Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts

Sunday, December 22, 2019

Amahl and the Fifth King

I listened to the recording of Amahl and the Night Visitors many, many times as a child. So many I can now sing most of the libretto by heart. It is a profound story of faith and liberation. There are quirks we can pick on, such as the cheery gypsy ragamuffin view of beggary, the middle class morals of the poor widow, and especially the emphasis on Balthazar’s blackness, but ultimately it is a story of a Messiah who will turn the world on its head, making the first last and the last first.
There are two main themes in this story: the love of mother and child, and the nature of kingship. There are more than three kings in this tale.
The first three, the Three Kings, are curious figures. They look more like British gentlemen than kings. Rich, idle, kindly, and philosophical. They don't seem to have any particular kingdoms. They act more like old friends than fellow heads of state. Melchior even denies there is any importance to royal blood. Caspar is somewhat senile.
Amahl's mother does not see them this way. Her view of kings brings about the first conflict between the themes of mother-love and kings. She sees them as awesome and fearful. Beings so powerful they are capable of destroying her and her family, without even the bother of malevolence. Consider when she first gazes on them, at the door to her hut. She has just discovered that she has unjustly called her son, whom she loves more than life, a liar, but she dares not apologize to him. The kings she sees are vain as well as powerful, and if they did not feel that they had her full attention they might be offended. To protect her son from the awesome might of these kings, she must let him continue to view her as unjust and unreasonable.
Amahl has his own view of kings, as seen in the person of the fourth king, the king of Amahl's begging fantasy. This king is exotic and strange. Unlike the kings at his doorstep, this king rules a country. But he is benevolent, his response to unrest in his streets is not soldiers but a gift of gold. Faced with kings in the flesh, Amahl is not frightened, but curious. He asks each in turn if they are real kings. Each answers “yes.” He even asks them to please bleed a little for him, so he can see regal blood. It is fortunate for him that the kings are genial gentlemen, and not the fearsome nobles his mother sees.
The shepherds see the kings as Mother does. As a child, it always bothered me that the shepherds come bringing gifts to the kings. The kings were rich! Why are the poor giving them presents, it should be the other way around! Now, of course, I know, this is the truth of kings. Where does their wealth come from? Conquest or taxes, it comes from the people. The poor have always given to the kings. In this, finally, the kings act like the kings we expect, accepting as their due the generosity of the poor.
But there is a fifth king in this story, a king stranger, more unexpected, more wonderful than all the others. This is the child the first three kings are going to worship. Who is he? One of the most beautiful passages in the libretto is the efforts of the kings and the mother to describe him. The images the kings can bring are full of majesty and mystery. He is the “color of earth, the color of thorn,” he holds the wind and the seas in his palm, at his feet rest the moon and the stars. He brings peace even to the lion and eagle. 
To Amahl’s mother, however, all these images only remind her of her own son, who holds, more than the wind and seas, her very heart in his palm. Indeed, he is so dear to her, she gives up what little she has left, her honor and pride, to steal a little gold to feed him some days more. “For my child… For my child…”
Melchior is inspired after the theft, and sees clearly the image of this strange king, a king who doesn't need our gold. He holds no scepter, he wears no crown, and the most honored nobles of his realm are the poor. Talk about standing the world on its head! Why, you could almost call him an ”anti-king.”
The true selfless moment of Amahl is when his mother returns the kings’ gold. Most see the innocence of the child, giving up the very thing that lets him walk, in the ridiculous consideration that maybe the Son of God might need a crutch. This, too, is a beautiful image. Its absurdity reminds us of many of Jesus’s parables. We know the stories so well we forget how ridiculous they are. A son asks his father to give him his inheritance “in advance,” and the father agrees? This is absurd even before the father forgives the boy for wasting the money. Or the image of a camel trying to get through the eye of a needle. Usually this is told as a profound lesson. But it could as well have been a joke. As the rich young man fell behind in disappointment, Jesus shook his head and said, “I swear. Trying to get a rich man into heaven is like trying to get a camel through the eye of a needle.” And the disciples all laughed until their sides were sore. 
Such a God would have loved the idea that someone was prepared to offer His son a crutch, in case he should need it.
But think a moment on the faith of Amahl's mother! Not in innocence, but in full knowledge of the privation and suffering of her future, does she give up the gold. Melchior’s aria has finally reached her. This king, coming into the world, is bigger than her fear. For her son, and for all the poor, she gives up the last hope she had meant to claim for herself.
Is this, then, the moment of the miracle? Is Amahl healed when he gives his crutch? Or, like a human magician, did God work his miracle when no one was looking? If, instead of offering his crutch to the kings, had Amahl gone to use the outhouse, would he have found that he could walk? The generosity of Amahl is the compassion he has learned from his mother.
After the miracle, Melchior remembers the fearful king he himself was mistaken for. “We must praise Him,” the kings sing, knowing that all attention must be turned to the jealous God. But Amahl and his mother give God what he truly wants: to see the joy His gift has brought. Amahl's running and fighting and play are more thanks and praise than the kings’ devotionals. The Fifth King finally brings together the themes of Amahl. For he appears like nothing so much as the love of a mother for her child.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Chickens

Isabelle has decided she wants to raise chickens in our back yard. (For those who don't know, our house stands on 0.14 acres. A back yard not quite big enough to play kickball with a six year-old.) Carrie and I both said, "I don't think so."

But Isabelle has quite a bit more chutzpah than I ever did. She solicited from us all our "concerns" about raising chickens, and announced she was going to launch a campaign to change our minds. She's spent the past two days researching chicken care, and looking up the Barre City regulations on the keeping of poultry, and measuring the yard to find a place a chicken coop could be the required thirty feet away from anyone else's house.

We shall see. If she can really address all the issues, I might have to agree, if for nothing else out of admiration for her spirit. Hopefully it will resolve agreeably, however it goes.

Saturday, February 02, 2013

The Boyfriend

Isabelle has a boyfriend. He's nine years old. He's told her he loves her. She concurs. They haven't kissed, but they do hug.

Today was the first day I met him, although I've seen him from a distance before. It was only afterwards that I realized I had behaved in a very atypical manner for meeting one of my daughter's friends. I approached him directly, introduced myself, shook his hand, and said it was nice to meet him. It seemed normal until I imagined doing that with any of her other friends.

I don't think this is presaging anything good for my behavior around future boyfriends. When she's thirteen, am I going to be asking, "So. What are your intentions toward my daughter, young man?" Will I go so far, when she's fifteen, as, "Gentlemen who wish to keep their testicles will have her home by ten"? Oh well. At least Gabriel got a very first taste of "meeting the father of the bride."

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

My Little Mozart

So we've been worried that Isabelle's class isn't quite where she is in the reading department. Carrie called the teacher, who said they'd just given a reading assessment to the kids, and Isabelle was at the top of the entire first grade. How far at the top? Well, they give this same test at the END of first grade, and most kids score between 12 and 18. Isabelle, at the BEGINNING of first grade, scored 20.

Her math is at least in the neighborhood of the other kids.

The school is going to make a special reading group with Isabelle and the only other first grader who has a hope of keeping up with her, to make sure she gets challenged. Good solution.

Now I'd better post this, because if Isabelle looks over my shoulder, she will of course read this, and it's a little early for her to see herself standing out quite that far.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The Toothfairy, Magic, and Sleight of Hand

With great fanfare, Isabelle lost another tooth: the first upper incisor. (Lopsided grin!) She put the tooth under her pillow, I got ready for my job interview the next morning, made sure things were ready for her first day at camp.

I'm up at the crack of dawn the next morning, getting on my tie, and Isabelle says, "Daddy, don't make so much noise! The toothfairy hasn't come yet, and if she hears you she won't come."

<OH MY GOD I FORGOT >

"Really?" I say. "Let me see." She shows me the tooth under her pillow. "Well, go back to sleep, she must be running late."

Then I grab the money, come back, "Let me give you a kiss," and with a little stealth and sleight-of-hand, the tooth fairy has come.

Later that day, Isabelle tells me, "You know there has to be magic in the world, Daddy. Because the tooth fairy got under my pillow and I didn't even feel it!"

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Bicycle Adventures

I took Isabelle out for her first ride on her bicycle. Her brilliant father bought her a five-speed, which he can't put training wheels on. But we gave it a try! I warned her, "Nobody learns to ride a bike with falling off and getting hurt once."

Off we went. After half an hour she had more directional control, and a little bit of balance. Woopee. Then just as we decided we were done for the day, the inevitable spill happened.

Isabelle barely scratched her knee. Her father, however, in his effort to keep her upright, tripped over her bike and caught all his weight with his outstretched thumb. I don't think I broke it, but I haven't been in this much pain since I don't know when--probably the time I drove a splinter the size of half a toothpick up under my thumb nail.

Isabelle composed a poem for me:

Bikes crashing,
Babies flying,
Daddies crying.

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

Song

Sing to the tune of "Yesterday."

Mania
My daughter's gone insania
Her shrieks would shatter crania
Oh how did she get mania?

Where did my girl go?
I don't know, she won't stand still
But if this goes on
Very long
I'll need a pill.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Cure for the Blues

Isabelle wanted me to post her cure for the blues. If your child is sad, Mom or Dad should recite the following, which Isabelle typed herself on the computer:

Zxcdsaqwertyhbvnmuipfgjklohgutugeevbhbubnbunhbbnjbnjetujtnbjmbjernjrjiusiytnsvnsnbesvmsvevmvbjgjngjeinefnesgitumfnbkmbgibkbitbmimbisss iigkkg gigbbimjgijggjhijhikgjkgihjbbhgjjhbjfkfngjbbmm jpfgjfghfufgvfvfmnbjfhgfnfvhhrystsusebvsvhvvhsv vryvnvrgjhdffhfghgdfhagsdfghjklzxcvbnmqwerttyuiopsgyrhfbhyfgbfybrb b bfbf b bbbhbjbbhbhbcncccnnccnxnbvcxzasdfghjkloiuuytrresxffdsxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If your child isn't laughing when you're done, you must have had the accent wrong. Try again, this time with your mouth full of marbles.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

A Green Egg Moment

Spicy corn quesadillas were on the menu. Usually, when we have them, Isabelle opts for a cheesy-cheesy quesadilla, which contains, of course, only cheese. The spicy corn recipe contains her most reviled food: onions. Carrie was out, so I asked Isabelle, "Would you like some corn in your quesadilla, too?" Yes she would.

I concocted a new quesadilla, much like the spicy corn recipe, but without onions or cayenne. Just as I was about to serve them, "No! I want a cheesy quesadilla!" Nothing for it, I fried up one more with just cheese.

She gobbled up her cheesy-cheesy, and was thinking about more, when I cut of a big piece of cheesy-corny and said, "Just taste this and tell me if it's too yucky to eat."

Chew. "It is! It's yucky!" Frown.

"Okay. Thank you for trying it. Just chew it up."

Chew-chew. Suddenly her eyes snap wide open in surprise. "I do! I like this!"

"You want more?"

"Yes."

Friday, December 07, 2007

Tradition

Since I get up at 5:30 am to get to school on time, Isabelle is instructed not to get up when she hears me, but to wait for her good morning kiss about 6:20.

Each morning, after I wash up in the bathroom, I head back to my bedroom to dress, and glance, as I walk by, into her room to see if she is sleeping. She usually is.

This morning, as I started down the hall, my nose tickled, so I turned back to the bathroom to grab a tissue.

A cry rent the night. "Daddy! You forgot to look in my room!"

Thursday, June 14, 2007

The Sacrifices of Parenting

Now that it is summer Isabelle likes to play outside. Her favorite game is "chase," in which she runs and I roar and occassionally head her off to create the illusion I am running.

But I cannot resist the temptation to get her into the garden. So as the spring unfolded, I showed her the strawberry blossoms, the tiny green buds that would be fruit, the green fruit that would be ripe, and finally, the strawberries started ripening.

Just two. I ate one and she ate one.

Jump ahead one day. A lot more strawberries are getting ripe now. We noted this with excitement.

Now, one thing parents do is they are always looking for games their children can play while they work. The best games are games that help: "Hey! How fast can you get these bottles in the recycling?" But any game that keeps her busy is a help. For instance, I'm building a border to hold a gravel bed along the side of the house, she's playing "flip ball," which, near as I can tell, involves running around, sans ball, and falling over backwards. Good game.

But then she disappears.

Put down the tools. Go look. There she is, in the middle of the garden, a beautific smile, smeared red with strawberry juice.

Well, there'll be more tomorrow.

Flash forward to tomorrow.

DADDY: "Let's pick some strawberries for Mommy."
ISABELLE: "I want to pick strawberries for me!"
DADDY: "Okay, you pick strawberries for you, and I'll pick strawberries for Mommy."
ISABELLE: "I'm going to eat them all!"

Pick pick pick. Hers go in her mouth, mine go in the bucket. I eat a couple, fill a bucket with eight strawberries.

Usher little girl out of garden as she starts eating -- and liking -- even the white ones.

Dessert time. Can't eat strawberries in front of little girl and not give her any. I've had a few, so I put four in her bowl, four in Mommy's bowl. Then I have to leave to see my former students graduate from Elementary School. A moment later the phone rings.

Mommy talks briefly to Grandma Bev. Looks down. Both bowls are empty.

On the upside, strawberries are at least good for little girls!

Sunday, February 25, 2007

The Wisdom of Isabelle

After one nap, Isabelle informed me
I've been dreaming of stepping on things. You may want to step on toys and
you may not. If you do want to step on toys you want to step on other girls
toys.

Friday, February 16, 2007

On Witches and Modern Sensibilities

With much fanfare, Isabelle watched the Wizard of Oz. We had a glorious time. I am happy to report that the urban legend that the Wizard accidentally filmed the suicide of one of the munchkins is utterly false. We saw several clips of different parts of the movie purporting to be the unfortunate scene. The one most often cited is, on close inspection, an out-of-focus crane (bird) flapping its wings.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I'm here to talk about witches. After watching, Isabelle was talking a lot about witches, and asked if witches ate people. Unable to resist an opening, I told her the story of Hansel and Gretle. She asked for another witch story, and so I told her of Baba Yaga.

Isabelle didn't appear terribly frightened by this, but she was a little concerned, so we told her that witches that ate people lived far away. Then, remembering that some of our friends and family were witches, we pointed out that, just as in Oz, there are good witches and bad witches.

How confusing is the modern world! But that's not what I'm here to talk about either. I'm here to talk about myself. I imagine everyone does this, when telling a story to a three year-old, I made some quick judgements about what of the story was appropriate for her young mind. I merrily told her about Hansel holding out a chicken bone, and the witch checking to see if he was fat enough to eat. I told her about Gretle pushing the witch into the fire. I didn't say that she made Gretle work as a "slave" in the kitchen, because I didn't want to explain slavery, and I left out the huntsman and his wife abandoning the children in the forest.

How peculiar! That witches would eat children struck me as deliciously frightening, the kind of scary story that is so much fun. But that parents should betray their children was unspeakable to me.