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I hate idiot lights in cars. Whenever one goes on there is always a momentary panic, “O My God What Should I Do ?” So I guess I will have to change the oil “soon”, whatever “soon” means. Life is full of these external warnings from weather alerts to lab tests that all seem to have dire consequences if they are not obeyed. This all started me thinking about God.

I was raised in a very traditional Catholic family. We started on the south side of Chicago, moved to the near north side and ended up in the suburbs. My family would go to Church weekly and we all attended Catholic Schools. Up until 5^th grade the school I attended had a traveling statue of the Madonna. It was a very big deal when it came to your house. The whole neighborhood would gather in your living room to say the rosary and if you were really lucky the pastor might come by to lead it. At that time we were all taught by nuns. I still remember how frightening they could be—even the really nice ones. These women taught generations of children and were never really rewarded as much as the priests were. Many of the older nuns now are in state run nursing homes and are on public aid.

The foundation of my spirituality came from them and from the priests who would come in weekly to go over “The Baltimore Catechism”. This was a book we literally had to memorize. I still remember the first question : “Who made you ? God Made Us to Love and Serve Him in This World and the Next”. I think as years went on the spirituality that developed was somewhat primitive and magical. If you wanted something you prayed for it and if you were good you might get it. This lasted into my late teens and early twenties.

In my mid twenties I had a change of heart. Church just wasn’t important to me anymore. I thought many of their teachings were wrong and just couldn’t get into it any more. After our oldest son was born I would occasionally feel some guilt and try to attend Mass on a regular basis again, but that never lasted. At my wife’s urging I took my oldest son to mass when he was four. I still remember him asking “Who is that guy in the green superman costume?” about the priest. We tried to have him attend Catholic school but that only lasted thru kindergarten. They thought he was learning disabled and weren’t able to provide services. Sometimes I think he should contact them now to compliment them on their excellent diagnostic skills as he is completing his second Masters Degree. This only served to increase my anger at the whole Church.

I think the final straw for me came when I tried one more time. The pastor of the Church in town was an alcoholic and his behavior was getting more and more out of control. He was finally removed and the bishop came to our Church to explain Alcoholism at every mass. I tried to talk to him afterward to recommend a good treatment center , “Guest House” in St.Louis, that specialized in working with alcoholic priests. He really didn’t want to hear that and that was the end of Church for me for about 10-12 years. I would get very angry thinking about all the abuses, and cruelty I could discover about the Church . If someone brought up any type of organized religion I would always have something negative to say.

One day at lunch we started talking again about the Church and all the riches it supposedly had. I began to go off again. One of the other hospital counselors began to talk to me. His name was Jack and someday I will write more about this man who taught me more about therapy and addiction than all the graduate courses I ever had. He said, “Jim It’s lunch time now. Do you think the Pope is sitting there over his ham sandwich bitching about Jim LeFager ?” He stopped me cold and made me begin to think again. A few years later we began to go to mass again.

The pastor of the Church then was a very dramatic soul who was good at raising money. When he left, the new pastor that came in was a very laid back nice guy. As time went on I again got involved in the Church as a lector and Eucharistic minister. My spirituality had changed in that it wasn’t so much magic I was looking for as much as it was searching for serenity and peace. I would still have trouble with sermons and would usually begin to fall asleep (until my wife elbowed and pinched me). I think that was because I spent all day listening to people and just couldn’t tune in to someone talking to a large group. As time went on the pastors changed again and this time we changed parishes. I’m still looking for serenity and peace and the structure of the Church seems to help me with that. I still cant buy into everything, but I take what I can and for right now that is good enough.

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In 1968 I was 22. The Vietnam War was raging and the Democratic convention happened in Chicago. There were riots, cultural clashes, violence, and a general atmosphere of chaos over everything. Both Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King had been assassinated. Hubert Humphrey was running against Richard Nixon and the end result was Nixon was elected President. I remember how we thought the establishment was wrong and no one over 30 could ever be trusted. My older relatives thought we were all communists and criminals.

Today I am reminded of those times. Everything seems to be coming loose and it has to be someone’s fault — the Republican party, the Democratic Party, the President, the Congress, Planned Parenthood, Black Lives Matter Movement, Immigrants, Evangelicals, etc etc It all feels so familiar.

It just seems so sad that we have fallen back into this. I can’t imagine Donald Trump as the President. Can you see him calling Vladimir Putin a “Pussy”? Or calling the French or Italians “Losers”? What about Marco Rubio or Ted Cruz trying to cancel gay marriage? Or Bernie Sanders plan for Universal Health Care and free college tuition that will certainly not happen even if he is elected? Will Hillary Clinton be prosecuted? Will Bill Clinton be getting more blowjobs in the Oval Office? Are we really a god less country? What about the Chinese, North Koreans, Iran, Isis?

I remember countless late night discussions trashing the “Man” and how he didn’t understand. There was Woodstock and Country Joe and the Fish — “Be the First One on Your Block to Have Your Boy Come Home in a Box!” There were guys coming home from the war and being spit on. One of my real issues over the last few years of my practice was seeing guys in their 60s who still hadn’t gotten over what happened to them in Vietnam. The suicide rate of our returning veterans now is a real tragedy. There are people coming back after multiple deployments who have no real chance of making it thru a normal day. They really don’t know what normal is. Should we really send 10,000 more troops over there when we can’t seem to care for the ones we have now?

One of the “answers” people had back then was just to get high. Marijuana, Acid, Speed , Smack and whatever you wanted were always available. Timothy Leary was telling us to “ Turn On, Tune In, & Drop Out”. Many people did and there was an epidemic of addiction. Today Heroin addiction is a real concern for the same reason. When a young user was asked why she was doing it she said “It gets me thru the day”

Perhaps it is time we all took a breath and looked at reality. This is not a predominantly white middle class country any more. We can’t turn back the clock to fifty years ago—besides it really wasn’t that great then. We have changed and will continue to change. I dislike the phrase “Make America Great Again”. America is great. My grandparents came here because of that. . I don’t know what is the right way or who is the right person to lead us out of this. I just get concerned that there will be increasing volume and accusations and false promises. It just seems like it is all happening all over again. The thing is it doesn’t have to. There is a way thru this if we could just learn to listen to each other and find the middle way. Otto Von Bismarck wrote the answer over one hundred years ago: “Politics is the art of the possible, the attainable — the art of the next best”. Maybe that is the history we should listen to.

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“I’m mad as Hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!” This famous line from Network came into my head the other day. I think it has to do with change. As I’ve gotten older I know that any change in routine can increase my irritability. I tend to lose things more now, although my wife disputes this and reminds me of keys I lost for almost two years. That also can set me more on edge. I think what is really behind this is the possibility that a major change in our life is coming.

Our sons are grown and live more than an hour from us. We want to see them and their families, but it takes a lot of planning on everyone’s part for this to happen. The decision we are facing is whether to move or to stay in the home we have lived in for 35 years. The thought of moving away from a place I am comfortable in is very difficult. I remember a line from Nikos Kazantzakis “When a man is young, the world is too small. When a man is old, his village is too big.”

My family moved into this town in 1959. I moved away in college. After we were married we lived in a small apartment in Forest Park and then bought a townhouse in Villa Park, IL. We lived there for a few years and then, with proceeds of my mother’s estate, were able to buy a home in Warrenville. My wife was pregnant with our youngest son when we moved in. He will be 35 in a few months and now has his own wife and life.

In 35 years you can accumulate a lot of “stuff” as George Carlin used to say. What should be kept and what can be let go of? Where should we live? How much space do we really need at this time in our lives? I go back and forth with these questions and I know I really don’t want to move/change.

Perhaps this is me just settling. Retirement has been fairly peaceful. I can read and work out and maintain some contacts with people, but I know I’m not really challenging myself. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been thinking that the productive part of my life is over, and now I’m just waiting to die because my usefulness is done. In my mother’s final days she wanted to come back into her home in Warrenville. She had been living in my sister’s home. She was able to come back and die in her own home. In my family most of my relatives died in their homes. My grandfather was one of the first of his generation to be waked in a funeral home rather than the house he lived in.

Morbid thoughts, I know, but very appropriate for a winter’s day. We went and looked at a townhouse a few weeks ago. I suppose it would be possible to live there, but I could feel all of the complaints and criticisms rising as we walked thru it. It is large enough and we wouldn’t be on top of each other, but there is no yard etc,etc.

The reality is that as we get older this house may be more difficult to care for. There is a yard and two furnaces/air-conditioners. The house will probably need a new roof in the next year or so. If it snows, the snow has to be removed. The real bottom line is that we are getting older and may not be able to provide the care the house needs. I am getting older and know that after I do a lot of strenuous physical activity, I can feel it for more than a few days.

I don’t like change. I don’t like disruptions in my daily routine. On my worst days I can see myself as Ebenezer Scrooge yelling at those “damn kids and their music, dress and behavior”. I’m not there yet but I can almost hear myself yelling “Bah Humbug!!”

Carl Whitaker is one of my therapeutic heroes. He was one of the first family therapists. He always believed in trying to connect with people in the here and now. He thought connecting with a family system was one of the best ways to initiate change. He once wrote “Ten Rules to Keep the Therapist Alive”. I would always have a copy available and when I was feeling really burned out I would read them over and over:

   “Relegate every significant other to second place.

Learn how to love. Flirt with any infant available. Unconditional position regard probably isn’t present after the baby is three years old.

Develop a reverence for your own impulses, and be suspicious of your behavioral sequences

Enjoy your mate more than your kids, and be childish with your mate.

Fracture role structures at will and repeatedly.

Learn to retreat and advance from every position you take.

Guard your impotence as one of your most valuable weapons.

Build long-term relations so you can be free to hate safely.

Face the fact that you must grow until you die. Develop a sense of the benign absurdity of life-yours and those around you-and thus learn to transcend the world of experience. If we can abandon our missionary zeal we have less chance of being eaten by cannibals.

Develop your primary-process living. Evolve a joint craziness with someone you are safe with. Structure a professional cuddle group so you won’t abuse your mate with the garbage left over from the day’s work.

As Plato said, “Practice dying.” ”

He also believed that you never stopped growing. Up until the point of his death he was trying new things and challenging himself. Maybe moving into a new town/community might be just the challenge I need. I could still maintain contact with people here, could still see them, could maybe meet new people and just maybe I could do more than just practice dying.

So today I don’t have to stick my head out the window, go all Network and yell at anyone. I just need to keep believing in the positive of change—at least for today.

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It continues to amaze me how the past never dies but continues to live on in different shades, colors, and levels of meaning. My sister called last week and told me she had found an old folder of my mothers. Inside were my father’s Army discharge papers, an old will, and some letters that my grandmother had written . There were also two old love letters from my father. I went over and looked at all of it. The amazing thing about it was that  I began to see both my mother and father in a new way. The letters were from 1936 and 1938. He begins one letter with “Darling” and another with “Beloved”. There is nothing overly salacious in either letter. It is just the way they are written. He was born in 1917 and she was born in 1919. I think they began dating in 1935 or 1936. He was 18 and she was 16. He agrees to go to a dance with her and asks her not to share the letter with her friends (which I’m sure she did). In another letter he is obviously on vacation with his family and wishes he was with her. Both letters are very innocent but the very fact of their youth comes thru. My parents were teen-agers once with all of the stress and strain that goes with that. Dating during that time was somewhat ritualized because of lack of resources. Most dating was done in groups because no one had any money. Thinking of my parents trying to find time alone really does make me think.

They continued to date and, due to the circumstances of the time, he joined the Army before being drafted. He went to Officer Training School and became a lieutenant. He knew he would be going overseas to the war and she agreed to marry him before he left. They were married in 1942 in Seattle and he was sent overseas to the Pacific shortly after. He came back in late 1944 after being wounded and was discharged in late 1945.

There are some pictures of that time of both of them. One of my favorites is where they were caught making out:

I think the war made everyone more open to risks. My mother had probably never been more than 15 miles from the south side of Chicago in her whole life, but she agreed to go thousands of miles away to marry my father before he left. They had been dating 6-7 years. She was 23 and he was 25. They wanted some time together because of the uncertainty of the war. They were so happy to be married that they sent everyone a telegram:

There is another picture shortly after they were married:

It is difficult to think of your parents being intimate and having the same needs and drives as everyone else. I’ve had adolescents make gagging sounds in my office if their parents made any suggestive comments to each other. Young adults can’t picture their parents like that despite the obvious fact of their own conception. I think we all think our romantic sexual life is amazingly individual and no one can really understand or appreciate how we feel. The reality is that the wheel of life continues to turn.

There are some pictures of both of my parents during the time he was overseas. My mother literally began to waste away. She wouldn’t eat and had trouble sleeping. She lost a great deal of weight and everyone was worried about her. My father was in the South Pacific in a very hazardous area. He also looks terrible. When he came back they couldn’t wait to be together again. I was born a little over 9 months after his return.

I think we all think of our parents as old. They are the most powerful people in the world when we are small. As we get older our perceptions change. They become old fashioned, overly concerned. Their beliefs and ideas are ancient and out of touch. I think this whole thing has made me reconsider this. I’m reminded of Mark Twain’s famous quote “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” What astonishes me is that my Dad was 14 once,and 18, and 25. He survived the Depression and the War and tried to make a life. He died young, 48 , and it broke my mother’s heart. She never got over it until her own death 13 years later.

I know there are lots of stories like this, but this is mine and I need to keep remembering it.