Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Adoption”

When Race Hits Home


A strange way to start a post, but here it goes.  I grew up as a child in a “white only” (as far as I knew) neighborhood, attended high school as a minority, and clearly I have two daughters who are Asian.  I did not grow up paying attention to anyone’s appearance because it may have been a different color than my skin.  I have moments that I am not “PC” (politically correct), but at the same point, do not get offended when it gets pointed out that I may have said something that was misinterpreted.  I do not and have not used racial slurs, well because that is not how I was raised.  Growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, I watched the Jeffersons, All In The Family, Blazing Saddles, enjoyed Richard Pryor.  But I also detested any acts of racism.

Throughout the 90’s, and in charge of a church youth group in a small urban area, where racism was more prevalent, in fact very near KKK populated areas, I spent a lot of time teaching the youth to go against the urge to follow their grandparents (and in some cases their parents) when it came to thoughts against anyone who was not white.  It has been a slow process to dealing with racism, but I had always hoped that we would keep moving forward with eliminating it.

This post is not about racism itself, or the history of it, but rather an unfortunate phenomenon that we are currently dealing with today.  Most of us were all outraged by what happened in Charlottesville a couple of years ago, and our response was to condemn, yet again, all acts of hatred against races.  But there seems to be a problem.  How do we condemn one act or philosophy, that then seemingly affects something that we held personally as something of our past?  How do we expect racism to be dealt with, when we ridicule moments of history that we stumble across, bringing down someone or something that we once held in high regard?  How can we be expected to condemn one thing and forgive another, and really, who is to decide?

The answers are not simple at all.  In fact, in recent years, dealing with racism has gotten more complicated.  And admittedly over the last two years, a certain population has felt emboldened to step into the spotlight to reignite the fears, anger, and hurt, that over the decades we had fought to correct.  Right now, whether on Facebook or in person, we are now having conversations with our friends over statues and monuments, movies, music, that in retrospect, were really racist in content.  But in our earlier years, it was not a big issue, whether because it did not affect us, or we just did not pay attention.

But part of dealing with racism, just as I did with the youth group, we spent a lot of time teaching children racism was wrong.  Well, those children are now growing up, with the values we raised in them, and because they have technology that we did not have growing up, they have tools to fight racism that we did not.  The problem with that, the racism was not as obvious to some of us, as it clearly is to the current generation.

And it is not fair to refer to this generation as “snowflakes” as is common.  In fact, those that complain about this generation are “snowflakes” themselves for complaining about what they created.  Because we chose to fight racism, we created a generation who is ready to take it to the next level.  And really, if we are ever continue to move forward, dialogue now needs continue.  The generation needs to understand how we grew up and what we were exposed to, just as the American history that they have learned.

Like I said, music, movies, television, and other things in our life, we hold certain examples sacred.  And we are devastated and hurt, when one of our favorites falls, no matter the transgression.  For the purposes of this post, I am going to use a current example.

Kate Smith.  An icon if you are a Philadelphia Flyers hockey fan.  Known for her stunning rendition of “God Bless America” that she sang prior to a Flyers championship game, which quickly grew to a tradition played before all Flyers home playoff games, even long after her passing.

The performance had nothing to do with patriotism, though clearly the song was very patriotic.  But whether live or video, Kate fired up the fans, no matter what the odds were for or against the Flyers.  Following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the Yankees baseball stadium would also adopt Kate Smith’s “God Bless America”, though clearly meant to bring us all together.  And that really was where this had really ended.  On a side note, I am family with a personal family connection to Kate Smith, but since I was a child, I do not recall the details, well, because I was stupid and did not care.

But again, for the last two decades, we have been raising our children to fight against racism.  And no matter what some may do to quash history because they feel it makes our country look bad because of the things our ancestors did, this current generation is intent on wiping out racism.  And I can appreciate what they are doing.  Because when you think about, my generation has failed.  And we are proving that by the way we are not only complaining about “discoveries”, but how we are doing it.  And at this point, arguments are now occurring between us, regardless of color, but more geared towards protecting something we once held dear to us.

Kate Smith was a racist.  That is a fact that has been discovered.  Was she always a racist?  We do not know.  But at least for a moment in her life and career, she wrote and sang at least one very offensive  song that nearly all of us were unaware of ever existed.  And honestly, I do have to ask, what was actually put into Google search to find out about Kate Smith.  I am fairly certain that today’s youth really have no idea who she was.  But that does not take away the transgression what Kate Smith did.  To counter that, of course, all of the good things that she did for our country and for our military.  And she did.  And that should not be forgotten.  But neither should the period of racism she promoted.

So the question now becomes, “how long should it be held against someone for something they did long ago?  And given the benefit of the doubt, changed their thinking?  I am betting that there is not one family member of Kate Smith’s family that believes she was a racist.  They only know a loving mother and grandmother.  And here is my argument for that.

This is a picture of my maternal grandmother, the most influencial person in my life.  As I mentioned, I grew up in an area that just happened not to have any African Americans, though we did have one kid that was from India.  In any case, she was the most caring and loving person anyone could know.  All of the kids in the neighborhood looked to her as their “honorary” grandmother.  She would be the first person with cancer to survive that I would ever know, and give me the courage to fight my cancer.

But in recent years, it was revealed to me, that she had her tendencies to be racist.  I was shocked, and admittedly, clearly did not want the conversation to go any further.  I have to face it, given where I lived, I really never got to see any sign.  She never used any slurs.  And like I said, all I knew was her to be a loving person.  To this day, I want to remain in denial.  I only knew her one way.

So, I kind of get to a degree the outrage being felt right now after discovering what cannot be denied about someone that was held in such high regard.  But it does not change what she did.  And if we are ever going to reverse the trend of increased racial hatred, we have no choice but to listen to those that we raised to be tolerant.  They are the ones paying attention to the ones being hurt now, by the new racist attacks, whether verbal or physical.

It is disappointing sure, but the pain that it causes is worse.  And the fact that it is now pitting even friends against each other, one side fighting for something they hold close, the other for the values they were taught, we have gone backward in race relations.  And this does not even address the other issues of racism which I have intentionally not raised in this post.  Because before we can ever expect to heal or move forward once again, we need to be able to talk to each other.  And talking does not just mean speaking, but listening also.

And those memories are not gone, if you really want to hang on to them, the internet can take care of you.  But raising our children to fight against racism was a good thing.  Would you have not done it if you would have known you would have lost a favorite TV show, or could not listen to a favorite song anymore because it was boycotted or banned?  Of course not.  If you are a reader of “Paul’s Heart”, I know you are a compassionate and education person.

As for the Flyers and the Yankees, there will be other ways to fire up fans and show patriotism.  And it will not be long before this fuss is forgotten either.  But what will not be forgotten, are those that have been hurt, and why we still have such a far way to go, to dealing with racism.

I am to this day, still an avid Flyer fan.  And I understand why they removed her statue.  The recently discovered music was horrific to learn about.  And honestly, even in the 1970’s when she debuted the song at that Flyer’s game, even if it had been known then, I do not think she would have been stopped from singing it.  But this is not the 1970’s.  And just as we can recall what our grandparents were like and how they behaved, our children see how the times are now.  And all any of us want, is for everyone to get along, regardless of color.  Kate Smith is not the first, nor will she be the last, that will be shown to have held such ugly sentiments.  Can there be forgiveness?  Absolutely.  Should it be forgotten?  Absolutely not.

What You Did Not Know


A friend of mine recently spent some time visiting England with his wife and daughter.  It was a really wonderful trip from all of the pictures that he shared.  But I noticed something that originally made me sad.  Yes, there were some selfies of him, but the majority of the photos were of his wife and daughter.    I complimented him on the photos, and that it looked like a good time was being had.  But I also made the suggestion, “make sure you get some photos there with your daughter so that she has those memories as well.”  He indicated that his wife had taken many photos of him with his daughter, just had not gotten around to posting them.  I felt a huge relief for my friend, for what I feared would only end up a trip with nothing to remember anything by.

This year marks the fifth year that my father passed away.  It was back during the days preparing for his memorial, and going through numerous photos, that I realized, there were not many of not just my father and I, not of my mother and I either.  There were plenty of photos of each of them, a lot of photos of me, and even our pets, house, and various relatives.  But rarely any photos of parent(s) and child.

The truth is, it only came natural to me, to take so many photos of my daughters and me together (as well as the thousands of them).  But not until my father’s passing did I understand just how important they would be.

The relationship between my father and I was distant, as a result of divorce.  My mother, a working mom, also had very little time for recreation.  And that meant, very few photos.  But there were photos, even if only some.  And they had a story to tell.

I came across the movie Kodachrome yesterday.  Of course I am dating myself with the reference as Kodachrome is a photograph product that has gone by the wayside, just as 8-tracks and vinyl did for the music industry.  In the movie, the father and son are estranged, until a nurse locates the son, to inform him that his father is dying.  A world renowned photographer, he has one wish.  There is only one Kodachrome developing shop left in the country, and it is closing forever in just days.  He has four rolls of 35mm film that he wants developed before he dies.  The movie progresses like the typical road trip/mend fences journey, potholes along the way.  Everywhere they go, they run into people who have seen the father’s work over the years.  But without spoiling the movie, the film does get dropped off in time before the father passes.  And then we find out just how important those remaining rolls of film were.

Growing up, we are usually too busy experiencing to worry about remembering.  And in retrospect, we hope that our parents did take enough photos.  Unless, sadly, we find out, that there are not many, or enough, at least for the story that we want to remember.

Here are the only three photos I have of my father with me as a child.  And nearly as many as an adult.

It was instinctual that I have taken so many photos of my daughters over the years.

And I plan to take many more.

It is just, like my friend who traveled to England, we are both long term cancer survivors of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Our children were either too young, or not even born yet, when we faced this cancer.  But our children know all too well the serious health challenges that we face today, because of the late developing side effects from our treatments.  We know all too well, the odds that are against us, which only drives us harder to make sure that we create, and save as many memories that we can, for our children to look back on, remember, and smile.  Our lives have not gone as we thought or hoped that they would, but you know what, we are doing well with what we have, and what we can.

I cannot speak for my friend, but I know that my doctors have told me, they want to keep me around to someday be called a grandfather.  Well, that is some time away.  And until then, I am going to keep making memories, and saving them.

If You Would Have Told Me


Each year, I write a chapter for a book called “Visible Ink,” published through Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.  The following is this year’s chapter, my 7th published effort with MSKCC.

 

If You Would Have Told Me

Paul Edelman

 

            Of all the side effects that were going to affect my life as a cancer survivor, the inability to have biological children of my own, was the hardest to accept.  If I refused treatment, in particular, the drug that could cause my sterility, I would risk achieving remission, or worse, die.

            If you would have told me, that in spite of choosing treatment, that my life would be blessed not once, but twice, by travelling around the world to bring into my life through adoption, two beautiful daughters…

If you would have told me, back as a 22-year old, just diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, that I would have someone standing in front of me, asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage, because I am a traditional father and my daughter deserves that respect, …

            If you would have told me, when I had completed treatments and was declared in remission, that I would be playing a role in planning my daughter’s wedding, …

            If you would have told me, nearly twenty years later, as I lay on a surgical table, about to undergo emergency heart surgery due to late developing damage from my cancer treatments, that I would be standing in the back of the church, just staring in awe at my daughter, beautiful and dressed in white, as she began the next stage of her life, …

            If you would have told me, five years after that, as I was being rolled out of my home, at 3am on an ambulance gurney, dying from a full blown case of septic pneumonia, another late developing result of my cancer history treatments, that I would be walking my child, my daughter, now a woman, down the aisle to someone else who was going to be entrusted with taking care of her, …

            If you had told me that after everything else that I had experienced due to late effects of my cancer treatments, that I would have no choice, when asked, “who gives this woman to be married?”, my daughter would be counting on me to answer, “her mother and I do.”  At that moment, you would think that going through cancer and all of my other experiences would have been the hardest thing I have done.  Wrong!  I did not want to let go.  Reluctantly, but not begrudgingly, I responded “her mother and I do.”

            If you had told me that as the decades of my survivorship passed, that I would be able to dance the special father/daughter dance, I would tell you, time is not kind to the mind of a cancer survivor wondering, “how much longer will it last?”  Yet here I am, a microphone in my hand, dancing with my daughter to a song that I not only picked out for her, but will sing to her, a lullaby that comforted her to sleep as I rocked her and sang to her, “Turn Around”.

            If you would have told me, that I would be holding my first grandchild, me undecided about what I wanted to be called, “pop-pop”, “grandpa”, “poppy” or even a name my grandchild would just give me, I would have to tell you, that a long time ago, as I was introduced to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Survivorship Clinic, that is exactly what they told me would happen, that I would see this day.

            There is only one catch, none of this has not happened yet.    

            I do not know when this day will actually happen.  I have two daughters and I cannot wait to go through this twice.  I am only more than willing to do so.  My daughters are in their teenage years, still in school.  I know this emotional time for me will rapidly approach.  But on the calendar, I have plenty of time.  One thing is certain, I know that they want as much of a future with me, as I do with them.

            If you would have told me, when I was diagnosed thirty years ago with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma that I would even have a future, let alone, two of the most important people in my life, my daughters, and survive long enough, to see them get married, and have children of their own, I would have said “I will see those days.”  I have the right people behind me; doctors, nurses, my mother, my closest friends, and of course, my daughters.  With support like that, there is no doubt.

            I will have that chance, to sing “Turn Around” to my daughters one more time, but also as I rock their children in my arms, sing “turn around, and you’re two, turn around and you’re four.  Turn around and you’re a young child, going out of the door.”  And I will tell you, “I told you so.”

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