This might save your marriage.

Priceless.

The Dangers of Education

Well, it's official: my daughter Olivia can read. Normally, this would be a cause for celebration, but it really puts a damper on my "parenting" style.

What I mean is that, with this development, my wife and I can no longer spell secret messages to each other in front of our middle child. Now, only the baby and Annamaria remain clueless.

Yesterday, Joseph was busy being a boy at the dinner table and he messed up the cushion on the window seat. This cushion was something that Amy wanted for a long time and now that we finally have it, it gets quite a bit of attention from the mistress of the house.

"Don't bend the cushion!"
"Don't hold your sandwich over the cushion!"
"Don't walk on the cushion with your dirty feet, I just cleaned it!"

You get the idea.

Well, last night Papi had the midkids--Joe and Liv--while Mama took the bookends--Sophia, Annamaria, and Max--to Sophia's audition (The Princess and the Pea, if you're tracking). Anyway, after dinner I noticed that the cushion had somehow found it's way under the table.

I announced to Joseph that Mama was going to be "P-I-S-S-E-D Off" if she came home and saw that. Because he's a good boy and loves his Mama (we all do), he fixed it immediately.

That's when I heard what I thought was Olivia spitting out a hair or something.

"Puh...puh...puh..."
"Liva, are you okay?"
"ih...ih...ih...ssss...ssss..."

Oh, hell.

"eh...eh...eh...duh...duh. PISSED!! Papi, what does 'pissed' mean?"
"It means Papi's in trouble."

In my defense, the "P-I-S-S-E-D Off" line is not how I usually speak in front of my kids; it's a quote from a song composed by one of my favorite singers, Tonio K.

Tonio K. is a brilliant satirical lyricist who sings about the twistedness of love after the Fall of Man. I've learned more about true love from him than probably any other influence in my life (sadly, including Popes). Trouble is, he used to have a potty mouth, and his song H-A-T-R-E-D (from which Liva's new vocabulary word was plucked) is peppered with a number of expletives. (It's a breakup song, he was drunk when he recorded it, etc., etc.) It's also hilarious. So I sing it. And quote parts of it. In front of my newly literate daughter.

So, for those of you that care about our Domestic Safari, some of the cubs are learining new tricks and one of the gameskeepers is in the dog house.

The Toes-ary

On a lighter note...

Recently, the kids have discovered that knuckles pop. Now popping knuckles is something they all want to do, all the time. Taking advantage of this, I have developed a new form of prayer. We call it the "Toes-ary".

Basically, it's a cross between "Little Piggies" and the Rosary. I grab a toe and start a Hail Mary while popping the knuckles. With each toe, we say a little more of the prayer until we finish. Then, we repeat on the other foot. Last night we decided that the mystery from the life of Christ we'd reflect on is the washing of the disciples feet.

It's not likely to go down in history as one of the great forms of prayer like these, but this is something distinctly Drapeauvian and proof that happy families are happy in unique ways.

In the future, I'll post some more of our family's quirky habits/sayings for your amusement.

Our Greatest Fear

An old friend from South Africa recently got in touch with me and sent me the following quotation in response to post on Heroic Leadership. It's from a woman named Marianne Williamson but is often attributed erroneously to Nelson Mandela. When I first saw it it had Mandela's name attached, so every time I think of it, it's Mandela's voice delivering the lines in my head.

I really like the quotation and I think it certainly has Ignatian overtones. It reminds me of St. Irenaus' saying that the "Glory of God is man fully alive." I'm a little suspicious of the rest of this woman's oeuvre. (It has that "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual" vibe that drives me nuts.) Anyway, the quotation:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Thanks, Craig!

Reflections on Heroic Leadership

The following is an excerpt from my journal that I thought I'd put up here. If it is boring or rambling, forgive me and just scroll down to the previous post of my kids' videos. At least they're cute.

I have started reading a new book called Heroic Leadership written by a former Jesuit and given to me by a dear friend. So far it is interesting, but not fascinating. I think my exposure to things Ignatian has lessened the novelty of many of his insights, but he is making me think of things I haven’t thought of in a while.

This morning I want to consider and explore one of the things that comes up in that book, namely, the importance of self-awareness. Also, I want to examine the Ignatian legacy in my life.

The current state of my life is best characterized by the phrase “in transition.” As I’ve written elsewhere, I see what has been going on these last few years as an Exodus of sorts. Certainly the most resonant scripture account has been the story of the Israelites’ journey from slavery to freedom in the Promised Land. I have identified closely with this recently and when I say I’m “in transition” this is what I’m referring to—the transition from slavery to freedom; from death to new life.
But, this new life I’m experiencing/preparing to experience is an enigma to me. I’m genuinely bewildered about what “new life” means for me.

In many ways I find my experience analogous to being born. The transition is laborious and quite painful, and now that I’m in this new environment, I have to learn everything from scratch. I know how to be a slave; I don’t know how to be free.

This is a very unusual position to be in for me. I who prided himself on being so self-aware, for keeping a journal, for being wise, etc. find myself wide-eyed and paralyzed in my current situation. In my mind’s eye, I appear as mystified as my son Maximilian waking from a nap in the afternoon. How odd to not know myself.

This brings me to the discussion on Ignatius and the influence of the Jesuits on my life. Am I Ignatian? Have the Jesuits marked me for life? If so, how do I cultivate the good of the Jesuits and filter out the poison that seems to be contaminating the order at present? Am I not Ignatian? Is my desire to be Ignatian a romantic notion akin to my desires to speak Latin, have a degree from TAC, and be physically/lethally fit? Is it a lie for me to consider myself a product of the Jesuits when I am not financially successful, politically influential, whatever? Am I not primarily a Chestertonian? Do I not identify with Opus Dei more than with the Society of Jesus?

On the other hand, do those things not come from my love of my Jesuit education? After all, I learned of GKC at BCP; I came to love the idea of AMDG present in Opus Dei from Jesuit priests and authors I met and read while in high school. In fact, the most influential books I’ve ever read are ones I came across during my time as a student at Brophy Prep.

So, what? How do I make use of my Jesuit legacy? Must I still be involved with the place that was for me both the Egypt of Joseph and the Egypt of Moses? Can I truly maintain an Ignatian character apart from a vital connection with the order? Will I wither and fade like a cut flower in my isolation? Will Brophy/the Society of Jesus become the Great Pyramids of my life’s landscape—impressive edifices, filled with hieroglyphics and dead men’s bones?

How can I distill from my time with Ignatius’ company a practical potion for making my own company prosperous? What can Inigo teach me about freedom and learning to walk? I don’t know the answers to all these questions. In reading Heroic Leadership, I’ve come across a few phrases that sparked this reflection:

“our way of proceeding”
“greater love than fear”
“magis”

Greater love than fear. This is how Ignatius hoped to characterize his order. It is emphatically not how Brophy was run during my time as a teacher there. It is however the way I want to live my life.

This theme of love being stronger than fear has run through my life for a long time. I think freedom from fear is one of the most important things I need to learn/am learning here in the land of Canaan. For me, this virtue of courage is crucial. I need it so that I can give it away, lead my family, inspire my sons. I need I to be real, too. I need to be brave so that when I talk to students, my consolation is strong and not merely a platitude.

I believe more than anything in the power of love. From John Donne to Tonio K. to Amy Elizabeth to my children to wordSwell, I believe in love connections. I believe in making them, keeping them, strengthening them. I want my life and my work to be like St. Andrew—I want to bring people to Love; I want to love people to God.

Our way of proceeding. The author of Heroic Leadership points out that the Jesuits “way of proceeding” is never written out as a formula. Rather, it issues forth from a state of being that St. Ignatius inculcated in his company. This simplest way to explain this is that Ignatius didn’t give a man a fish, nor did he merely teach a man to fish. What he did was more radical: he helped men become fishermen.

My way of proceeding must also necessarily flow out of my being and not be limited to my doing. I think here is a place for intuition to operate. At Brophy, my intuition was the first place that seeds of self-doubt were sown. I’m still affected by it. Here, too, the role of habits becomes so obvious and important. Good intuition comes from good habits; habits form one’s way of proceeding. Consequently, I do not proceed how I would.

The question for me is “how do I effectively change my habits?” I’ve gotten past the immaturity of strongly worded resolutions and may just be coming out of a jaded cynicism, but here is a prime example of where I’m a newborn without a clue.

As a slave, my habits were more conditioning than anything else. I acted as was expected (out of fear) or as unexpected (out of passive resistance), but never truly out of virtue. Even my fidelity to the Church was largely a rebellion against the “System”. (I have always wanted to be orthodox, but my self-identification as “Mr. Orthodoxy: heroic martyr” was not authentically me. The real me is a reconciler; a defender of the Faith who seeks understanding.)

As a free man, how do I form good habits? I am accustomed to failure and disappointment. I fear success more than anything else, so I sabotage myself constantly by overextending myself and causing chaos. Steven Pressfield might insist that doing my Work will form my work habits. I think that’s true.

Magis. I won’t say much about this except perhaps “Amen”. I want my life and work to be more than the minimum--I want to live for God’s great glory. But I also want it (my contribution to his glory) to be truly great.