However, my weekend started yesterday evening when I clocked out. You see, my daughter has her “Class of 2029 White Coat Ceremony” for medical school tomorrow. So, my wife, son, and I are on a little road trip right now. We spent the day driving, checking into the hotel, having dinner with my daughter and her significant other, and soaking in the hot tub for a little while.
It is a weekend of firsts—first stay at this hotel, first step on the road to becoming a doctor for my daughter, and first family orientation at a university for my family. (My daughter did her undergraduate work at the university where I’ve been teaching for 30-plus years. I figured we didn’t need any parent orientation that time because I already knew all the ins and outs of the place.).
Sometimes, firsts are great and affirming. They can also be overwhelming and scary.
Sharon Olds writes about one of her firsts . . .
First
by: Sharon Olds
He stood in the sulphur baths, his calves
against the stone rim of the pool
where his half-full glass of scotch stood, his
shins wavering in the water, his torso
looming over me, huge, in the night,
a grown-up man’s body, softer and
warmer with the clothes off—I was a sophomore
at college, in the baths with a naked man,
a writer, married, a father, widowed,
remarried, separated, unreadable, and when I
said No, I was sorry, I couldn’t,
he’d invented this, rising and dripping
in the heavy sodium water, giving me
his body to suck. I had not heard
of this, I was moved by his innocence and daring,
I went to him like a baby who’s been crying
for hours for milk. He stood and moaned
and rocked his knees, I felt I knew
what his body wanted me to do, like rubbing
my mother’s back, receiving directions
from her want into the nerves of my hands.
In the smell of the trees of seaweed rooted in
ocean trenches just offshore,
and the mineral liquid from inside the mountain,
I gave over to flesh like church music
until he drew out and held himself and
something flew past me like a fresh ghost.
We sank into the water and lay there, napes
on the rim. I’ve never done that before,
I said. He eyes not visible
to me, his voice muffled, he said, You’ve been
sucking cock since you were fourteen,
and fell asleep. I stayed beside him
so he wouldn’t go under, he snored like my father, I
tried not to think about what he had said,
but then I saw, in it, the unmeant
gift—that I was good at this
raw mystery I liked. I sat
and rocked, by myself, in the fog, in the smell
of kelp, night steam like animals’ breath,
there where the harsh granite and quartz dropped down
into and under the start of the western sea.
There is something powerful about experiencing something for the first time. (Don’t worry. This blog post is not going to be about my first blowjob.) In Olds’ poem, the speaker’s encounter with this older married writer would never fly in current society. The man holds a certain amount of power over the young, inexperienced sophomore, and, after she says “No,” he still seems to force her to perform oral sex. It’s not clear whether the act is consensual, but Olds, the poet, does invest a certain amount of pride in the fact that she “was good at this raw / mystery [she] liked.”
As I said in my introduction to this post, I am currently sitting in a hotel room in downstate Michigan. Had dinner and some quality time with my daughter and her boyfriend this evening—went out to eat (Pad Thai for me), watched some TV (Impractical Jokers—one of my son’s favorite shows), and laughed a lot.
I’m new at this visiting college parent thing, so this whole experience is a first for me (and my wife). But, I will say that my daughter looked exhausted but happy tonight. She told me stories about her orientation week so far and then said, “It’s overwhelming but exciting, too.” She’s with peers who have similar educational trajectories. They know what she’s gone through, and they all have similar goals. (While I’ve been a college professor for a long time, I can’t claim to understand fully my daughter’s situation right now. I wrote stories and poems in grad school; she’s saving lives.)
I will say this—my daughter is my hero. She’s chasing her dream, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. (By the way, that’s not the first time I’ve said that, but it IS the first time I’ve said it since my daughter started medical school. That counts as a first.)
Saint Marty wrote a poem about a first, based on a prompt from The Daily Poet for August 6 . . .
From the New York Times: “On Aug. 6, 1945, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, that instantly killed an estimated 66,000 people in the first use of a nuclear weapon in warfare.” Write a poem in memory of an event. The event can either be a celebration or a tragedy.
7 Reasons Why We Need Superman Right Now
by: Martin Achatz
1. Because most aliens on this planet are not criminals, just want to go to McDonald’s to get an M&M McFlurry.
2. Because capes are back in style.
3. Because truth and justice are endangered species, almost extinct in the continental United States, and the Smithsonian doesn’t have room for 185,000 migrants.
4. Because if he catches a cold and sneezes, he could reverse global warming.
5. Because eggs are too expensive, and we need to use his DNA to create a super chicken.
6. Because all of our other heroes have been deported.
7. Because we all need a Fortress of Solitude to hide our neighbors when the white vans roll down the street.
