Doors Close, Windows Open

Confused

"The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning.  Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers." Erich Fromm

Mom was outside, kneeling in the flowerbed and pulling weeds when I parked my 10-year old Camry next to her over-sized van. She loved that clunker. Judging by the pile of plucked weeds, she had been at it for a while.

"Hi honey, how was it?" she asked as she used the house's brick wall to pull up.  Despite arthritis, she insisted on cultivating a bed of impatiens, creating a pink, purple and yellow rainbow to greet people at the entrance. Today had been cooler than usual, a relief from a long hot summer, and the perfect weather for weeding.

"It was good, I think.  I don't know.  I mean, I feel kind of weird being this age back in a college class."

"Mandy, honey, you're not too old. Do what you want, but I think this class might be good for you."

"You think?  What about the cost?  I mean, I should be spending my money on bills, not luxuries."

"Education is never a luxury.  Working the soil and education are the same in that they feed the soul.  I told you, I'd pay for the class if you need me to."

"No mom, thanks, you've bailed me out enough.  I'll figure it out."

"Well, luckily you don't have to figure it out on an empty stomach.  Your baby brother and sister-in-law are coming over this afternoon.  As specially requested by the other Mrs. Peterson, I'm making spaghetti.  They'll be here any minute so don't take too long getting settled."

"Okay."

"Oh, and Mandy?" she said, just as I was entering the front door.

"Yeah mom?"

"I know this is a hard time for you, but I'm glad you're home."

"I love you too," I answered, returning her smile.  With that, I went in through the house to my bedroom, which had remained largely unchanged since I'd graduated from high school. It had waited for me like an old friend.

I dropped the backpack on the bed and pulled out the one-page article: The Courage of His Confusions.  When was confusion considered courageous?  It was only one page, so I plopped on the bed next to my book bag and began reading,

THE COURAGE OF HIS CONFUSIONS:  It is easy enough to praise men for the courage of their convictions.  I wish I could teach the sad young of this mealy generation the courage of their confusions.

That was some opening statement.  My interest was peaked.  He went on to describe his parents, immigrants to the U.S. in the early part of the century who left behind their world but clung hard to their convictions.  I could relate to the next paragraph,

But what the parents told their children described no world the children met outside the house.  The enormous emotional dislocation of the children of immigrants – especially of the children of immigrant peasants – centers in the conflict so many children felt, of needing to respect their parent at the same time they knew their parents were talking intense nonsense when they tried to describe the rules of the world outside.  Convinced ignorance describes no world.

That rang true.  I loved my mother and had grown to appreciate her common-sense wisdom, but it had been hard growing up as the daughter of a German immigrant whose frame of reference had been post-World War II Germany.  The set of rules dictating her upbringing were in sharp contrast with what it took to survive in a small Texas town.  I pulled out my highlighter.