Young at Heart

Ever since we saw the trailer a few months ago, Rebecca and I have wanted to see the documentary Young at Heart. So last night we headed to our local arthouse theater The Broadway and were treated to one of the more entertaining documentaries I have ever seen. Young at Heart is a geriatric rock 'n roll singing group out of Northampton, Massachusetts which you've got to see (and hear) to believe. Really. Until you've seen a 92-year-old woman steady herself with her cane as she walks to the microphone and belts out "I Wanna Be Sedated" from The Ramones, well, you haven't seen the full potential of Punk.

Young at Heart is thoroughly enjoyable, filled with humor, affection, irony, fascination and toe-tapping music. But more than anything, it is hard not be profoundly affected by the twist in your perspective, realizing that great-grandma might get into ColdPlay better than you. They change the nature of the songs, making them much more lyric-driven, and often with more feeling and emotion. Very, very cool and inspiring. Especially one of my favorite songs of all time: Forever Young. They gave it a whole new meaning.

But there was more. We knew the group would be performing the next night at a local auditorium, but were surprised and delighted that several of the cast showed up after our movie for a Q&A, including founder and director Bob Cilman (a kid at 53!). We chatted with them afterwards. But one exchange really struck me. I asked them how being in the group had impacted their lives. Profoundly, for all of them, they said. But an 80-year-old retired doctor told how important it was that he had someplace to be, something to do, songs to learn, cadences to master, an important sense of purpose and an appreciation for what he was doing. Definitely something to think about as we move into those ... Golden Years, whop-whop-whop Gold ... Don't let me hear you say life's takin' you nowhere ... Angel ...

New on DVD

Two DVD's that I have previously written about that are recently available and definitely worth watching: The Visitor and Young at Heart.

The Visitor was one of my favorite movies at Sundance last year. A big slow-moving, but very engaging and thought-provoking film with outstanding performances. Young at Heart is the documentary about the aged choir that sings rock 'n roll. It's a thoroughly entertaining movie.

Enjoy.

May-May on Mothers Day

I first met her in the summer of 1967. I was ten years old, prior to my fifth grade year in school. It started as a trial run. I had been living in St. Paul Children’s Home with other children with no parents, part of the young group who were gradually transforming from deprived children into social misfits and juvenile delinquents. Occasionally one of the group would be called to a foster family, but actual adoption was almost unheard of at my age. Yet here we were. Mother and Dad had married in 1961, I think. She was now 39 and he was 49. I would be the first child for both. This was an unlikely threesome.

Mom did everything possible to make me feel comfortable. When I arrived, we were in the process of buying our house on Skyline Parkway in Duluth, Minnesota, but still lived on the more rural Miller Trunk Highway, which was busy and dangerous and not very conducive to meeting other kids. So during the day while Dad went to work it was Mother and me, and not having any experience in the art of motherhood, she had not yet learned to say no. So we did whatever I wanted, which meant hours spent out on the lawn hitting baseballs to each other, and when I tired of that playing board games in the house—chess, Yahtzee, Milles Borne and others. I wanted a pet and she got me a calico cat, which I nicknamed Snoopy, an ironical homage to my favorite character in Peanuts.

After a year the trial turned into a formal adoption and we three made our lives together. It had never been easy for Mom. Her first marriage was bad and she divorced before it got worse. Her marriage to Dad was almost inevitable, given they were baptized in the same church on the same night, were both Finnish, and once Mom’s divorce was final, both single. But Dad had been a bachelor for 20 years and his ways were not easily changed or adapted to marriage. Plus, mother battled a hereditary mental condition, a chemical imbalance which in those days was generally neither diagnosed nor treated. But like her mother and others in her family, she suffered through periods of deep depression and frustration, although by the early 70’s she was prescribed medication which certainly helped. It was, as far as I could tell, her only imperfection, unless you count that fact that she wasn’t very good at crafts, despite her unfailing enthusiasm.

My memories are full and rich of my mother, but perhaps one thing about her character stands out more than any other. She was a friend to the friendless. If there were people who were lonely, old, feeble or troubled in any way, my mother was there for them. One young boy had great difficulty with his parents (prior to my arrival), and my parents took him in. When my Great Uncle Emil had to be in Duluth for treatment, he stayed with us. When my cousin Howie was a freshman at UMD, we shared a room. When grumpy old widows needed help with their shopping, my parents drove them around, and gave them rides to church and had them over for dinner as well. When those that were unlikable needed a friend, my mother was there without judgment. I have never seen a more selfless heart in any individual.

I learned true religion from my mother—less by precept than by daily example. When I left home after high school we were still great friends, and would have frequent visits and lengthy phone discussions. Once married and with children, I was fortunate to have her nearby most of the time, and will ever be grateful for the love and example she shared with the kids, and only wish it could have been longer. And on this Mother’s Day I humbly pay tribute to May-May, as the kids named her, as the greatest and most profound influence upon my life.

Merritt James

Our second grandchild announced himself to the world this morning. Mom, Sam and I were in the waiting room while Merritt and Stacie finished a long night of labor. He is a handsome little guy (6 lbs. 14 oz.) with lots of dark hair. They named him Merritt James, but plan to call him James.

There is something very mellowing about the birth of a new child--at least, once the birth is concluded! Everyone is softened. We dim the lights and speak in hushed tones. And we gently pass the child from person to person, and stand in line to get our touch of love, as if something magical will rub off on us.

Merritt and Stacie will be wonderful parents and I look forward to watching young James explore this brave new world, and the strange creatures in it. Yesterday I only had one grandchild, who I love with all my heart. But today I have a second who I love just as much. That's the thing about love--you can give all you want without running out.