Reconciling

A couple of summers ago the girls and I took a trip to Italy to visit Giorgia, the exchange student we had hosted the year before, and our informally adopted family member. We planned, prepared, and anticipated months for the trip, and the experiences we had there and the quality time that we got to spend with her and her family far exceeded our expectations. It was the trip of a lifetime.

The tearful goodbye between all of us at the airport in Milan that morning we left was just a precursor to the long and sleepless flight, the seemingly numb five-hour drive from Chicago, and the confusing few days thereafter. Normally I unpack my bags the moment I get home from any trip; it’s the closing punctuation mark, a way of tucking it away and getting on with the usual routine. But our suitcases sat for days, and I really struggled with coming back to the realities of work, of bills and laundry, cleaning house, running errands and getting to this and that event with the girls. I kept reliving memories of there and had a difficult time focusing on anything here.

I haven’t experienced feelings similar to that since. That is, until this week. I didn’t recognize it at first, but as a little time passed and I began to fully digest the last few days of thoughts and feelings I started to see the parallels. I struggled all week long to compose the essay you are now reading, one I knew I had to write somehow because too many things wanted to spill out on to page and the need to share too intense. At first it surfaced as a simple montage of memorable moments I had with people while I was there, but when I tried to write that it seemed to lack something, seemed to ignore something I couldn’t get my head around. Then I started another piece trying to talk about things everyone was expressing in common about that weekend, before, during, and after. Yet another one got started that was about what it all meant to me personally. For some reason, all of them felt incomplete and a little random, without a meaning that I thought everyone might either connect with or enjoy reading.

I spent weeks building up my anticipation of this past weekend, fueled mostly by the reconnection with so many friends on Facebook, whom I had not seen in far too many years. It was enough that we were all planning to see the game, have some pizza, and share a dinner the following night, but the chorus of responses to the idea of eating before the game only added to the fervor. Then came the news from Trina that she was flying in from California and suddenly the weekend couldn’t get here fast enough. By the time I got in the car to drive there, after little sleep, a lot of work, and too much coffee, I was at a peak. I jammed louder than I had for some time—which was good because it kept me alert—to tunes that I had not listened to for even longer. After arriving, I had trouble trying to get in a little sleep before going to meet everyone at Tomfooleries.

And then, I think from the moment I first stepped through the doors of that bar, I entered what seemed like a weekend-long state of euphoria. Thinking about it, just now, still prompts the urge to just write about some of the different moments I shared with people while I was there. Forgive me for while I humor that:

Trina: I didn’t want to let go that first hug when I saw you, and probably wouldn’t have had I not equally wanted to hold back the tears welling up.

I remember, exactly, the feelings of recognition and relief I had when I first heard Carl’s unmistakable and infectious laugh from across the room, and realized he was there.

Robert: At the Pizza Shoppe I offered to man the table a while so that you could get out and mingle with everyone like the rest of us. You turned me down and said that you were enjoying just watching everyone, and I recognized that you were—deservedly so—enjoying the sense of accomplishment you saw in everyone having fun, and that you had a hand in that.

I had the chance to sit and talk with Mark B. and put a little distance between the Cody that used to be his semi-tormentor in high school and the person that I feel I am now. Thanks, Mark. And thanks also for your comment that I have grown philosophical in my years, which I take as a compliment.

Mark also brought a treasure trove of memorabilia to the dinner. Among them: the final edition of the school newspaper from our senior year, across the front of which is sprawled the epic poem of teen angst I wrote those many years ago. Reading it again now was a conflict of embarrassment and pride.

Brad and Ruth: our walk and talk about kids and trips there in Parkville before dinner was a nice repose from the rest of the weekend. It helped remind me of some of the most important things in life waiting for me back home.

There was a bit of that ornery side of me that I felt surfaced, and I owe that to Jack. Seems like whenever you and I get together that happens, Jack. It is reflected in the photo of you and Mark and me.

Bill and Mary: we’ve stayed a little more connected over the years than I have with most, but seeing you there and getting to spend time with you was invaluable. My connection--however slight--with the two of you helps me feel grounded.

Sue, Jules, and Cindy: for some reason I think of the three of you collectively, probably a product of that time we all spent together at Nick and Jake’s. I am not sure I have laughed that hard in a very long time. Your sister Shelly, Sue, makes for the perfect comic sidekick. It was just plain fun.

I could go on forever, as we all probably could, but this piece is becoming incredibly long and rambling I think. So I’ll attempt to re-track.

There was a comment that Rob Nelson made during the conversations of Saturday evening that stuck with me. Rob mentioned that one of the reasons he was there, and there both nights, was because he knew that some of the people there had spent a lot of time and money to attend. In his comment I didn’t hear any sense of obligation, but instead consideration and appreciation. It reminded me of what I heard a great number of people reflect on while we were together, that everyone there was very genuine.

That thought first occurred to me during a contemplative moment I was having in the middle of the karaoke Friday night at Arthur’s. Yes, a strange time for deep thought, but it was my way of tuning out the karaoke, and I am sometimes prone to drawing back into thought and observation when I’m in the midst of a large group. But the thought which came to me, as I looked around the room at who was gathered there, was that we were an eclectic little group. Spin the clock back 30 years and you might not have seen the same group, not even at any of the big parties that happened then. We all had sets and subsets of different friends, that did or didn’t necessarily include the people that were there that night. Everyone was glad to be there, and just as glad that who was there had made the trip. There wasn’t any need to impress each other with stories of what we had done or were doing. There were no pretenses, just fun, and a sense of belonging. I don’t remember too much reminiscing or reliving of our Springsteenian Glory Days. I think we mostly spent time sharing about our lives now and what they have been since many of us saw each other, and sharing news of those who weren’t able to be there with us.

That is who we are now: genuine people. Our lives, our experiences, have stripped away the insecurities of our youth, and what has surfaced is what is genuine about us and has always been. I think we all recognized it in each other back then, even though it was difficult—for ourselves as much as others—to see through the mists of adolescence. And it’s what drew us all back together last weekend, what we all enjoyed most. It is no surprise that we all had so much fun together and that we all had so many feelings of gratitude to share with each other on Facebook the hours and days afterward. It’s hard to let go of it.

Which brings me around to other feelings I have been dealing with over this last week. Along with the enjoyment of reliving that fun, I have been coming down from it was well, in much the same way that I had to do when I returned from Italy. Life has to get back to normal. And in a way, life last weekend seemed a little incongruent with the way my life has been these last few years. It’s wrapped up in something I have mentioned in a note before, about being a father, a single father, about not dating and being a responsible example to my girls. And I probably owe a conversation with Trina to my exploration of these feelings.

Trina and I ducked away for a quiet drink, removed from the mayhem, so that we could catch up on things. At one point Trina asked me, “So, how is your love life?” and I remember giving her, at first, my stock response, which is a shrug of the shoulder followed by “Fine, it doesn’t exist.” Beyond that is usually a rationalization about how working two jobs, raising the girls, running, and writing leaves little time for anything else. Somewhere I throw in there that the girls are most important and deserve my focus, and that I am satisfied with my life. But in trying to express that to Trina it felt like I was, and have been, whistling past the graveyard. I had to be truthful, that I had at times felt like it was not ever going to happen for me again because I was just not the kind of person that would be interesting to someone again. My youthful looks had matured, I was divorced, in my forties, had two young girls, no time for a social life, and not exactly financially secure.

“Did Cody lose his Mojo?” she asked. Trina has a splendidly candid way of putting things. I have. Or did. And what’s more: I’m the one (if I can assume I ever really had it) who tucked it away in the closet.

When I remember some of the fun of the last weekend I also remember how some of it made me feel, well…a little attractive again. But in settling back into the routines and responsibilities here, it became easy to feel conflict with those times and this life, and to return to the tendencies that the two were separate, and always should be. I even worried about my new Facebook photo and how I thought it was hilarious, but that I probably should remove it before Megan or Kylee saw it, particularly Megan. She has this little thing she does with me if we are out somewhere together: she is very adept at noticing when I notice an attractive woman, and quick to zing me with a “Dad, stop it!”

But, Megan saw the photo last night, and she laughed at it. And in that singular moment, a number of things came together for me. The person of last weekend and the person of this week are one and the same. It is okay to be both, and it is okay to be both for my daughters, to let them see that. It is okay to have fun, to be myself, and to take time for myself without feeling it is selfish. In a watershed of realization, I came to understand that last weekend was not a brief, isolated, piece of my life, but instead an integral part of it. It’s a thread, not a patch.

And it all snapped together: the fun, the feelings I was having, the difficulty in writing about the weekend, the note from Giorgia on the way home about how much she misses us, Megan’s laugh…it all came to the epiphany that produced this essay.

Originally published 10/29/09.

© 2009 Cody Kilgore. All Rights Reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.