Elephants never forget










Published: Wednesday, April 25, 2012 9:49 AM CDT

When my mother was a young girl, her father gave her a small elephant figurine that he had brought back with him following his deployment during World War II. A self-professed “Daddy’s girl,” my mother loved the gift almost as much as she loved her hero-father. Little did he know that one souvenir pachyderm would eventually become a herd of over two hundred elephant keepsakes amassed by my mom over the next sixty years. Tragically, he would not live to see his little girl or her collection grow because a few short years after giving his beloved daughter the gift, my grandfather took his own life.



I don’t think my mother ever fully recovered from the shock of suddenly and inexplicably losing her dad. Nevertheless, she always spoke fondly of him rather than with bitterness in her voice. As the years passed, Mom would pick up miniature elephants at garage sales and flea markets and display them throughout the house as a reminder of her father. They say elephants never forget. By collecting elephant figurines, Mom made sure she never forgot her daddy.



Being lazy shoppers, my brother and I gave our mom elephants for her birthday every single year. We also gave them to her for Mother’s Day and Christmas, too. It was automatic. But she seemed to love them all, mostly because she loved her boys. Little did I realize that her beloved herd would one day become mine.



When Mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer a few years ago, the disease had already spread to her brain before anyone knew there was a problem. She fought valiantly, undergoing brain surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. As much as she suffered, she could have been forgiven for throwing in the towel. She could have refused to receive further treatments. She could have followed in her father’s footsteps and taken the easy way out. Instead, she maintained a brave face and her dignity throughout, never forgetting the impact it had on her when her own parent gave up.



Mom stubbornly held on long enough for Bethany and me to bring Truman home from China. A week later, I convinced her to move in with us so we could look after her and so she could get to know her new grandson. Three weeks later, she died in our home, surrounded by everyone she loved. When Blake and I later sorted through her possessions, the only items I cared about keeping were photographs and of course, her elephants.



Today, all but a couple dozen of her pint-sized pachyderms are packed away in my storage room. Nevertheless, you will still see elephants in virtually every room of our house. Some of my favorites are the Asian elephants Mom had. These hold a special significance to me for a couple reasons. For one, her collection started with an Asian elephant. Also, a few Asian elephants still live in the jungles of southern China, near the area where Truman is from. Plus, we have some pieces of Chinese art displayed in our house and the Asian elephants compliment them quite well.



Last week, for the first time in my life, I bought an elephant piece for myself. I had no intentions of ever adding to an already excessive collection, but in this case, the decision was practically made for me. My friend Monica Mauney painted a stunning work of abstract art that I knew I had to have as soon as I saw it. Though I did not commission the painting, Fate must have. Set against a gorgeous red sky at sunset is the silhouette of an elephant with its trunk raised to the heavens. High in the red sky there are three brightly shining stars. (The Chinese flag also features stars on a red background.) To me, the three stars represent my three kids, two of which are Chinese, and the elephant represents my mom, who seems to be calling out to her three grandkids, no doubt telling them how much she loves them.



We love you, too, Nonna. And we, like your elephants, will never forget.

April 18th Column

Categorically Lazy

Published: Wednesday, April 18, 2012 9:42 AM CDT

Last week, I received a “kick in the pants” email from my book editor (my cousin Larry) that warned that due to my slacking-off on the book-writing front, I was running the danger of becoming known only as a writer of a weekly small town newspaper column rather than as the world-famous author of several best-sellers that I planned on writing someday. I have to hand it to Larry; appealing to my delusions of grandeur while preying on my insecurities is a very effective way to get my attention.

The tough-love from my cousin is both deserved and appreciated. Not only have I failed to start writing the follow-up to my runaway hit “Naked Snow Angels”, (a book that sold literally tens of copies worldwide), but I have also neglected to update my blog and my website (www.travisnaughton.com) for months. I could excuse my lack of output by claiming that I am too busy being a stay-at-home dad/husband/housekeeper/cook/dishwasher/taxi driver/groundskeeper/grocery-getter/clothes-washer/sorter/folder to write more, but the truth is that I am just plain lazy.

I could do more with the three hours of free time I have each morning while Truman is at preschool, but if you could kick your kids out the door at 7:45 a.m. and have the house to yourself for a precious few hours afterwards, wouldn’t you crawl under the covers and go back to sleep, too?

I don’t do mornings because I am a night owl, and by 10:00 p.m. I’m usually the last one up at the Naughton house. I suppose I should use that time to write, but more often than not, the lethal combination of a comfy recliner and a high definition television set kill my desire to work. This is especially true after a long day of doing chores and/or watching sports.

The philosopher Immanuel Kant wrote, “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.” In other words, only do those things which you would want everyone to do under the same circumstances. Kant called this moral law his Categorical Imperative. If I live by the Categorical Imperative and I choose to be lazy and neglect to live up to my creative potential, then I am implicitly willing that everyone be lazy and neglect their creative potential. This of course would be unsustainable because eventually there would be no new programming on my HDTV worth watching.

Therefore, in order to please Kant and my dozens of faithful readers, (and guarantee the future productivity and continuation of the human race), I need to begin my next writing project ASAP. Larry was absolutely right saying that by not writing more I am running the risk of only being known for writing a column in a small town newspaper. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing necessarily. I thoroughly enjoy writing this column for the Journal, and judging by the feedback I’ve received, there are a few folks in Southern Boone County who enjoy reading it each week. One afternoon not long ago, a woman introduced herself to me and said that one of my columns actually changed her life. She said that she had reached a point in her life where she needed a push in a new direction, an impetus to make a better life for herself. At that same moment in time, New Year’s Day, I had written an article about hitting life’s reset button on January 1st thereby giving us all an opportunity to reinvent ourselves and live up to our full potential. The woman said that when she read my column, she instantly realized what she needed to do in order to improve her life. She said she cut out my column and posted it to her bulletin board so she could see it every day and remain motivated. Soon thereafter, she enrolled in college and began to change her life for the better. Then she said to me, “I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ and tell you how much your column meant to me.”

I was humbled by the woman’s kind words and moved to tears listening to her story. I realized right then and there that being known only as a writer of a weekly small town newspaper was good enough for me.