Doug's Daily Meditation

WASP WEDNESDAY

A cartoon by my friend Jeff.  Somehow it seems relevant.

I know I mentioned on Facebook that today, yesterday now, was going to be WASP Wednesday, but I'm afraid WASP Wednesday will have to wait 'til next week.  WASPs like myself, raised by Berkeley liberals, really have little but shame about who we are: I suspect my parents couldn't wait to see the end of our ethnic group.  We, and our Church, to whom we generously tithed, gave money to various African nations, Israel (I believe there are several trees there planted in my name), sent our nuns and monks (I am Episcopalian, but we do in fact have nuns and monks) to South America, gave relief funds to poor black neighborhoods in the US, money to Native Americans.  Meanwhile, my Uncle Dixon, an alcoholic and out of work, had one of his children starve to death in Cheyenne Wyoming.  I don't believe we ever sent him any money.  To do my parents credit, I'm not sure they knew how badly off he was, but they knew he wasn't well.  I remember answering the phone one night when I was eight or nine years old - this was when long distance calls were a rarity, and some old man said, "Is Dee there?"  Dee is what people called my Dad.  "No, he's at the office," I said.  "Who is this?"
     "Who's this?" the man asked.
     "Doug."
     "Doug, this's your Uncle Dixon.  How are ya Buddy?"
     "I'm alright, Dixon, how come we never see you?"
     "Well, ya know.  So how ya doin'?"
     "OK I guess.  Where are you?"
     "I'm In Wyoming."
     "Really?  Wow.  I'd sure like to go to Wyoming.  I've never even been out of California."
     "Well, I'd love ta see ya Buddy.  So when's your Dad gonna be back?"
     "Oh, I dunno.  Hour.  Maybe."
     "Well you tell him your Uncle Dixon called, OK Champ?"
     "Gosh, yeah!  I've sure heard a lot about you.  I sure wish you were here."
     "Yeah Buddy.  Listen, just tell him I called.  Write down my number."
     I wrote it down.  He hung up.  I don't know if Dad ever called him back or not.  He probably didn't.  Ten years later I heard about his child, I think one year old, dying of starvation.  But we were good liberals.

Maybe this IS WASP Wednesday.  Melding into Thursday, but oh well.  I was going to say something about art, but remembering this story has made me forget what I was going to say.  I remember my (very missed) friend Jeff MacNelly, Chicago Tribune Political Cartoonist extraordinaire, saying, "Yeah, I see my mother twice a year, whether I need to or not."  I know Jeff missed his mom when she died.  I miss mine.  But perish the thought.  So that we might perish.  And maybe we deserve to.

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