Limitations

I just finished reading Le Mort D' Arthur by Sir Thomas Mallory. It took me so long to get through this two-volume piece that I almost gave up several times. Although I loved the message of the book, I had a very hard time with the conventions of medieval literature. The truth is I had to struggle to get through the repetitive prose and pointless tangents in order to experience the source material for many of my favorite works. It was a kind of research project for me, but I learned more than I expected to.

The big lesson here is that we all come upon our limitations. I clearly don't have the mindset to be a medieval scholar, and I probably won't go back to source material for a while. My wife would attest to the fact that I would complain about the book as I pressed through it. I would like to think that I am suited to a life of intellectual pursuit, but there are ways in which I see my own weaknesses and faults making such a life difficult.

So be it. Even the great Sir Lancelot had limitations. The thing I most admire about the story of the Holy Grail quest has to do with Lancelot's weaknesses. When he arrives at the doorstep to the chamber which houses the Grail, he is warned that he is not worthy to go further. His weakness here is both his carnality (he fathered Sir Galahad out of wedlock) and his pride. The pride drives him to enter the chamber, where he is blinded. He staggers out and enters a coma for four twenty four days ("for the four and twenty years that he had been a sinner").

When we wakes up, the people of the castle tell him that he will never be closer to the Sangreal than he already has been. In this moment, Lancelot accepts the pronouncement and is content. Having come almost to the end of an impossible quest, he is satisfied with the portion of glory appointed for him. He leaves the achieving of the Grail to his son, Sir Galahad.

I guess I feel that I am happier understanding my own limitations. It seems that I am in good company.



Le Mort D' Arthur, Book XVII, Chapter 16

One Word Changes So Much

Cancer.

The diagnosis is cancer. Sure, there are errors in these tests, and they want to run a bunch more. For now though, they are calling the tumor in the left chest cancerous. When I called today, I could sense immediately the tension in my dad's voice. He didn't want to even discuss it, but of course I pressed. After that word came out, that strangely damning two syllable statement, I did not ask the details. Then, as quickly as it began, the phone call was over.

Silence.

I did not have a father growing up. It took a lot of of my strength to have the relationship we developed in the past three years or so.

True to form, my father was flaky and unreliable. He would go months without calling me. I "tabled" our relationship at least twice, waiting him out to see if he would make the effort and contact me.

This last period of no contact lasted about three months. When my father finally contacted me a few weeks ago, that word was already in the air.

In February, I go to a place I've never been for what will surely be the defining moment of my adult life. My wife and I are going to see my father, for all intents and purposes a first meeting for all of us. There is the air of sadness, excitement, and now a confirmation of future trouble as the trip looms near. The meeting is "hello," and I fear this may be "goodbye" as well.

We don't have time to dwell on the difficult times between the last time I saw Dad (when I was 3) and now. I can only hope there is time to at least know this man who is now in my life and sick.