geschichten
This past Wednesday my brother came up to visit and we attended our father's retirement dinner. It was Ned's first time staying with us at our new place, just for the evening. Before the event we were able to really talk, just the two of us, for the first time maybe in two years. This reminded me of how things used to be, of how much in common we actually have despite the radically different courses our lives are taking. But between work and his new family, such luxuries will perhaps be few and far between for the next decade or so. Such as it is.
The dinner itself was good, if rather sad. It was interesting to see my father in this context, the speeches of his colleagues, the close to 40 years of his storied career, this whole other life of his. I had only vaguely known that my father had been the longest serving professor in the entire GSD.
What stood out most was the entirely impromptu off the cuff speech given by my father's mentor from when he first started, who temporarily phased back into existence from the obscurity of his retirement and the distance of so many years. I later found out he was in his mid ninety's.
After someone mentioned his name in their speech, he turned around in his chair, as if it had just dawned on him where he was and the purpose of the dinner. Jarred back into this existence he looked straight at my father and had everyone's attention without saying a word. Then in his soft, deep, and powerful austrian accent he proceeded to detail my father's story from their first introduction, weaving this story into the changing times in society that took place in the 60's when they met and the regime change in the school that took place, with my father being the first of the new kind, contrasted with being the last today. He kept progressing further and further back, back into his own world before my father, into Viennese streets and the prevailing mindset of the Universität, then seamlessly steered right back around to the present, and then to the event which we all happened to be sitting at. And just like that, he was “off” again, totally oblivious to all the tears and applause.
Later, I watched my mother go up to him, where his only care in the world was the flan desert he was slowly working on. She complemented him on his speech, and he dismissively told her that he remembered nothing of what he said. As he turned back to his flan, his honesty was apparent, as my mother ceased to exist before his eyes as well- the flan, after all, awaited him.
I'm not really sure what the point of this story was, other than it stood out in my mind and I wanted to record it. That, and I can only hope that if I reach such a great age, I'll get to enjoy such an aloof dignity as his, and the private world of age and memory, with the capacity of an unglued consciousness for time travel- like a switch, a spark in his muddy blue eyes, on or off, there or... somewhere else.
The dinner itself was good, if rather sad. It was interesting to see my father in this context, the speeches of his colleagues, the close to 40 years of his storied career, this whole other life of his. I had only vaguely known that my father had been the longest serving professor in the entire GSD.
What stood out most was the entirely impromptu off the cuff speech given by my father's mentor from when he first started, who temporarily phased back into existence from the obscurity of his retirement and the distance of so many years. I later found out he was in his mid ninety's.
After someone mentioned his name in their speech, he turned around in his chair, as if it had just dawned on him where he was and the purpose of the dinner. Jarred back into this existence he looked straight at my father and had everyone's attention without saying a word. Then in his soft, deep, and powerful austrian accent he proceeded to detail my father's story from their first introduction, weaving this story into the changing times in society that took place in the 60's when they met and the regime change in the school that took place, with my father being the first of the new kind, contrasted with being the last today. He kept progressing further and further back, back into his own world before my father, into Viennese streets and the prevailing mindset of the Universität, then seamlessly steered right back around to the present, and then to the event which we all happened to be sitting at. And just like that, he was “off” again, totally oblivious to all the tears and applause.
Later, I watched my mother go up to him, where his only care in the world was the flan desert he was slowly working on. She complemented him on his speech, and he dismissively told her that he remembered nothing of what he said. As he turned back to his flan, his honesty was apparent, as my mother ceased to exist before his eyes as well- the flan, after all, awaited him.
I'm not really sure what the point of this story was, other than it stood out in my mind and I wanted to record it. That, and I can only hope that if I reach such a great age, I'll get to enjoy such an aloof dignity as his, and the private world of age and memory, with the capacity of an unglued consciousness for time travel- like a switch, a spark in his muddy blue eyes, on or off, there or... somewhere else.