings, which are plenty scary by themselves, endings are often poignant and solitary. You drive off, you walk away from an airport, you get on a train or bus, you stroll down a street never to come back. A car door slams, you lock the door and turn away. It’s over. We have all been through our share of endings–a job, a school, a friendship, a life–so we all have our anecdotes about moving on, saying goodbye, and picking up the broken pieces so that we can start again. Endings make us wistful and nostalgic because we are not always sure that the new thing ahead of us is better than what is being left behind. We are plagued by our memories which torture us into remembering all of those great moments in the past when we were, at least for a moment, happy. The constant truth is that all things end, no matter how we feel about them. Change is, perhaps, the only constant in most of our lives. As a teacher, students come and students go, and that’s the way it’s always been. As an ex-pat in another country, my friends have come and gone many times, and now are scattered to the four corners of the world. It is hard to stay in touch, and even with different digital media sites, it is still difficult to maintain a real friendship from seven thousand miles away. And when old friends finally make their last trip, it is equally difficult to say goodbye, especially when you have known them for more than fifty years. Yet those fifty years are also a monument to that friendship which has had to endure a lot of stuff, not all good, much of it very good. Mortality is, in the end, about endings, and that is the way it must be–one of those rules nobody breaks.

On endings

Unlike beginnings, which are plenty scary by themselves, endings are often poignant and solitary. You drive off, you walk away from an airport, you get on a train or bus, you stroll down a street never to come back. A car door slams, you lock the door and turn away. It’s over. We have all been through our share of endings–a job, a school, a friendship, a life–so we all have our anecdotes about moving on, saying goodbye, and picking up the broken pieces so that we can start again. Endings make us wistful and nostalgic because we are not always sure that the new thing ahead of us is better than what is being left behind. We are plagued by our memories which torture us into remembering all of those great moments in the past when we were, at least for a moment, happy. The constant truth is that all things end, no matter how we feel about them. Change is, perhaps, the only constant in most of our lives. As a teacher, students come and students go, and that’s the way it’s always been. As an ex-pat in another country, my friends have come and gone many times, and now are scattered to the four corners of the world. It is hard to stay in touch, and even with different digital media sites, it is still difficult to maintain a real friendship from seven thousand miles away. And when old friends finally make their last trip, it is equally difficult to say goodbye, especially when you have known them for more than fifty years. Yet those fifty years are also a monument to that friendship which has had to endure a lot of stuff, not all good, much of it very good. Mortality is, in the end, about endings, and that is the way it must be–one of those rules nobody breaks.

On Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Being just a little different can really be a big problem. The story of Rudolph is one of rejection, isolation, and marginalization that take a heavy toll on all those involved, victim and oppressors. I have never really understood why human beings have such a hard time dealing with those people (or reindeer) who are a little different. Rudolph is openly mocked by his peer group for having a red nose. This is a physical difference over which he has no control and no responsibility. Those in authority do little to stop the mocking, and even serve to make the situation a little worse by sending him home and banning him from reindeer school and the games they play. This is an old story about shame and loneliness, distrust and fear, envy and anxiety. In other words the reindeer has been openly rejected by his cohort and by the authorities placed there to keep order and teach the new reindeer. The cruelty of the situation is stunning, and although the bullies are initially rebuffed by the authority (Donner), they get what they want when Rudolph is sent away. The story of Rudolph is an allegory for those who suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as they are tormented and bullied for reasons over which they have no control and no recourse–big ears, a funny nose, red hair, short stature, skinny body, strange eyeglasses, out-of-date clothing, odd voice, overweight body. Tolerance is not promoted or practiced because authorities have often started out life as those who dish it and are very intolerant themselves. Many people, I believe, can relate to Rudolph’s plight as he runs away, believing there is no place for him in North Pole society. He is a misfit. The fact that his story has a happy ending answers few questions for those whose stories do not have happy endings. Perhaps it is the isolation and silent suffering which is so hard to take, especially when it is your peers who are taking great delight in torturing you because you are slow, or nerdy, or not cool, or not with it. You yourself know that you are really no different than anyone else, and Rudolph realizes this as well. It is his slight physical difference which makes him a monster for all who might behold him. Once society decides that he his monstrous, then his right to live freely and pursue happiness is gone, limited by prejudice and hate. Rudolph journeys off into the wilderness, another metaphor for conflict, doubt, and self-loathing, driven away by a society that cannot tolerate the individual who controls their own destiny. Society does not tolerate difference, independence, iconoclasms, or anarchy within its social borders. Though having a red nose is nothing but a cosmetic difference that has nothing to do with actual content, having a different colored anything has always been a reason to enslave, mistreat, marginalize, or repress. Apartheid was born of racial prejudice and it flourished as a bonafide social practice for decades before it was overthrown. Rudolph’s story is, then, both profound and important. It is unjust and wrong to treat anyone different just because of some physical difference which is of no importance whatsoever. The allegory of Rudolph and his nose is an important lesson for everyone, especially during the holiday season when these differences are felt so keenly. As a final note, one should remember that the misfits of the world are only misfits because of societal constructs that make them so. Exclusion is always easier than inclusion. If there is one message that all should take from the Christmas season, it must be that inclusion is good. An elf dentist named Hermy or a Klondike loner named Cornelius show much greater heart and soul by taking in Rudolph and including him in their club than those who would dismiss them because they do not conform to mainstream ideas of image and prestige.

On Medievalists

After having spent four full days with my favorite medievalists, I am once again reminded that this is a wonderful group of human beings.  The International Medieval Congress at Western Michigan University has just ended, and I am getting ready to go back home.  We were just around three thousand strong this past conference, and I think they, (we) are rather misunderstood because lay people think we put on armor and chain mail and spend out time jousting in the practice baseball field at Western Michigan University.  They would be wrong because we are not larpers, but I have found that making explanations and/or justifications is both useless and lame.  What we do is study the past.  We study a period bounded by late antiquity–perhaps the end of the Roman Empire–and the early modern period which may or may not include such figures as Cervantes, Shakespeare and Galileo, depending on who is writing the paper or planning the particular session.  We are not much interested in anything that happens after about 1600, but that’s not really true either because both Hobbits and Hogwarts are often the focus of our discussions.  We are passionate about our studies, whatever they are.  I spend the majority of my time with the other Spanish medievalists, so we spend a lot of our time speaking Spanish, which is to be expected, I think.  I am often shocked at how well-read my cohort is, easily conversing about Latin or Spanish texts on a myriad of subjects too numerous to begin listing here.  The sessions, however, are only half the fun because people watching and actually meeting the people you watch is the other half of the fun.  There are innumerable receptions and business meetings where one meets still more wonderful and unusual people from all over the world.  Medievalists are, if anything, individuals who think conforming is for the birds.  Perhaps that is precisely why they are medievalists, a profession which is totally lacking in any sort of practicality whatsoever.  I don’t think we are burden to society, but we have refined the term “geek” and embrace it.  This not an apology for being a medievalist.  One has one’s calling and vocation, and it is useless to flee from that which you love.  So I study texts that were written eight hundred years ago, I write papers that three other people in the world might read, and I have no illusions about my relevance in contemporary society.  I study language, literature, history, theory, and artifacts, and then I write about it all.  My conclusion?  That human beings are human beings, and that they have always been driven by the same concerns: food, shelter, sex, power, love, greed, pride, envy, generousity, kindness and hate.  In fact, the more people change, the more they stay the same.  The next event at Kalamazoo will start in 360 days.

On Gatsby

Originally, I got to know Gatsby because I was invited to his lavish parties out at his “house” in West Egg. I’m not much of a party guy, but my girlfriend (now, ex-girlfriend) said it would be fun. I knew better. I had seen a million of these guys come into the business, get used up, and vanish, die. Yesterday, some two-bit mechanic broke into his house and shot him. I lied just now when I said I didn’t know Jay Gatsby before I went to his party. Years ago, when we were both innocent kids growing up in Minnesota, I knew him as a quiet, Jim Gatz, a normal guy with honest aspirations and dreams. Then the war came, we were sucked into the great war machine, we went to Europe and our paths crossed again, albeit briefly. He was just a kind, humble guy in those days, but I could tell he was also hungry. Yet even in war, he was nothing like the strange, cold monster I encountered on the lawn of his mansion. We didn’t talk. After I came home from the war I found that my girl had married someone else so I moved to New York and got a job on Wall Street. My accounting degree from a small liberal arts school in the Midwest was just the ticket I needed to get into banking. I even look the part–skinny, glasses, bad hair, but I have mad accounting skills. To say that Gatsby was up to his ears in illegal activities is to not really understand the problem at all. He helped move merchandise for his mob, laundered profits into legitimate businesses, and fronted for some pretty nasty cats up in New York City. Let’s not get squeamish or prissy, but part of my firm’s business was to launder money, and some of these bootleggers had tons of it–cash. Now, there is nothing wrong with cash, but if you have lots, the government wants to know where it came from. You know, did you pay your taxes? Gatsby was a great front for his syndicate because he looked the part–handsome, blond, broad shoulders, charm, great smile, he didn’t drink or gamble, didn’t womanize or take drugs. It’s kind of hard to trust a guy with no vices, although I always suspected he had at least one. The difference between the two of us is that I was just an anonymous accountant with a bad scar who worked in a windowless office on Wall Street. I may have skills, but no one wants me to represent the firm in public. So, for a ton of money, Gatsby sold his soul to the Devil so the Devil could launder his money and turn it into legitimate business ventures. Gatsby looked the part of a legitimate businessman, but he was as dirty as they come, and I would know, I’ve seen them all. Gatsby’s cut made him a millionaire, made him a success, but it also made him numb to almost any and all ethical considerations. He didn’t enjoy his parties, and I get the feeling he knew almost no one there. I assume he was killed because of a woman, but that’s rather irrelevant, especially for Gatsby. Too much money too fast will kill you every time.