March 19: Harrowing Letter, Dad, Saint Joseph

"Apparently before he phoned me he'd just had a long, rather harrowing letter from your latest headmaster, to the effect that you were making absolutely no effort at all.  Cutting classes.  Coming unprepared to all your classes.  In general, being an all-around--"

Mr. Antolini is speaking to Holden.  Antolini has recently had lunch with Holden's dad, and his father has just received some bad news from the headmaster at Pencey, the prep school Holden is currently flunking out of.  Holden doesn't express a whole lot of respect or admiration for his father throughout The Catcher in the Rye.  In fact, Mr. Caulfield ranks right at the top of the the list of phonies in the novel.   Fathers and father figures don't do well in Salinger's world.

I don't know a whole lot about traditional "dad" stuff.  You know, cars and tools and football and hunting.  I'm not sure how excited my son is going to be on bring-your-son-to-work day.  I can just see him, sitting in a college classroom, listening to me explain the difference between Shakespearean and Italian sonnets.  He's going to think he's got the lamest father in the world.

Today, March 19, is the feast of Saint Joseph, husband of Mary and foster-father of Jesus.  Talk about pressure.  I can't imagine the thoughts that went through Joe's head while he was making tables and chairs in his workshop.  It's bad enough for me having a son who's into guns and swords and trucks.  Joe had a Son who was into souls and salvation and redemption.  Yet, Jesus was a dutiful Jewish child, I'm sure.  He did His chores, carved wood with Joe, swept up the sawdust at the end of the day, and loved His foster-father.  For his part, Joe protected the Child and His mother.  He worked hard to provide food and shelter; he celebrated the Jewish holy days and taught Jesus, in a human way, to love God.  Joe was a good dad.

On the dad scale of Mr. Caulfield to Saint Joseph, I fall smack dab in the middle in my estimation.  I will disappoint my kids.  I will lose my temper and make mistakes.  When my son shoots his first deer, I will be appalled, but tell him that I'm proud.  I will sit in the bleachers in snowstorms if he plays football, and I will go to sweaty gymnasiums if basketball's his game.

But I will talk to him about poetry and literature, too.  I'll read him my favorite kid's books.  Charlotte's Web.  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  I'll enroll him in dance class.  (Hey, I can always hope.)  I'll take him to church and teach to him about another Son and Father.  I will be the best dad I can be.

Hopefully, Saint Marty's son won't flunk out of prep school.

I wonder how Jesus would do in ballet