Wes, My 105-Year-Old Father © 2022 Craig Dahlberg
In September, my father turned 105. Measured by climactic world conflicts, he has lived through World War I, World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Persian Gulf War, the Invasion of Afghanistan, and the interventions in Syria and Iraq.
My father now has what I call Goldilocks Syndrome. That is, he measures the comfort of his bed in his assisted living facility—too hard, too soft, just right—and he regularly informs me. He also estimates the time and energy required for his next journey to the toilet. He measures the effect of his artwork. As an artist, he unwisely hoists himself from chair to walker to add a dabble of point to “improve” the appearance a decades-old painting, one of many of his painted companions displayed in his modest one-room apartment.
There are, of course, many ways to measure. A doctor may measure medical breakthroughs. An evangelist might count the number of souls saved. An artist could count the works sold over time. An entrepreneur might tally the balance sheet. A rancher would count the heads of cattle and the cost of feed.
Several times each day, we measure the food we eat, assessing and judging the flavors. Practiced chefs create delights to make our tongues tingle and jaws ache with pleasure. They have measured and mastered the effect of sweet, sour, salty, bitter and savory, bringing flavor to the fore like an orchestra conductor, a bit more of this, now more of that, in sublime harmony.
Over the past several years, I have measured the width and depth of my family. My self-appointed task has been to preserve our family’s photo history. Dusty, creaky albums, long-sealed boxes of photographic prints and slides all find their way onto the bed of my digital scanner. I am creating a digital melting pot, joining the lives of dozens of disparate relatives into some sort of meaningful pattern of relationships, organizing a life by life, year over year brew of wild flavors.
All lives contain a genetic, geographical and circumstantial whirl. It’s impossible to measure who and what has brought which flavor to the mix. We are in the middle of it all, adults emerging from childhood, then leaning forward into the older characters we become. In our own family’s picture book, we can look bewildered, trying to measure who we are and who we will become.
By any measure, life can be untidy, messy, and difficult to understand. How, then, might we measure the progress of our own life journey?
There are the ever-favorite ways we measure ourselves and mark our progress: improve looks, lose weight, exercise more, the familiar makings of New Years resolutions.
If we dig a bit deeper, where it’s uncomfortable, we unearth some real dandies.
Help me out here. Does the measure of our self-sacrifice toward family members fall a bit short? Hmmm. Yes, guilty.
What about becoming more sincere and generous friends—how do we measure up? I again raise my own hand.
Oh, yes, and what about keeping that inner peace, joy, humility when promotion or recognition or other good stuff passes us by? No angst, please. But I LIKE to be promoted and recognized and have good stuff. Don’t you?
Am I the only one with those struggles?
Maybe our most important weight of measure is this: within a shape-shifting world, how well do we adopt, maintain, or adapt our own life-guiding values?