Growing up with Laius & Jocasta

[david]

Sometimes I feel
like a motherless child
a long ways from home

-- American Negro Spiritual, 1926

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Every boy wants the exclusive love of his mother and, as a result, at least subconsciously wishes for the death of his father. Or so Sigmund Freud would have us believe.

Oedipus and D.H. Lawrence’s Paul Morel notwithstanding, the relationship between a mother – or father – and child is probably the most complicated of all.

For starters the decision – or lack thereof – by prospective parents to create new life is fraught with danger. Expectations rarely correlate with the reality that comes to pass; and the introduction of a new player or players into the family dynamic adds combinations and permutations that run the gamut of human experience.

Writing about one’s parents, therefore, is predictably problematic. For starters, the parent-child relationship – in healthy humans, at least – must at some point evolve into an adult-adult relationship. If this never happens, human beings that are forever linked biologically can never become friends.

This, alas, is the case with Helen and Jesse Burke and their only son David. When my father died in 1994, he was a stranger to me. My understanding of him as a fellow human being remains filtered by the lens of childhood – he never acknowledged my having become a grownup and we never got to know each other man-to-man.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that my father didn’t really like me, that he disapproved of me and didn’t consider me to be his kind of guy. I don’t remember him ever slapping me on the back, let alone giving me a hug or showing other evidence of affection.

My mother, on the other hand, used me as a confidant. She disapproved of the men chosen as spouses by my two sisters and used me as a co-conspirator. She freely shared her criticisms and complaints, holding nothing back as she condemned my brothers in law and, by extension, my siblings.

Analysis of the divergent relationships I had with mother and father could consume many pages and still fall short of explaining the various nuances and ramifications, but the focus of this offering is on my parents and their relationship with each other.

It is said that opposites attract and this theory seems to be supported by my parents’ experience. My mother is extroverted – my father was an introvert; Mom craves the limelight and longs for recognition for her abilities and achievements – my father was happy operating in the shadows, having impacts that almost went unnoticed; Mater is emotional – Pater is dispassionate; the wife acts impulsively – her husband was a careful, systematic and patient planner and was slow to act; Mom is competitive – her mate didn’t enjoy conflict; she is talkative – he was reticent; though he had a pretty good sense of humor and she does not, he never told jokes (though he was a bit of an under-the-breath punster) and she can’t deliver a punch line.

The two did have things in common. Both were raised in middle-class households, though Mom’s family was better educated and my father came, perhaps, from the lower middle class. Both were intelligent and chose to attend college.

And that’s where they met, at Ohio State University where they crossed paths at the Wesley Foundation – a social organization sponsored by the Methodist Church. My mother was raised Methodist and I suspect that my father wandered into the program where he found the love of his life.

Classical music may have been the catalyst for their romance. It remained an important common interest throughout their marriage. They also shared an interest in making a difference – they held progressive views and in some respects they were activists.

My mother’s family comes from Quaker stock and the young couple shared anti-war sentiments. When drafted into World War II, my father sought non-combatant status and spent his time overseas repairing bombers based in England.

After the war, he decided to enter the clergy, not to become a traditional minister but to pursue a career in religious education. I believe his involvement in the Wesley Foundation was life-changing, not only because that is where he met his future wife but also because he developed an appreciation for social, cultural, educational and intellectual interaction in a positive environment.

After a few years as an assistant minister in northern Ohio, he changed careers, joining my mother as a lifelong elementary school teacher.

My parents were always involved in activities outside the home. Both were dedicated teachers who usually returned from work long after their children got out of school. And they were involved with teacher groups – my father served as president of both the local teacher’s association and the newly established teacher’s union.

They were active in the church, spending many hours in service to that community. And they were engaged in a host of causes including civil rights, world peace and more.

Though I respect my parents for their commitment to doing the right thing – and I agree with most of the positions and causes they espoused – I do believe that they short-changed their children in the process.

We had some great family vacations and enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle. I can’t argue that my parents were cruel or hateful or egregiously unfair. I will only say that they were undemonstrative and that their actions seemed to indicate that their children were not the top priority.

It’s popular these days to put the blame for many of my generation’s woes on the previous generation. Terminology like the “inner child” and “dysfunctional families” are in vogue.

After a lot of reflection, I have concluded that my parents were probably a bit neglectful, but perhaps no more than most.

I believe they were good for each other. Their marriage wasn’t perfect, but it lasted until death parted them after about 50 years. They seemed to respect each other, warts and all and they remained true to the beliefs and values that brought them together.